Summer Love Read online

  Summer Love is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2022 by Nancy Thayer

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  Ballantine is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Hardback ISBN 9780593358429

  Ebook ISBN 9780593358436

  randomhousebooks.com

  Book design by Alexis Capitini, adapted for ebook

  Cover design: Susan Zucker

  Cover image: Dmitry Molchanov/Alamy

  ep_prh_6.0_139875643_c0_r0

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  List of Characters

  Chapter One: That Summer

  Chapter Two: This Summer

  Chapter Three: That Summer

  Chapter Four: This Summer

  Chapter Five: That Summer

  Chapter Six: This Summer

  Chapter Seven: That Summer

  Chapter Eight: This Summer

  Chapter Nine: That Summer

  Chapter Ten: This Summer

  Chapter Eleven: That Summer

  Chapter Twelve: This Summer

  Chapter Thirteen: That Summer

  Chapter Fourteen: This Summer

  Chapter Fifteen: That Summer

  Chapter Sixteen: This Summer

  Chapter Seventeen: That Summer

  Chapter Eighteen: This Summer

  Chapter Nineteen: That Summer

  Chapter Twenty: This Summer

  Chapter Twenty-one: That Summer

  Chapter Twenty-two: This Summer

  Chapter Twenty-three: That Summer

  Chapter Twenty-four: This Summer

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  By Nancy Thayer

  About the Author

  1995

  That Summer

  The Sand Palace Four

  Nick Volkov, 22

  Ariel Spencer, 22

  Wyatt Smith, 22

  Sheila Murphy, 22

  2020

  This Summer

  Nick, Francine, and Jade-Marie Volkov

  Ariel, Wyatt, and Jason Smith

  Sheila Murphy O’Connell and Penny O’Connell

  one

  That Summer

  Nantucket Island was thirty miles out at sea, with no bridge or tunnel connecting it to the mainland. Often gale force winds cut it off from boats or planes, and even on mild summer days, fog could drift around the island, enclosing the small world in a shimmer that made Nantucket seem almost unreal, a fantasy made of salt air, mist, and dreams.

  Most summer days were clear, bright, and beautiful. For a century, people had come to the island to enjoy the warm beaches, the sparkling ocean, and easy evenings under the stars, dining at restaurants with top-notch chefs.

  The natives and the “washed-ashores” resided on the island year-round. Others came for the summer, filling Nantucket’s guesthouses and hotels. The small town of Nantucket had a movie theater, library, amateur theater, classical concerts, and bookstores, all within walking distance from the hotels. A person could step off a ferry onto the cobblestones and walk to their hotel or house. In the 1990s, the super-rich summered on Nantucket, but no one knew who they were, because they didn’t want to “stand out,” considering it vulgar.

  When first built in the seventies, a hotel named the Nantucket Palace towered in fake aristocratic grandeur at the corner of South Beach Street and Easton Street. Every islander knew that “the Nantucket Palace” was a ridiculous name for a hotel on an island settled by Quakers who believed in simplicity, but summer people flocked there because it was close to the shops, the yacht club, and the beaches.

  In the nineties, the Palace was sold to an entrepreneur who wanted to make the hotel contemporary and cool. He hired Sharon Waters to deal with the paperwork. Sharon was a prim woman in her thirties who loved nothing more than adding figures on her desktop calculator. She had no problem working at a hotel that was in the middle of a renovation. Sharon had worked for the former owner. Now she was smoothly and happily dealing with the mounds of tedious paperwork for the new owners, who had demolished much of the hotel before being ordered to cease work until every form was signed, submitted, and approved. This fall and winter, the owners would build the new hotel and planned to name it Rockers. Sharon’s office was just above the basement with its industrial-size laundry, four single bedrooms for staff, and one bathroom. Sharon was appointed to find tenants to rent the bedrooms in the basement of the one wing of the hotel that remained.

  The word was out that there was summer money on Nantucket, and in the late spring, college graduates from near and far swarmed the island, looking for jobs and temporary living quarters. Of the many applicants, Sharon had awarded the rooms to the four people she thought least likely to hold wild parties or destroy them.

  First, Ariel Spencer, who came from a good family, had just graduated from a good college, and lived in a pleasant Massachusetts suburb. Ariel had the quiet, sweet manner of a person who knows she’s fortunate and wants you to be fortunate, too.

  Second: Sheila Murphy. A good Catholic girl with bright red hair, she came from Ohio and had just graduated from Cleveland State University. Pretty but plump, Sheila was so shy Sharon Waters wanted to yell “Boo” at her for the pleasure of seeing her jump, but Sheila had worked as a maid at the Cleveland Renaissance and came with sterling recommendations.

