Chapter Five
THAT EVENING, DAWN AND I ARE PERCHED AT THE END OF THE BAR at The Dunmore, a chic, celebrity-favorite boutique hotel on the island.
It’s located right on the beach, and the Amanda Lindroth-designed restaurant glimmers in that just-right lived in way, where everything looks a little warmer, everyone a little prettier.
Lively conversation and clinking glasses buzz around us.
I’ve convinced her to come with me tonight, even though “some stranger’s party” might be stretching the definition of an enticing invite.
I’m wearing a chocolate brown silk tank dress that skims my body and hits just above my knees, with a U-shape neckline that dips low enough to feel thrilling but not trying too hard.
Before leaving, I dug through Gran’s jewelry box and found a long turquoise pendant necklace that compliments the dress. I feel good.
Dawn takes a sip of her drink, then runs an approving glance over my dress with a knowing smirk.
“Remind me why we’re crashing this mystery man’s party again?”
I roll my eyes even as a smile tugs at my lips. “It’s not crashing if we were invited. Albeit loosely.”
She tilts her head. “Define loosely.”
I glance around, momentarily unsure. The vibe here feels cozy, safe. “We could just stay here. These are arguably the best seats in the house.”
Dawn leans forward, resting a hand on the bar in front of me. “No, I was just teasing. And definitely not when you look this good and this guy is supposedly that hot. We’re going, I’m totally vetting this Noah.”
I sigh, swirling what’s left of my Rum Dum. “He probably thinks Jack is my boyfriend after this morning. And I’m sure he noticed me with him at Gusty’s.”
“All the more reason to show up and set the record straight. Besides, a little distraction might be just what you need.”
I chew on my lip. “I’m not falling into old patterns with Jack.”
Dawn tsks, eyes twinkling. “No one would blame you if you did. But still, you owe it to yourself to show up and see what happens.”
I take a deep breath, letting her words settle. “Yeah, you’re right.”
She clinks her glass against mine with a twinkle in her eye. “I always am.”
On the way to the party we take the long route through town to calm my nerves. Dawn’s golf cart zips along Bay Street as we pass kids on bikes, tourists strolling from dinner to drinks in linen pants and resort dresses, the late evening golden and still buzzing.
When we pull up at White Cottage, I’m immediately struck by how beautifully the property unfolds. The main house, two guest cottages nestled into the lush landscape, and even a newly built pickleball court at the far end.
We follow a coral stone path lined with flickering wicker lanterns, the warm glow casting playful shadows across the walkway.
“We’re absolutely staying longer than planned,” Dawn whispers, nudging me.
Rounding the corner, the backyard spills out before us, string lights zigzagging overhead, the long candlelit table still dotted with abandoned water glasses, their sides dripping into the tablecloth.
A local band plays in the corner, filling the air with a cover of “Linger” by the Cranberries while a few people dance barefoot on the grass.
To the right, a cozy fire pit area glows softly, and I immediately spot Noah.
He’s sitting with a small group but glancing around distractedly.
When his eyes find mine, his whole face lights up.
As he stands, I take him in. Noah’s in a sand-colored linen shirt, the sleeves rolled to his forearms, the top few buttons undone.
Loose but tailored pants, bare ankles, salt seemingly still in his hair.
He looks like someone who never has to try, the kind of cool that comes from being comfortable everywhere.
“You made it,” he says warmly, his hands diving into his pockets like he’s not sure what else to do with them.
“It seems I did.” My smile gives me away as we hold each other’s gaze, that now familiar flutter in my stomach unfurling low and insistent.
After a beat he turns to Dawn. “Hi, I’m Noah.”
“Dawn,” she says, extending a hand. “I’m the chaperone, just in case you were indeed a murderer,” she winks.
“I’m glad someone has her back,” he laughs, then looks back at me. “Want to meet everyone?”
We move through the backyard. The group around the fire pit shifts as we join, and Noah begins introducing us.
“This is Lucy and Dawn,” he says.
“Welcome,” a tall guy with a mess of curly hair extends a hand. “Hello Lucy-who-we-thought-Noah-made-up. I’m Miguel.”
I laugh, feeling instantly at ease. A beautiful brunette slips into the circle with a smile like sunlight.
“This is Kate,” Noah says, gesturing between us. “Kate, Lucy and Dawn.”
“So you are real,” Kate says, eyes shimmering. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Should I be concerned that everyone thought you made me up?” I laugh, glancing at him.
“Not at all,” he deadpans as the rest of the group laughs. He throws a quick wink my way that sends a shiver down my spine.
“Don’t mind him,” Kate squeezes his shoulder. “Better watch yourself, Noah. She’s going to hear all your secrets by the end of the night.”
“Guess I’d better keep her distracted,” he says smoothly, then turns to Dawn and me. “Can I get you something?”
“Wine would be great,” I say.
“I’m good,” Dawn says, somehow already holding a wine glass.
“Want to follow me?” Noah asks, and of course, I do.
Inside, the kitchen is winding down. The catering team moves in quiet efficiency, trays being packed, glasses stacked with military precision. He leads me to a tucked away wet bar beneath a row of open shelves, the glow of the underlighting wrapping the space in a warm, golden haze.
He scans the bottles, then plucks one without hesitation. “Baby Sancerre okay?”
“Perfect,” I say, watching as he carefully chooses a thin-rimmed glass and pours. He hands me one, then lifts his own, tilting it toward me.
