When the lights come on and the bell rings for last call, Jake wanders through the bar, weaving around couples making out, taking selfies, drunkenly debating where to go next, until he finds Coop standing with Brooke near the exit. The three of them step out into the warm, dark night.

“We closed the Box!” Coop says.

“A dubious distinction,” Brooke says. “Especially if one of my students finds out.”

“Brooke is a high school English teacher,” Cooper says. “She was hired to—”

“Yes,” Jake says. “She told me.”

“That’s crazy, right?” Coop says. “So should we go get pizza?”

Brooke laughs. “I’m afraid I have to call it a night.” She twirls her braid and looks up at Jake in a way that seems meaningful. “It was nice to meet you guys. I hope to see you both on Sunday.”

“What’s Sunday?” Jake says.

“Apple is hosting a beach picnic at Fortieth Pole,” Brooke says. “She invited you both.”

“We’ll be there,” Coop says. “Let me walk you to your car.”

“I’ll be fine,” she says. “I’m just across the street.” She looks at Jake again. “It was nice meeting you guys.” With that, she slips across the street and both Coop and Jake watch her until she disappears.

“Is it Sunday yet?” Coop says.

In the morning, Jake tiptoes out of his room so as not to disturb Coop, who is sprawled across the big white sofa that Mallory had nicknamed Big Hugs. Jake pours himself a cup of coffee—it’s the Frayed Edge Platinum that Fray brought as a gift, which was an excellent surprise because it retails for $45 a pound—and steps out the back door to tie up his running shoes. Thanks to the wine, the beers, and the late night, Jake’s head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton batting, but the morning is clear, with just a hint of coolness in the air—autumn is coming—and Jake doesn’t want to waste another second sleeping. Back when he used to visit Mallory, he would only sleep a few hours per night. The rest of the time he would spend watching Mal, memorizing her face, drinking her in—and yet he was never tired. He always left the island with his emotional batteries recharged. Perfect love existed, he would think. It existed here on Nantucket.

He sets his cup of coffee on the porch railing and listens to his joints pop as he touches his toes. Then he sets off running down the no-name road, which meanders along Miacomet Pond.