Her sister was yelling, screaming at her. Celeste could only make out every other sentence or so, but they all sounded like “How could you?” Then, something about the New York Post. About Celeste betraying her (“I’d expect this from Paulina. But you? How could you keep this from me? And be with them?”). And then, before hanging up, her final pronouncement: “You’ll pay for this.” Celeste, completely confused, could only look directly to the source for answers. When the Provincetown library opened, she found the answer in the black-and-white headline of the Post gossip pages: “Cape Cad.” She’d thought, standing at the periodicals table, still in her pajama pants, confronted with the photo of herself on the beach with Paulina and Liam, that things couldn’t get any worse. They did.

Provincetown was her escape from all that. Until now.

“Jack, it’s really a lot for me to have my sister and my niece here all summer. It’s been great getting to know Gemma but—”

“But what?” He looked at her. “She’s doing a good job at the store. And Elodie might not be your favorite person, but I think now that you’ve spent some time with her, you can see she’s harmless.”

Celeste swallowed hard.

“Gemma wants to start selling her jewelry in the shop.”

“Great. She’s talented. The stuff is nice. Figure out a fair cut and let her.” He kissed her. “Stop worrying about your sister and your niece. My mother always said, if you look for trouble, you’ll find it. So let’s look for some bargains around here instead.”

With that, he rang the doorbell. The conversation was over.

Connor opened the door before Gemma had a chance to knock. He was dressed in a white linen shirt, navy shorts, and driving shoes without socks. Behind him, sunlight streamed through large windows. It was like he was standing on a movie set constructed to accentuate his New England good looks.

“Come on in,” he said.

The front door opened to a foyer leading directly into a spacious living room. The walls were white, the floors red birch. Anywhere she looked there was a window. The space was uncluttered but accented with perfect touches like Turkish throw rugs, nautical pillows, framed photos of sailboats on the wall, and a glass vase of sunflowers on the wood coffee table next to a wide beeswax candle. In one corner, a wicker basket was filled with magazines.

“I brought this for you. A friend told me it’s a local favorite.” She handed Connor the bottle of Helltown rosé she’d picked up at Perry’s on Alvie’s recommendation, a tip that came along with a reminder not to have sex, at least not yet.

“What kind of advice is that? Don’t act like you don’t have sex on a first date.”

“I’m gay and you’re straight. Different rules,” she said.