“To our what…fifth encounter?”
I laugh, meeting his gaze as our glasses clink. “Good to know you’re keeping track.”
His smile turns slow. “Hard not to.”
“I agree,” I say, smiling into my drink.
A beat stretches between us.
He breaks it first. “Alright, real question for a local. Why do people call Harbour Island Briland?”
“Say Harbour Island five times fast.” I grin.
He tries, stumbles, then laughs as the syllables collapse. “Ahhh, Briland. I get it.”
“You said you’re here working on an album. How long have you been here?”
“Since mid-May, but I left for a few days last weekend to take a meeting back home.”
“So other than driving on the opposite side of the road,” I bump my arm against his, “you’ve probably gotten the hang of things around here. What do you think?”
He tips his head, weighing the question, before his voice lowers conspiratorially. “That coconut at Vic-Hum is definitely getting bigger. I feel like it’s training for something.”
My shoulders shake as I laugh at his unexpected declaration. “Yeah, hard to believe it’s the largest coconut in the world though.”
“It is. But this island is great, to answer your question. I love the people, and the laid-back vibe. I miss my Whole Foods though,” he says, taking a sip before tilting his head toward me. “So, what’s your controversial island opinion?”
I frown. “Excuse me?”
“You know…like, ‘conch salad is overrated,’ or ‘nobody actually likes Goombay Smashes.’ Something mildly controversial.”
I grin. “Okay. Let’s see…well, I actually don’t like Goombay Smashes,” I say, tilting my glass to him. “But I’m the rare exception. But also…everyone here is only pretending they don’t like karaoke night.”
He throws his head back, laughing. “Well don’t worry, I won’t pretend that I don’t.”
“Your turn,” I challenge, twitching my lips.
“There’s always one guy in a pink shirt who swears he discovered the island,” Noah says without missing a beat.
“So true,” I exclaim. My brain stalls, cursor blinking, searching for something clever to say, before squinting my eyes back at Noah.
“If you’ve never showered by candlelight during a power outage you haven’t earned your stripes.”
I realize a second too late how that sounds.
Noah’s grin falters into something crooked, like my answer tugged it off course.
His eyes darken and stay locked on mine.
The kitchen seems to narrow until it’s just the two of us, the chatter and laughter outside thinning to a dull buzz.
The only thing sharp is the glow of the light between us, the faint clink of glassware as the caterers finish up.
“I’ve totally cornered you, haven’t I?”
“I don’t mind,” I say and mean it.
“Still.” He straightens a little. “Don’t want Dawn to worry.”
He starts to step away, then pauses, looking back at me with a spark in his eyes. “Unless you’ve got another dramatic exit planned.”
Heat rushes to my face as the bakery this morning flashes back, and I don’t hate it.
Back outside, we drift toward the fire pit. Dawn is mid-story, making Kate laugh with her whole body. She’s in her element, animated hands, quick wit, all of it.
“Looks like your friend’s found her people,” Noah says, brushing against me as we sit.
“All people are Dawn’s people,” I reply. As I settle in, he subtly adjusts a pillow behind me.
“So,” Miguel says, leaning forward, “Noah mentioned you grew up coming here?”
“I did.” I nod. “My grandparents had a house on the island. I’ve spent every summer and most Christmases here. I’m from Charleston, South Carolina, though.”
“Jealous,” says Jess, a petite brunette with a big, warm smile. “That sounds like the dream.”
“I went to a wedding in Charleston last spring,” Noah adds next to me. “Only had a day, but I wandered the historic district. Beautiful city.”
“Yeah, it has a way of pulling you back. I left for college, but I couldn’t stay away.”
“What do you do there?” Kate asks.
“I’m an artist, I have a studio downtown.”
“I’d love to see your work,” Noah says.
Conversation drifts to cities, music, family quirks. Kate’s celebrating her thirtieth birthday, and Miguel explains that they all met in college. The group is warm and easy, the kind of creative people who open up fast and make space for everyone. Someone tops off drinks.
At some point I realize Noah and I have leaned closer. Our legs brush repeatedly. He doesn’t pull away. Neither do I.
Later, when the music fades and I notice Kate yawning, I catch Dawn’s eye, sharing a look. The silent communication we’ve perfected over the years.
“We should probably head out,” I say, standing and thanking everyone for welcoming us.
“Glad you came,” Miguel says, rising with the others. “Let’s plan something again before we leave.”
As we head toward the driveway, Dawn leans in to air kiss Noah goodbye, then tosses me a look, the kind that says take your time, before peeling off toward the golf cart.
He and I take the lantern lit path as slowly as we can, palm fronds whispering overhead, our steps falling into sync. Just before we reach the driveway, Noah slows to a stop.
He turns to me with a crooked smile. “You made tonight a lot better.”
“You make that sound like it wasn’t already good.”
“It wasn’t this good.” He holds my gaze for a beat before sliding his hands into his pockets and continuing. “Can I see you again?”
“I think I could be convinced,” I smile.
He tilts his head, considering. “Should I text you tomorrow? Or wait the standard seventy-two hours?”
“If you wait seventy-two hours, I’ll forget your name.”
“Well, I’m not letting that happen,” he says, already pulling out his phone.
Our screens glow side by side in the lantern light as we trade numbers. His thumb hovers just a second longer before he hits save, and the moment feels oddly suspended, like something small that matters more than it should.
“Goodnight, Lucy,” he says softly, and it feels like possibility.