“I understand, Andy. And I don’t want you to talk to him.” Lifting her chin defiantly, Christina said, “I’m going to present my case to Oscar Bittlesman myself. I may be a small businesswoman, but I’m a good businesswoman.” Her IC, who’d been quiet all through the dinner, cheered. You go, girl!

Reaching out, Andy put his hand against Christina’s face and gently turned her so their eyes met. “Does that mean we can still see each other? Can I see you tomorrow night?”

Christina bowed her head. “Andy, you know I’m…attracted to you. But I don’t think I can let myself feel anything—” She paused, trying to think of another word for romantic. “I mean, I don’t want to get involved with you until I’ve at least tried to straighten things out with Oscar.”

Andy laughed wryly. “All my life women have tried to attract me because they know my father’s rich. You’re the first woman who won’t date me because my father’s rich.”

“It’s not that, Andy,” Christina said, moving away from his hand because it was very rapidly softening her heart and her brain and everything attached. “It’s that I want to keep things clear between you and me.”

“Okay, fine. Let’s take one step at a time. Let me bring you dinner tomorrow night.”

Christina studied Andy’s face. They weren’t even touching and she felt a profound connection to him that wasn’t merely sexual, although, wow, was it sexual.

“I don’t know,” she said, her mood lightening. “Can you cook?”

Andy grinned. “I’ll bring over my own special clam chowder.”

“You make clam chowder?”

“I do. Matt Patterson showed me how this summer. It’s got a few secret ingredients. I’ll bring wine, too. And I’ll pick up a baguette from the Wicked Island Bakery.”

“You know Matt Patterson?” Christina asked. Matt was an island guy whose family had been on Nantucket for generations. He was a huge, cheerful, good-looking guy who hid his handsome face behind a beard he couldn’t be bothered to cut and his body beneath Carhartt overalls that looked—and smelled—as if they’d never been washed. His hands were large and gnarly and scarred, and he’d lost the lobe of his left ear in a fight with a guy over a girl.

Andy grinned. “I do know Matt Patterson. Surprised, right? I’m not just another wealthy summer guy.”

“I don’t think you’re like anyone else in the world,” Christina told him. “Yes, please, bring me dinner tomorrow night.”

Andy held his coat over Christina’s head as they ran to her car. She hurriedly slid into the car’s protection from the rain, waved at Andy, and drove away. She checked her rearview mirror. Andy was standing in the driveway, waving back.

—