He heads all the way out to Surfside Road, then loops around to the other side of the pond and only then, when he’s hot and sweaty and parched dry, does he realize he’s come too far. He can’t get back to Mallory’s cottage this way without a significant beach walk. This, however, will be shorter than retracing his steps, so he sits on a rock to take off his shoes. He becomes mesmerized by the clear green water lapping at the muddy shore. Is he thirsty enough to drink a handful of pond water? No, but close.

He’s just about to head up over the dunes to the beach when he sees a woman walking a Bernese mountain dog, holding the dog’s leash in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. She looks like a goddess from a Greek myth.

“Hey!” the woman calls out. Jake wonders if he’s trespassing.

When she gets a few steps closer, Jake sees that it’s Brooke. Her hair has been let out of its braid and it’s long and wavy under a navy-blue Nantucket Whalers baseball cap.

“Oh, hey,” Jake says. This is like magic, he thinks. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about Brooke the night before and again during his run. He had been looking forward to seeing her on Sunday and had even toyed with inviting her to the CFRF gala in Boston at the end of October as his guest. He’s not sure what he’s thinking; he lives in South Bend, Indiana, and has no plans to move to Nantucket. No, if he’d wanted to do that, he would have done it thirty years ago. He waves at Brooke and pushes himself to his feet. He’s so overheated, he’s seeing stars.

“This is Walter Cronkite,” Brooke says, and Jake laughs. “You can call him Walt.”

Jake spends a minute rubbing Walt’s head. He’s always wanted a Bernese mountain dog, but Ursula pointed out that they didn’t have time to take care of a pet. Jake thinks it’s telling that Brooke has the exact kind of dog that Jake wants. Cool woman, cool dog.

“Would you like some water?” Brooke asks. She hands him the unopened bottle that she’s holding. It’s seductively frosted with condensation.

“Yes, please,” Jake says, and he downs half the bottle in one gulp. “Thank you. You just saved my life.”

“I’m glad I bumped into you, actually,” Brooke says. Her expression grows a little shy. “I had a question.”