“That’s cool,” he says. “You have layers!”

Coco laughs and feels brave enough to let her hand land lightly on Lamont’s thigh.

He covers her hand with his own just long enough for her to know it’s okay, then he grabs the wheel and directs them to a spit of golden sand.

“I thought you said it was privately owned.”

“All except this beach, which is called Whale Island,” he says. “It’s the only part of Tuckernuck open to boaters. No one is ever here during the week.”

Ten minutes later, they’re lying on a blanket pulled from the cabin of Decadence. Lamont brandishes a couple of champagne flutes—Decadence is the kind of boat that comes with crystal stemware—and Coco slides into bartender mode.

“French Seventy-Fives,” she says. The drink is a relic from the bartending course she took back in Arkansas; she remembers the recipe only because her instructor told the class they would probably never have the occasion to make one. They’re highfalutin, he’d said.

Now here she is, living her best highfalutin life.

Coco makes the drinks—gin, champagne, sugar, the exquisite lemon juice—and they toast to Coco’s first afternoon off.

Lamont takes a sip. “This is banging.”

It’s the best cocktail Coco has ever made and maybe ever tasted. The first round goes down quickly, and she makes another. “These aren’t just regular lemons,” she says. “They’re Amalfi lemons. They arrived at the house in a straw-filled wooden crate wearing little white robes. Guess how much they cost?”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“Two hundred and eighty-four euros,” Coco says. “It’s not like I expect the Richardsons to buy their produce on sale, but you have to admit, that’s outrageous.”

“I think Leslee probably just likes the fact that she can afford them,” Lamont says. “She comes from a pretty modest background.”

“Leslee, modest?” Coco says. “Don’t tell me—she’s from Connecticut.”

“Nope.”

“Do you actually know where she’s from?”

“I do,” Lamont says. “But you can’t let her know I told you. It isn’t something she shares about herself.”

“I won’t tell.”

“She’s from a town called Pahrump, Nevada,” Lamont says. “Her family owned a gun range and an ammunition warehouse. People would go there to shoot AR-Fifteens.”

Coco knew some folks from Rosebush who would have loved that kind of place. “I have a pretty good imagination but I can’t picture Leslee on a shooting range in Nevada.”

“She moved to Vegas after she graduated from high school,” Lamont says. “She worked as a crepe chef at the Bellagio to put herself through UNLV. Then she got a job on the casino floor serving cocktails. She said she did that for almost ten years, good money, but she hated it. She finally got a regular bartending job at what she said was the coolest place in Vegas. She told me the name but I forget. Pepper something? And that’s where she met Bull.”

You remind me of myself when I was your age, Leslee had said. Leslee also grew up in a place she wanted to get the hell out of. Leslee was also a bartender. Maybe that’s why Leslee agreed to hire her.

“How do you know all this?” Coco says. “Obviously you two are… close? Is there something going on between the two of you that I should know about?”

“Leslee likes attention,” Lamont says. “When Bull offered me the job, he told me I’m supposed to treat her like the only woman in the world. She talks; I listen.”

“Why can’t Bull just give her attention?” Coco says. “She’s always all over you. It’s weird.”

Lamont studies his champagne flute. “I need this job, Coco. My mom is losing her eyesight, we have medical bills—and for someone with my skill set, this is the best job on the island. I’m capable of being Leslee’s friend.”

“Is that all you are?” Coco asks. “Friends?”

“It sounds like you’re jealous,” Lamont says. “Are you jealous?”

She lies back on the blanket. “I might be.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Coco swats his arm. “Remember the night of the party? In the water? I had you in a leg lock.”

“I do remember that,” he says. “Fondly.” He reaches over and traces one of Coco’s ribs, which tickles. Coco squirms away and a second later, they’re wrestling on the blanket. Lamont moves above her so that his knees are on either side of her hips and they stare at each other. Coco’s entire body is vibrating with desire. Then he bends down and kisses her. His lips taste like sugar, his tongue like the finest lemons in the world. Coco can’t get enough; she wants every part of her body touching every part of his body. Has she ever in her life been this aroused? She used to laugh when people came into the Banana Deck and ordered sex on the beach shots. What, she wondered, could be worse than sex on the beach? Nothing about it sounded appealing; even the scene in From Here to Eternity made it appear scratchy and uncomfortable. But right this second, sex on the beach is all Coco wants. She wants Lamont to untie the strings of her bikini, lightly brush her nipples, then bring them to his mouth while he pushes his erection into her quivering thigh.

Is this going to happen?

Coco hears the purr of an approaching motor and looks up to see not one but two boats headed their way. One is a white runabout with a couple aboard; the other is a fishing boat. Coco quickly sits up and puts on her sunglasses. “I thought you said nobody ever comes here during the week.”

She hears a woman is calling her name. It’s Kacy—she’s on the fishing boat with Eric and Avalon, the same boat Kacy invited her on, an invite Coco turned down because she told Kacy she had to detail Leslee’s car, only now here she is making out with Lamont Oakley on Whale Island.

“No,” Coco whispers. “No, no, no.”

Lamont grabs his head and groans.

“Looks like someone beat us to it,” Romeo says with a chuckle. He’s directing Golden Girl toward the shore at Whale Island, and Sharon is thrilled. In all her years on Nantucket, she has never once been to Tuckernuck.

“Beat us to what?” Sharon says, then she sees the couple on the beach kissing. That’s exactly what Sharon wants to be doing! She’s so distracted by this idea that it takes her a moment to notice the boat—it’s Decadence, the speedboat that belongs to the Richardsons. Sharon blinks. Who is that on the beach? Once she gets closer, she sees it’s the Richardsons’ assistant, Coco, and their boat captain, Lamont Oakley.

Ahhhhh! Sharon thinks.

An instant later, Sharon hears shouting. There’s a third boat approaching, a fishing boat called Beautiful Day—and the person yelling is none other than Kacy Kapenash. “Coco!” she says. “Coco!”

Sharon can’t believe that she is once again stumbling across these two. It’s almost as if some unseen force keeps bringing them together. Sharon’s notebook is in her beach bag and she’s tempted to reach for it now. What is going to happen?

When Kacy sees Coco and Lamont making out on the beach at Whale Island, she thinks, Is this a joke? Has another woman Kacy trusted lied to her so she could be with a man? And why? Coco could have said she had plans with Lamont; Kacy would have understood. This is… disappointing.

“I thought you told us she had to work,” Eric says.

Avalon says, “Looks like she’s working on Lamont.”

Kacy hands Avalon her beer and dives off the side of the boat.

“Whoa!” she hears Eric say. “A little warning would be nice.”

A little warning would be nice, Kacy thinks as she swims to shore.

Romeo seems indifferent to the scene taking place on the beach. He’s all business as he drops the anchor and makes sure Sharon climbs down the ladder safely into the thigh-deep water. Sharon holds her bag over her head; she can’t let her notebook get wet.