Page 69 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

Gray or black Henley? I imagine his eyes crinkling in amusement as he reads my text.

Black seems fancier.

I actually hadn’t been planning on dressing up tonight, but now that Oliver’s mentioned my green dress, I sort of want to wear it. I’m sure we’ll impress Maisie with our sense of style.

Oh, indubitably, he texts back.

I’ll probably have to throw on a sweater for modesty’s sake, but I can curl my hair like I did last weekend.

I can’t believe I’m excitedly planning an outfit to wear to dinner at my boss’s house. Funny how life changes you over time.

My phone vibrates again just as I slide the pie into the oven. Did you need a ride?

At the notion of getting picked up and driven somewhere by Oliver, my heart flip-flops a little. The idea feels a little date-like, even though I know it isn’t. But I want it to be, and that’s why I probably need to say no. Besides, if I didn’t feel like walking, I could take my own car, anyway.

Oh, it’s not far; I’ll walk. But thank you.

Cool. See you later.

Standing before the mirror in my green dress and a white cardigan, blueberry pie in hand, I feel pretty confident. My hair looks amazing, even without Laurel’s intervention. I wish I’d done it on my own last Saturday; it might have gone a long way toward wiping the smug look off her face.

The sky’s a little green when I leave for Maisie’s house. She lives just outside of town along Route 1, but she told me it’s only about a mile from Beach Haven. I figure it’ll take me about 25 minutes at the most to walk there. I’d say less, but I’m carrying a liquidy pie covered in cling wrap that doesn’t seem to want to stick, so I want to be sure my steps are as even as possible.

When I arrive at Maisie’s adorable gray bungalow exactly 22 minutes later, I see two vehicles in the driveway: her blue Subaru hatchback and a black truck that looks like it’s seen better days. Oliver typically walks to Shoreline, but given his offer of a ride earlier, I realize the truck must be his.

I’m thinking that he doesn’t strike me as a truck guy when the door swings open. Maisie peeks at the sky nervously, then waves me over. “Ivy, come inside! It’s looking rather stormy out here.”

I don’t think I’m going to be swept away by gale-force winds in the 20 feet from here to her front door, but I hurry anyway, glancing anxiously down at the pie with every step. Thankfully, the filling stays within my novice latticework without issue.

Maisie greets me with a warm hug. “Thank you so much for bringing that pie! It looks delicious!”

I hand it to her, and she swooshes away into the kitchen.

“Oliver, grab Ivy a drink, would you? I need to check on the roast.”

It’s then that I notice him, hovering in the corner of the room. He’s wearing a black Henley and jeans. I hide a snicker.

“Laughing at my outfit?” His eyes twinkle just like I imagined earlier.

I smirk. “Nope.”

His eyes trail down my body. “Well, I like yours. A lot.”

“Oliver!” Our conversation from last weekend about closing the door on an us seems so distant. It’s been slipping away bit by bit all week, with every quip, every look, every touch. I’m starting to forget why I thought he and I together was such a bad idea.

“My sincerest apologies,” he offers with a rakish grin. He definitely doesn’t look sorry. “What can I get you to drink?”

“What are my options?”

“Maisie has everything,” he says, putting his arm around my shoulders and guiding me gently into the dining room. “Provided you want water, seltzer, or gin.”

I chuckle. “Gin it is.”

Oliver runs off to fetch my drink, and I look around Maisie’s dining room. She has a triptych of black-and-white photos on the wall above a sideboard. It looks like the center one is of Shoreline, a much younger Maisie standing out front.

The picture on the right shows two kids on the beach; I assume the short, curly-haired girl is also Maisie. Then, on the left, there’s a formal family portrait, with the same two children and their parents.

The whole dining room plays off the black and white theme, actually. The table is stained black, with white cushions on the matching Shaker-style chairs. There are three place settings, one at the head of the table, and two on either side, all featuring white bone china and crisp linen napkins. The chandelier above casts sparkles across the glaze on the plates.