ChapterEight
Had Mallory ever officially gone on a first date? She didn’t think so.Those long-ago “lunch dates” in the high school cafeteria with Lucas had reeked of bad French fries and years of dried grease. Spitballs had flung in arcs over their heads as she and Lucas had shared their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and granola bars. “Romance” hadn’t been a part of the equation.
Now, as she and Brodie sauntered down the boardwalk, headed toward the wine bar that lingered on the outer edge of Edgartown’s downtown, Mallory crossed and uncrossed her arms nervously, conscious of how much bigger Brodie was than she was, of how his hands slid easily past his thighs as he walked. Would he ever want to hold her hand? She knew it was old-fashioned, but she adored hand-holding— linking yourself with your love in this purposeful way for all to see. It had been a long time since she and Lucas had held hands.Two years? Maybe three?
“How was your sailing trip?” Brodie asked, killing the silence.
“It was beautiful,” Mallory told him dreamily. “My brother is a fantastic sailor. He won the…”
“Round the Island Race from last year. I know!” Brodie finished. “I was at the race. Watched him give that speech about your father.” His eyes grew cloudy as he added, “I was really sorry to hear about your dad, by the way.”
“Thank you.” Mallory allowed a beat to pass before she added, “I never really know how to answer that.”
“I understand,” Brodie told her, his voice edged with something she couldn’t fully understand.Had he lost one of his parents?He had this dark layer to him, as though he’d swam through depths of trauma of his own.
But this was a first date, not a time for digging into sorrows. Mallory, for one, wanted to pretend that she wasn’t currently a broken-hearted single mother whose only prospects hung on the secretary desk at the wellness center her grandfather had founded.
A single table remained open at the wine bar toward the far end of the lively porch of the establishment. The server led Brodie and Mallory through the tables and positioned two wine menus and two food menus between them. He explained the specials evenly, probably for the sixteenth time of his shift, then disappeared to let Mallory and Brodie think.
For a long moment, both Mallory and Brodie peered at their menus. Mallory’s thoughts spun in circles so quickly that she found it difficult to read the text.Would Brodie judge her if she suggested a bad wine? Would he hate that she wanted onion rings? Who was this guy, and why the heck was he interested in her?
“I have a confession to make,” Brodie announced, his shoulders rigid.
Mallory’s eyes lifted.He’s going to confess that he doesn’t like me. That he’s just talking to me to get closer to my sister or Alyssa.
“I don’t know anything about wine,” Brodie continued.
The sentiment was so endearing that Mallory immediately burst out laughing.
“Don’t laugh at me!” Brodie cried, his eyes brightening.
“No. I swear. I’m not laughing at you.”I just thought you were about to walk out on me. I’m so insecure. Please, don’t notice that about me. Not yet.“I don’t know that much, either. I’ve just picked up some stuff here and there from my mother, aunts, and step-grandmother.”
“Why don’t you pick, then?” Brodie said. “For food, I want to go a bit out there and order onion rings. Too crazy?”
Mallory’s heart lifted. “Not too crazy at all.”
* * *
“Okay. What about that family?” Brodie wrapped his napkin around his greasy fingers as he nodded toward the waterline, where a young couple walked with two toddlers, a little girl and a little boy who wore matching caps and teetered around uncertainly on plump legs.
“Hmm.” Mallory sipped her third glass of wine, her eyes in slits. “The husband and wife are secretly spies.”
“Oh, tell me more.”
“They were born in, um, France and trained as spies. When they were twenty, they were forced to marry and move to the United States, where they assimilated with our culture, even mastering our east-coast accents,” Mallory continued, lifting an onion ring toward her lips.
“You’re kidding,” Brodie whispered. “Why are they here on Martha’s Vineyard, spying on us? And what’s with their toddlers?”
“The toddlers are spies, too,” Mallory said, trying not to laugh. “They look weak and innocent, but they’re secretly very powerful. I wouldn’t mess around with them if I were you.”
“Noted,” Brodie returned.
“They came to the Vineyard because there’s an underground operation of secret agents here on the island in the first place,” Mallory continued. “They all live in a bunker under Chilmark. You can access it through Aquinnah Cliffs.”
“You know, now that you mention it, I swear I saw a door in the side of the cliffs last time I went there,” Brodie grinned.
“There you go,” she said. “But they have to get out sometimes. Go on date night, take the toddlers for a walk. You see, they started out in an arranged marriage but have slowly fallen in love with each other.”