Chapter 10
TARA
Later that day, I wait in the parking lot of the Patriot Hotel for Chloe to arrive. It’s a beautiful summer twilight. My new friend had texted she'd be late to pick me up for the party, but it's been ten minutes already.
My black dress feels too formal now, even though it's basically just a knee-length T-shirt.
Chloe said it would be casual, but I didn't press her for "how casual." What if everyone else is wearing jeans?
Headlights sweep across the lot as a Range Rover pulls up. Chloe waves through the windshield. I walk toward the car.
When I get in, I see she's nailed the right look. She's wearing jeans, a white button-down shirt, and a gold necklace sparkling at her throat. An elegant look that appears effortless.
"Sorry!" she says as I climb in. "Last-minute crisis with the twins. A nanny's life. Always on call."
"That's okay." I'm glad my café job has regular hours.
"So what kind of place is this?" I ask as she navigates the dark island roads.
"It's a little club of sorts we summer workers created. Nothing fancy. A DJ. A dance floor. Mostly outdoors. We just need somewhere to decompress without our employers watching."
Ten minutes later, we're there. Music thumps ahead through the trees. Animated voices drift through the salt air. The party sprawls across a clearing in the pines.
String lights illuminate it, strung between branches. At least fifty people mill around a makeshift bar and dance area.
"This looks fun," I say. It would be nice to meet people my age. Girls wear sundresses and cute tops. Guys sport khakis and polo shirts. I'm grateful my dress hits the right note. I'll blend in fine.
"Drinks?" Chloe asks, leading me toward the bar.
The bartender recognizes Chloe immediately. He slides over two glasses of something pink and bubbly.
"Rosé spritzer," Chloe explains. "House specialty. Come on, I'll introduce you around."
Chloe drags me to a group of girls clustered near the dance floor. As we exchange names, I sense they're sizing me up, trying to 'rank' me by looks or social connections. How I fit into their hierarchy. I’m relieved when the girls go back to their gossip.
To my surprise, Cameron's voice floods through the speakers. It's my favorite song, “Just one kiss.” An oldie by now.
Yet, like all of Cameron's songs, it's evergreen. People remember who they were with when they first heard it play.
The song calls to mind that magical night in New York. Cameron's hands gentle in my hair, the taste of lime and tequila on his lips. And makes me wonder for the millionth time why he still didn't ask for my number ...
Suddenly, I sense a shift in the crowd's energy. Conversations pause mid-sentence. Heads turn towards the edge of the clearing. A man walks into the party, about a handful of years older than everyone else.
He wears a perfectly tailored suit, like he stepped out of GQ magazine. Overdressed for this casual party. Maybe that's the point. To draw attention to himself.
The girls certainly don't seem to mind. They titter among themselves as he walks by.
"Who's that?" I whisper to Chloe.
"Jason Abernathy," she murmurs, her voice tight.
The name means nothing to me. But from the way she says it, clearly it should. The entire party seems to have shifted its attention to him. TabooGirls preen and adjust their hair. Guys straighten their shoulders, suddenly competitive.
He moves through the crowd with the easy confidence of someone who's never been told no. He sports dark hair perfectly styled, a sharp jawline, expensive watch catching the string of lights. Everything about him screams arrogance and privilege.
"You say his name like it's supposed to mean something to me."
"He's Island royalty," Chloe says under her breath. "Old Nantucket family. The kind that's been here since the whaling industry began centuries ago."
"Then what's he doing at a party for summer workers?"
"Finding his prey for the night," she says.
When I turn to look at him, I see his eyes sweep the crowd as if he's window shopping. His eye seems drawn to the prettiest girls.
When his gaze finds mine across the clearing, he smiles. It's a confident smile that likely makes most girls weak in the knees.
Cameron might have looked at me like that the first time we met at the Taboo club. Having Cameron look at me like that made me quiver. But Jason's gaze only makes me feel like a piece of meat.
"Let me introduce you to some friends of mine," Chloe says, leading me to a new group.
I force myself to be friendly and chat with the others. But before I can get a word in, Jason Abernathy joins our circle.
"Chloe Martin," he says, addressing her with a nod. "Back for another summer ruling over tiny tyrants?"
The nanny's melodious laugh fills the air. "The Swain-Black twins are adorable. Hardly tyrants."
"What brings you out tonight? Is it the full moon?" Jason asks her.
"Something like that," Chloe says.
"Will you introduce me to your friend?" Jason says, turning his attention to me. "You must be new. I would have remembered you."
The compliment slides off his tongue like he’s said it a hundred times. To a hundred different girls.
"Tara," I say simply, not offering my hand.
"Jason Abernathy." He extends his anyway, forcing me either to be rude or to take it. His palm is soft. Manicured. Nothing like the sensation of Cameron's rough, calloused fingers when he touches my cheek. "What brings you to our little island paradise, Tara?"
"Summer job at the Patriot Hotel."
"Tara's a server," Chloe volunteers. "The best I've seen."
"Ah, the famous café. My mother used to take me there when I was small." His smile turns nostalgic. "Family tradition."
Just then, a gorgeous, silky-looking blonde inserts herself under Jason's arm. "Here you are!"
"You're late," he tells her. "No matter. Excuse us ladies. And I’ll be looking forward to seeing you again, Tara," he says, winking at me before he turns away.
The rest of the night passes slowly. Too many vapid people to meet.
By the time Chloe drives me home, it must be past midnight.
"How did you like your first official night out with the locals in Nantucket?" She asks as she slows the car near my cabin.
"Nice," I say. "Thank you for inviting me,” I say, getting out of the car.
"My pleasure. We'll do it again. Sweet dreams," she calls out before driving away.
But alone now, in the parking lot, I look up at the full moon. It suddenly feels ominous. As if something dreadful is about to happen. I tell myself I'm being superstitious.
On a picture-perfect evening like tonight, what can it be?