Franklin whistles. “Or we can just stay here and I’ll eat you for dinner.”

As they drive out South Road through Chilmark, Franklin plays the dutiful tour guide and shows Tabitha Beetlebung Corner. A beetle, he explains, is a mallet used to bang bungs—or stoppers—into barrels.

Tabitha laughs. “Thank you for telling me that. It sounds like something that infests your attic.”

She loves all the low stone walls and the family farms. “And the cute street signs. Look at that one!” She points to a small wooden sign that says: SHEEP XING.

“Good old Sheep Crossing,” Franklin says. The tone of his voice is suddenly arch. “The first cottage after the turn is where my brother-in-law is hiding out.”

“Your brother-in-law?” Tabitha says. She tries to remember what Franklin has told her about his family. She isn’t good with this kind of thing. The parents—she has lost their names—the father was the high school principal, the mother… she can’t remember. Did Franklin mention a brother-in-law? The husband of his sister? His sister’s name is… Charlotte? Nope, that’s Ramsay’s sister.

She waits for him to say more, but he merely shakes his head. “Never mind,” he says.

Any awkwardness vanishes as they approach the Outermost Inn. It’s set way up over the cliffs of Aquinnah; even from the parking lot, the views over the water are dramatic. Franklin is a perfect gentleman, ushering Tabitha inside, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back. Tabitha thinks briefly of Ramsay—his manners were impeccable, bordering on stuffy—but he never electrified Tabitha with his touch, as Franklin does.

The hostess at the intimate restaurant is roughly Tabitha’s age. She has curly blond hair and wears a silk broomstick skirt that reaches to her ankles.

“Franklin!” she says. “Baby doll!”

“Annalisa,” Franklin says. He kisses her on the lips, Tabitha notices. Okay, she’s jealous. She feels a tightening across her shoulders and tries to fight it. She loves the decor of the inn, the candlelight, the smell of garlic, herbs, roasting meat, butter, good wine. She has only known Franklin for a few days. He has lived here for forty years.

Tabitha smiles at Annalisa, hoping she will not be mistaken for her sister. “Hello,” she says. “I’m Tabitha Frost. I live on Nantucket.”

“Oh yes, I know,” Annalisa says. “The folks at the Steamship Authority send out an alert when someone from ‘the other island’ broaches our shores.”

Franklin squeezes Tabitha’s shoulder, and Tabitha manages a smile.

Annalisa sits Franklin and Tabitha at the best table in the house—out on the wide, gracious porch in the corner closest to the water. Franklin selects a bottle of Sancerre and a bottle of Malbec, and he pours Tabitha a glass of each.

They touch glasses, and Franklin shakes his head. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you called me,” he says. “Even if it was by accident.”

“If you wanted me to call you not by accident, you should have left your number in the note,” Tabitha says. “I figured you never wanted to see me again.”

“I…” Franklin sips his wine and looks off at the horizon, where the sun is sinking into the water. A streak of glorious orange light illuminates his face. “I wasn’t sure of the protocol, I guess.”

“You can’t tell me you don’t bring women home all the time,” Tabitha says.

“I don’t,” Franklin says. He gives her an earnest look—could he possibly be telling the truth?—and then he changes the subject. “Tell me about you. I can’t believe you’re single. A gorgeous woman like you on an island with all those millionaires on their yachts.”

Tabitha laughs. “Oh, I’m single. I was in a relationship for four years, but we broke up in February.”

“Have you ever been married?” Franklin asks.

“No,” Tabitha says. “But my first serious boyfriend and I have a child together. A daughter, Ainsley. She’s sixteen.”

“Sixteen!” Franklin says. “Is that even possible?”

“Possible,” Tabitha says. “I had her when I was twenty-three. She was a surprise then… now she’s just a handful. A few weeks ago, she threw a party at the house while I was out, and I came home to find the kids playing beer pong on my dining-room table.”

Franklin throws his head back and laughs. “Oh come on. You have to admit that’s funny,” he says.

Is it funny? Tabitha lets herself smile. It’s a lot funnier now than it was at the time, that’s for certain. “We’re enjoying a much-needed break from each other right now. Harper’s over there watching her.”

“Ah, I see,” Franklin says. “You pulled the old switcheroo.”

Tabitha wonders how Harper and Ainsley are doing. Maybe they’ve rolled all the ERF inventory outside for a sidewalk sale. Maybe they’ve hosted a dog show or are posting their political opinions on a Twitter account under Eleanor’s name. Tabitha is so blissed out that she doesn’t care.

Their food starts arriving from the kitchen, all dishes meant to share: a velvety lobster bisque, a lightly dressed salad of microgreens and brightly colored disks that turn out to be crisp, sweet radish, pan-seared lobster with a grapefruit beurre blanc served over savory soft polenta, sirloin au poivre that comes with dauphine potatoes—walnut-size croquettes filled with buttery heaven. Franklin stops between bites and kisses Tabitha lightly on the lips, which incites desire more than a deep kiss might. They don’t take any photos; they don’t check in or post. This date is like something from another age. Tabitha tries to memorize every detail so she can relive it later.

Dessert is an assortment of treats served on a wooden lazy Susan: a passion-fruit panna cotta, miniature cannoli filled with pistachio cream, lemon blueberry tarts with an almond-ginger crust, toffee blondies topped with coconut fluff.

Tabitha takes a bite of each, then groans because she is so full. She excuses herself for the ladies’ room.

When she emerges, Annalisa is standing in the vestibule, seemingly waiting for her.

“I hope you didn’t mind my wisecrack about Nantucket,” she says. “I was just having fun with you.”

Tabitha, loosened by the wine, laughs. “Not a worry.”

“I think it’s great that Franklin wanted to bring you out here for dinner. He sounded so excited when he called to make the reservation. And he was very clear that he was bringing Tabitha Frost, not Harper Frost. Because I think we can all agree, if he took your sister out here for dinner, that would be really weird.”

“Weird,” Tabitha repeats. “Weird because…”

Annalisa swats Tabitha’s arm. “Because of everything that just happened. But I’m glad you aren’t letting that stand in your way. You two are a regular couple of lovebirds.”

On the way home, Tabitha realizes that she didn’t tell Franklin about Julian. She skipped right over him, as if he didn’t exist—but if she wants Franklin to know her, then she has to remedy that. She’s just not sure how to bring it up.

When Ainsley was eighteen months old, I got pregnant again. But things didn’t go as planned. I went into labor at twenty-eight weeks…

Tabitha leans her head back against the car seat and closes her eyes. She’ll tell Franklin about Julian another time, she decides. She doesn’t want to ruin the magic of their time together.

“There’s something I need to talk to you about,” Franklin says. He reaches across the console and touches her thigh. “Tabitha.”

Tabitha opens her eyes. His voice sounds serious. But only seconds ago she decided she didn’t want to talk about anything heavy, deep, or real. She thinks back to the peculiar interaction with Annalisa. Weird… because of everything that just happened. Annalisa must have been referring to Harper’s affair with Dr. Zimmer; it would indeed be weird if Harper then went on a romantic date with someone else.

“Maybe we should save talking for tomorrow,” Tabitha says. “I’ve had a lot of wine.”

“This concerns tomorrow,” Franklin says. “I just decided that I’m going to help you with Billy’s house.”