It Happens in the Hamptons(31)

“I don’t want to crowd you.” Then he’d left her wanting him sexually, but convincing herself she could have him if she insisted.

As she’d watched his BMW roll into the night, she’d remembered the weekends back at the Hilton after the seminars, the scent of sex so pungent on their bodies they’d had to shower several times a day.

Now George caressed her bare knee in the car. The silence in the car allowed her to remember they felt at ease with one another. Why, when he was absent, did she get a little anxious? It was off-putting how he let days go by with total radio silence—no calls, no emails, no texting—not normal in this era of iPhone ubiquity. She blamed his age, fifteen years older than she, for not checking in more often. And it was strange to leave the house that night and not stay for sex. As she he watched him drive with those sexy long bangs whipping around his head, she reminded herself he was at least stable, strong, and consistent. But still . . .

“How come you don’t call or check in more?” she blurted out.

“What do you mean? You wanted to take time to settle in. I’m not going to make you claustrophobic. We got years ahead if we want.” He looked at her as if she were crazy. “You serious?”

“Yeah, I am. I think it’s a little weird. You’re in town, but you don’t tell me. You don’t call for a few days.”

“Well, first of all, you call me anytime,” he stated.

“I do, when I need, but . . .”

“And secondly, I’m kind of a wise man. I mean that. Give me a little credit here. I’m smarter than I look. It’s only mid-June. Let’s spend more nights a week together in August. Let’s let it build on a slow time frame.”

“I know you’re trying to do the right thing.”

“Well, you’re really smart. I’m sure more so than me, women always are. But trust me on this,” he said. “You’re an accomplished woman, published papers under your belt, well launched on your career, and you’ve been living alone. You think I’m going to be some guy who watches ESPN eating Doritos in your living room every free moment? And you’d find that attractive?”

“I wouldn’t like that.” She had to laugh.

“Okay, so relax. We got this. You just got here. Give yourself some space, forget about me. I’ve got a busy life, too. I’m working on some big investments, for years now, that might actually pan out. Go hold that windsurfing boom out in the bay. If that’s pure nirvana for you, glide away your days. We got plenty of time.”

“All right. I guess you have a point.” She smirked a little. He was damn cute. And sexy. And he didn’t crowd her. Not dumb.

“We’ll be at your appointment ten minutes early. I’ll go into town for the papers, then come back and get you for an all-out oysters feast after.”

“I could have taken myself, but I’m happy you took me. It means I can just relax a little and feel totally prepped for the session. This kid is a mess.” Katie put her hand on his now. “There’s one thing I know, I can change his life if his parents allow me. I’m going to give her my study on resilience. It’s in my bag here and every parent seems to respond to it. His mother was a freaky worrier on the phone.” She got out of the car.

He yelled out the window, “Oh, and you’re Miss Cool Cucumber all the time?”

“Shut up.” She laughed, and slammed the car door.



Two hours later, the setting June sun showed the last vestiges of its own resilience. Katie and George sat dockside at a low-key restaurant on Northside Harbor. She put a frosty white wine and cassis liqueur Kir to her lips. The blush-colored drink went down smoothly, bitter and sweet all at once.

“This is a crisp nice white from a local vineyard, Wölffer,” George told her, grabbing the cold bottle out of the ice bucket and topping off her glass. He handed her a just-shucked oyster on a big round tray with crushed ice and seaweed. On top, it was crowded with fresh shrimp, half lobsters, clams, and oysters. “Now, while the Kir is still on your palate, suck this baby down. Nothing better.” The sun reflected off his hair like a halo.

“Wow,” Katie said. “I’ve never eaten something so fresh.”

“This place sells seafood at a shack in the lot. We can do takeout one day and eat it on a bench at the marina. They catch everything same day and serve it at night.” He pointed to a fifty-three-foot Viking sport boat docked out front. “That boat belongs to the owners. Everything here they catch on their own, or that’s the story anyway.”