Coco is now on her feet. “Can I help?”

Kacy says, “I’ve got it,” and her voice is still sort of cheerful because she’ll figure it out. Let’s not forget, she grew up driving on this beach! Her father taught her that if she ever got stuck, she should let more air out of the tires. Kacy does this only in the back because the front tires are in a sucking wet morass. Her only hope is to back up.

She throws the car in reverse with her teeth clenched. Her tires spray sand all over Coco, who shrieks and jumps out of the way. The car doesn’t move.

Kacy climbs out and gazes down the beach. There’s normally a ranger making sure that nobody hangs out in the delicate ecosystem of the dunes or lights an illegal bonfire or gets herself stuck at the water’s edge like a person who has never driven on a beach before. But it might be too early in the season for a ranger. Kacy grabs her cell phone, thinking she’ll call her father and he’ll contact the gatehouse, and Pamela can come to their rescue. Kacy will have to eat a big plate of Look at Miss Smarty-Pants, but fine, whatever.

Kacy’s phone has no service.

“Do you have service?” she asks Coco.

Coco checks her phone. “No. Why, are we in trouble?”

The Jeep is stuck in soft sand and the tide is rolling in. Yes, they’re in trouble.

“Someone’s coming,” Coco says.

Sure enough, in the far distance, Kacy sees a truck trundling up the beach, probably settled in the tracks Kacy blazed. Kacy hopes the truck drives all the way out here instead of turning off to Coatue or Coskata Pond. She’s tempted to jump up and down and wave her arms. Then she does—because what are their options? Walking the three miles back from the beach? Hoping a boat comes close enough to notice them?

“Hey!” Kacy shouts, but the wind carries her voice out to sea. Coco joins her, the two of them flailing their arms. Suddenly the truck flashes its lights and speeds up.

“He sees us,” Coco says.

“Or she,” Kacy says. “It’s probably Pamela.”

But it’s not Pamela. The truck is a black F-150 pickup with a couple of casting rods sticking out of a PVC pipe rack on the front grille. Behind the wheel is a guy, and not just a guy, but… Kacy blinks… Lamont Oakley, who was her date for both the junior prom and senior banquet in high school. What is Lamont Oakley doing here? Last Kacy heard, he was off sailing in places like the Whitsunday Islands and Capri.

Lamont jumps out of the truck. He has… wow, definitely changed—matured, grown up, gotten smoke-show hot. He’s completely ripped; his white polo strains over his broad chest and biceps, and his jeans fit perfectly. Ha! Kacy can’t believe Lamont Oakley is now giving leading-man when all through high school he was a math nerd. He was also the best sailor the island had ever seen, though ironically, hardly anyone at Nantucket High School cared about sailing. They’d all taken free lessons in second grade but for the most part, it was viewed as a pastime for summer people. Lamont’s sailing commitments kept him very busy and regimented; he was, therefore, the perfect match for Kacy. They’d gone home early from the junior prom because Lamont had a regatta in Newport the next day. The following year they went to the senior banquet together, but it was just as friends. At that point, Lamont was dating the skipper for the Georgetown sailing team, a woman he’d met on a recruiting trip, and Kacy was relieved because that meant she didn’t have to worry about kissing him.

“Kacy Kapenash!” he says. When he hugs her, he lifts her off the ground, which is sort of thrilling. “You’re the last person I expected to see out here. I thought you lived in California.”

“I do,” Kacy says. “I did. Long story.”

“Hey,” Coco says, extending a hand. “I’m Coco. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Lamont.” He smiles, and Coco thinks, Definite swipe right. She feels like a Jane Austen character when the heir to the neighboring estate enters the drawing room. Lamont has tawny skin, close-cropped black hair, and a shredded body. He’s wearing Ray-Ban Wayfarers and a belt with a brass buckle shaped like an anchor. He’s part Michael B. Jordan, part JFK Jr.

“So what’s happening here?” he asks.

“We’re stuck,” Kacy says.

Lamont strides over to check out the situation with the Jeep. “You mean you don’t want to be featured in tomorrow’s Nantucket Current because your car got swallowed by the sea?” He laughs. “I got you. I have a tow rope.”

Oh, thank god, thank god. Kacy doesn’t deserve this stroke of luck; whatever price karma exacts from her later, she will happily pay.

Lamont knows what to do. It’s almost as if he grew up driving on this beach, Kacy thinks. He backs up his truck, attaches one end of the tow rope to his trailer hitch and the other end to Kacy’s bumper.

“Get in,” he says. “Put it in reverse. I’ll tell you when to hit the gas.”

Five seconds later, the Jeep is out of danger, back in established tracks, and pointing in the right direction.

“I’m not sure how to thank you,” Kacy says.

“You just did,” Lamont says. “Will you ladies be hanging around for a while?”

Kacy is about to say, No, we have to get home. They avoided disaster, her adrenaline high is fading, and a headache from the wine is setting in. But Coco jumps in: “Yes, we just got here. Are you hungry? We have extra sandwiches, right, Kacy?”

Kacy blinks. “We do. BLT or chicken salad? Don’t say no, it’s the least we can do.”

“Chicken salad would be great, and a very generous payment for services rendered.” Lamont opens a cooler in the bed of his truck. “Would either of you like a beer?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Kacy says. She needs to sober up before she drives home.

“I’d love one,” Coco says.

Lamont hands Coco a frosty can of Whale’s Tale and joins them on the blanket. At that moment, the sun decides to come back out. Lamont Oakley is working all the magic.

He takes a swallow of his beer and asks Coco, “Are you a friend of Kacy’s from California?”

“No,” Coco says. “Kacy and I met on the ferry. She’s graciously letting me stay with her and her parents—”

“The Chief,” Lamont says to Kacy, “and your wonderful mother.”

Kacy rolls her eyes.

“—until Monday, when I start my new job as a personal assistant.”

Is it Kacy’s imagination, or is Coco blossoming right before her eyes? Her body is turned toward Lamont; her expression is bright and engaged. She’s… glowing.

“What are you doing back, Lamont?” Kacy asks.

“My mom has health issues,” he says. “Her eyesight is failing, she has high blood pressure, she’s on oxygen, yada yada. She’s at the top of the list to enter the Homestead, which will be great, all her friends are there, but I’m not sure how long that will take, so I decided to come home. Some random couple just bought a huge house on island and they also bought a hella sailboat. They hired me to be their captain.”

“Really?” Kacy says. “What’s their name?”

“The Richardsons?” Lamont says. “Bull and Leslee?”

Coco spills her beer all over the blanket but barely seems to notice. “I’m working for the Richardsons too! On Pocomo Road?”

“No way!” Lamont says. “Seriously?”

“Seriously!” Coco says.

Kacy leans back on the blanket, face to the sun, head resting on her beach bag, and listens to Coco and Lamont chattering, swapping stories about how they met the Richardsons. Kacy has already heard about how the Richardsons walked into the bar where Coco was working and offered her a job on the spot. In Lamont’s case, someone from Northrop and Johnson recommended him when Bull admitted, after he bought the boat, that he didn’t know the first thing about sailing. Lamont has met the Richardsons only over Zoom.

“I can’t believe that you of all people are the one who saved us,” Coco says. “And that you also know Kacy.”

“Kacy and I went to our junior prom together,” Lamont says.