Elizabeth of East Hampton (For the Love of Austen #2)

Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

Florence + the Machine ran through the truck’s stereo, and Lizzy willed Ms. Welch to give her strength for the night ahead. The winding road from her motel to Will’s Montauk home was eerily dark with only her headlights illuminating the way, the song “Free” blasting on her speakers.

The louder the music, the more it reduced her anxiety, so she cranked up the volume further. What was she even doing? She glanced down at her faded jeans and vintage Guns N’ Roses concert T-shirt underneath her worn brown leather jacket. Her outfit wasn’t too casual, was it? She hadn’t brought anything nice with her on this trip—besides her wetsuit, all she had was a suitcase full of sweatpants, T-shirts, and bathing suits. She couldn’t very well show up in purple neoprene.

After a quick shower to get the ocean and sand off, she’d let her hair dry naturally so it fell in loose waves around her face and shoulders. She’d thrown on some lip gloss and mascara she’d found in her purse and forgot she even owned. The biggest decision of the evening came when she had to choose between sneakers or flip-flops. She was annoyed she cared this much. What happened to the halcyon days of invites dictating “resort casual”?

It was pitch-black outside. Without her phone’s GPS, she wasn’t sure she would have turned from the paved highway to the unnamed dirt road that eventually led to a long gravel driveway. The homes in this area were legendary, hidden from view but well-known by locals. They were the first houses to be built this far east; luxurious spreads that had stood the test of time and the elements.

There was an Audi SUV parked next to Will’s gray truck in the front drive. Lizzy pulled in next to it, taking a moment to repress the urge to bite her cuticles like she used to when she was younger. The bad habit had started when she was forced to do fast math for customers when the register broke at the bakery.

Lizzy finally got out of the car, brushing sand from the seat off her legs, then started toward the house. With its gray slate roof and wood shingled siding, it looked like it was part of the wilderness here, tucked within the overgrowth, growing and breathing along with the grass and the trees. When she reached the black-painted front door, Lizzy took a deep calming breath and knocked. And then she waited.

This was a stupid idea. Really stupid. But, she reasoned, she didn’t have to stay long. Just a drink, and then—

Will opened the door. He was back in his usual attire, jeans and crisp white button-down, but for some reason, the view now made her pulse trip. Or maybe that was because of how his eyebrows raised when he saw her, like he was surprised she was there.

Crap . Had she gotten the time wrong or—

“You made it,” he said.

“Am I late? I thought you said eight, but I didn’t write it down or anything, so…”

“I said eight,” he said. “I just wasn’t sure you’d show up.”

She rolled her eyes, even as her cheeks flushed. “Well, I didn’t really have a choice. I had to return your—” Her voice stalled with the realization. “Oh my God. I left your hoodie at the motel. I’m sorry. I can go back and grab it—”

“Another time.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He stepped to the side, enough that she could walk past him into the foyer, then closed the door behind her. But instead of leading her into the house, he just stood there for a moment. It was like he was debating something, like the words were there on the tip of his tongue. Before he could find a way to utter them, though, a woman rounded the corner.

“You realize it’s polite to actually invite your guests into your house, don’t you, Will?” the woman said, shooting him a sharp glare. Her dark hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail and her pink sweater fit impeccably, even as it was casually tucked into the front of her cream-colored skirt.

Oh God , Lizzy thought. She had been right. Her outfit was way too casual.

Then the woman’s expression melted into a warm smile as she turned to Lizzy. “You must be Elizabeth.”

Lizzy donned a smile, too—the one she reserved for customers that she hoped would buy the day-old scones at the bakery—and replied, “It’s Lizzy.”

“Lizzy! It’s so lovely to meet you,” the woman said, coming forward as if she was about to embrace her. “I’m Emma. I’ve heard—” Then she stopped short. “Is that an original Appetite for Destruction Tour T-shirt?”

Lizzy blinked, then looked down at her old, threadbare shirt. “Yeah. It was my mom’s, actually.”

Emma brought a perfectly manicured hand to her chest, as if she needed a moment to fully appreciate this information. “You’re already one of my favorite people.”

Lizzy’s smile became genuine. This was not how she was expecting this conversation to go. “Are you a GNR fan?”

“Of course,” Emma said, linking her arm with Lizzy’s, leading her further into the house. “?‘Paradise City’ is one of my go-to karaoke songs.”

As Emma marched forward, Lizzy looked over her shoulder to see Will following, a slight grin still on his lips.

The interior of Will’s home was like the inverse of Marv’s Lament. Instead of modern and stark, everything about this house felt warm and inviting. The beadboard walls of the entryway were lined with mementos and framed photos. Along the hallway there were paintings of seascapes and gold-rimmed mirrors. Emma was still talking about the legacy of LA’s ’80s music scene as she led Lizzy past what looked like a library—complete with a ladder and so many books, they were spilling out of the navy blue built-in shelves—and into the kitchen.

George was standing at the massive island in the middle of the room, pulling takeout containers from a large paper bag. He paused as they entered, cocking an eyebrow at Emma. “Please tell me I didn’t just hear a reference to Whisky a Go Go.”

“Okay,” Emma said, with a shrug. “You didn’t just hear a reference to Whisky a Go Go.”

He chuckled as he turned to Lizzy.

“Nice to see you again, Lizzy,” he said. “I hope Emma’s not forcing you to do karaoke with her yet.”

Lizzy smiled. “Not yet.”

“But the night is still young,” Emma added sweetly, coming around the island to finish taking the food from the bag.

Lizzy laughed, but it was cut short as Will came up behind her. His arm brushed against hers as he reached forward and pulled out a counter stool, sending a wave of goose bumps across her skin.

“Sit down,” he said. “Can I get you a drink?”

“I’ll just have a water,” Lizzy said, working hard to keep her tone nonchalant. The last thing she needed right now was alcohol dulling her senses.

Will nodded and turned to the refrigerator. George made his way to Emma’s side, whispering something in her ear, and she laughed. It felt intimate and sweet, and Lizzy darted her eyes away, letting herself look over the spread in front of her: a half dozen takeout containers brimming with calamari, lobster salad, crab cakes, french fries… and then something in her brain clicked.

“Is this from Mike’s?” she blurted out.

Will appeared at her side again, nodding as he placed a glass of ice water in front of her. “You don’t mind having it twice in one day, do you?”

Lizzy opened her mouth, but no words came out. Will was watching her, a look of amusement in his eyes, as if waiting for her to admit to her lie.

“Nope,” she said, trying to make it sound nonchalant.

He smiled, leaning across the counter and popping a piece of calamari into his mouth.

Lizzy had never seen him so laid-back. He wasn’t angry and brooding; he looked… comfortable, even happy. It was like running into your dentist or your fifth-grade teacher at the supermarket. It was hard for your brain to compute them in a new setting, and you’re left wondering if you really knew them at all.

“All right, I think that’s it,” Emma said, arranging the boxes in a perfect semicircle.

George looked down at the array, his forehead furrowed. “Why do we have enough food to feed a dozen people?”

“I think you’re vastly underestimating how hungry I am right now,” Emma said, stealing a french fry before turning around to grab plates from the shelf behind her.

“I’m just impressed George got you to agree to order food from a place with ‘shack’ in the name,” Will said, taking a long sip of his beer.

Emma turned back around with the plates and sighed dramatically. “It’s called growth, Will. I highly recommend it.”

He laughed, a sound so full and rich that Lizzy felt it in her chest. And for the first time in twenty-four hours, she allowed herself to relax. She leaned back in her chair and let her smile become easy as she turned to him.

“Thanks for inviting me tonight,” she said, meaning it.

He maintained her gaze for a heavy beat, then replied, “Thanks for coming.”

Then Emma gasped, and all eyes went to her as she smacked George’s hand away from her plate. “Don’t even think about it, Knightley. This lobster roll is mine .”

Two hours later, the farmhouse table in the dining room was covered with the remnants of dinner, and Emma was sitting beside Lizzy, explaining her job as a modern art advisor and the intricacies of international art sales. Lizzy had to admit she’d never really cared about the art world before, but Emma’s explanation was better than most shows on Bravo.

“…So then this guy tried to sell the piece in Europe, but someone must have sent the link to his ex-wife because she ended up calling literally every museum in London, Paris, and Madrid, telling them that the painting was hers until the divorce was finalized. It was such a mess!” she said, taking a long sip of her wine.

Across from them, George chuckled. “Sometimes I think you love the drama more than the actual art.”

“Art is drama,” Emma replied. “That’s why I’m so good at my job.” Then she turned back to Lizzy. “What about you? What do you do?”

She debated how to answer, if she could somehow make the bakery sound more exciting than it really was, but Will spoke first.

“Lizzy is a fantastic journalist.”

Her attention snapped to him. He stared back, taking a sip of his beer.

“Are you serious?” Emma said, impressed. “That’s amazing.”

Lizzy rolled her eyes. “Writing a few articles in high school and college does not make me a journalist.”

Will’s expression turned sardonic. “You went to school for it.”

“Undergrad, yes. But I still need my master’s if I want to get into foreign affairs coverage.”

“Have you applied anywhere?” George asked. “Will and I went to Columbia. We might know some people.”

She smiled. “I got into Columbia, actually.”

George’s eyebrows shot up. “You got into Columbia’s School of Journalism?”

She nodded while Emma batted her hand in the air.

“ Of course she got into Columbia’s School of Journalism,” Emma said.

Will’s attention was still on Lizzy, barely concealing his surprise. “When do you start?”

She let out a shaky sigh. “That’s a good question.” She took a deep breath and decided to just get it over with. “I should have started a few weeks ago, but my dad had a stroke in March, two days after I got the acceptance letter. I arrived at our family’s bakery for my shift and found him. I…” Her voice faltered, then she shook her head. “I thought he was dead. The paramedics said if I had been five minutes later, he would have been. He was in the hospital for a couple of weeks after that. Even after he got out, he couldn’t be on his feet for long, couldn’t keep track of numbers. And I was the only one who knew how the bakery ran. How to fill orders, how to prep… everything. So I deferred for a semester, hoping to work out a plan. But right now there’s still no plan, and I have just a couple of weeks to decide what I’m going to do, so…” Her voice trailed off and she shrugged.

Emma and George were quiet, frozen in place. But Lizzy barely noticed. She was too busy maintaining Will’s gaze, watching as his hard brow softened.

“You’re still a fantastic journalist, Lizzy. With or without Columbia,” he finally said.

She smiled back.

After another moment, Emma broke the tension by turning to George and clapping her hands. “Okay! Knightley and I are going to clean up and make up some bowls of vanilla ice cream for dessert. Will, you should show Lizzy the view of the beach from up here. It’s stunning!”

Will frowned. “There is no view. It’s dark outside.”

“It’s not that dark,” Emma said with a practiced smile.

“It’s ten o’clock,” he responded.

“That means moonlight. It’s different with moonlight. See? Moonlight!” Emma said, pointing out the window and looking to her boyfriend for confirmation. George simply stared back at her with one eyebrow raised, like he wanted no part in her scheming.

Will turned to Lizzy. “Well?”

This morning, the suggestion of walking out into the darkness with Will Darcy would have elicited a hard no, but now, as he stared at her, his blue eyes expectant, she couldn’t think of anything she wanted more.

So she smiled and shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t mind moonlight.”