  Third: Wyatt Smith. Sharon took one look at him and thought: good guy. He looked reliable. Trustworthy. Sensible. A graduate of the University of Missouri in Columbia, he majored in geology, but he looked more like a runner than a geek. Lanky and tall, with tidy brown hair and nice blue eyes, he’d grown up in a small Missouri town. This summer he had a job at Cabot’s Marine, repairing boats, selling parts. He was a quiet young man, respectful of Sharon, and she liked that.

  Fourth, and a bit of a gamble, was Nicolas Volkov. With his curly black hair and sleepy amber eyes, he was more handsome than any guy should be, and obviously the kind who would flirt with anyone, probably to keep his skills sharp or maybe he just couldn’t help himself. At his interview, he gave Sharon a sexy sleepy-eye look, even though Sharon was clearly in her thirties and not interested. He’d gone to Harvard, of course, and had a job at Fanshaw’s, a new, posh men’s clothing store run by a snobbish Brit. Nick was a descendant of an ancient aristocratic Russian family, he told Sharon, but they had fallen on hard times. His parents had had to sell their Fabergé Easter egg and some of their jewelry to afford his college tuition, which was why he was working this summer. Sharon gave him the final bedroom.

  * * *

  —

  Ariel got to choose her room first simply because she arrived first. The four basement bedrooms were all dreary, with linoleum floors and small rectangular windows set high in knotty-pine-covered walls, but each had a closet, dresser, desk, chair, bedside table, and a bed that had an unstained mattress and clean sheets.

  She’d brought her own sheets, actually, as well as her own pillow and quilt.

  Ariel chose the bedroom farthest from the b
athroom. Living in a dorm had presented her with more sounds of people vomiting than she’d ever expected to hear. She placed the small fuzzy teddy bear holding out a yellow silk flower on the bed in the room next to hers, hoping that a woman would take that room. Hoping that that woman would become a new friend.

  It was the last day of May when Ariel entered her dull little bedroom, set her suitcases on the bed, and began to unpack. Her dresses and blouses were on quilted hangers brought from home. She wanted to look presentable at her job as receptionist at the real estate agency. She placed a large three-ring binder in the very center of her desk. Already it was filled with the beginning of a short story. She planned to write on weekends. She had been accepted into an MFA program at the University of Iowa. She would start this fall.

  Someone knocked on her door, and Ariel turned to see a tall, slender, good-looking man standing on the threshold. “You’re here early.”

  “Oh.” For a moment, she could only stare. He was so unexpectedly, quietly attractive. She pulled herself together. “You’re here early, too.” Crossing the room, she held out her hand. “I’m Ariel Spencer.”

  “Wyatt Smith.” Taking her hand in a brief, firm shake, he gave her a lopsided grin. “Looks like you’ll have a female neighbor next door. She’s marked her territory with a teddy bear.”

  Ariel blushed, caught out. “I put that there. It’s not that I don’t like men, I do. But they are…messier.” She wanted to stand very close to Wyatt Smith. He had a double magnetism. Something about him made her feel safe…and sexy.

  “Not me,” Wyatt said. “I’m kind of tidy. Scientists have to be.” He squinted his eyes, thinking. “Although I’m going to be working at Cabot’s Marine, fixing boats this summer, so I’ll probably come back covered in oil.”

  “You’re a scientist, but you’ll be working in a boatyard?” If she kept asking him questions, maybe time would freeze them like this so she could gaze at him forever. The more she looked at him, the more she liked him. She had to keep herself from drifting right up next to him.

  Another lopsided smile. “My father is Benjamin Smith,” Wyatt told her, unable to keep the pride from his voice.

  “Okay…” Ariel smiled encouragingly.

  “He’s a scientist. He discovered smithonium. It’s the one hundred and fourth element on the periodic table. It’s named after him. It’s used in building missiles. NASA uses it.”

  “Wow. Impressive,” Ariel said.

  “The University of Missouri has named a building after him,” Wyatt added.

  Ariel blinked. “Wow,” she said again.

  “Sorry,” Wyatt said. “It’s just…I’m going to work for my father’s department and get my PhD.”

  “But you’re here for the summer?”

  “My mother pushed me to do this. She thought I needed to experience a completely different life for a while.”

  “Nantucket is certainly different.” Ariel had decided that Wyatt was a sort of awkward American Hugh Grant, with his floppy brown hair and intensity.

  “What about you?” Wyatt asked.

  “I’ll be a receptionist in a real estate office,” Ariel told him. Should she invite him into her room? Where would he sit? On the bed? She felt slightly hysterical, in a good way.

  “I’ve got to unpack,” Wyatt said. “Let’s get together tonight—”

  Before he could finish, Ariel said, “Great!”

  “—with the other basement dwellers,” Wyatt continued. “We’ll exchange all the necessary information.”

  Well, Ariel thought, that was a little dry. Exchange all the necessary information?

  “I mean,” Wyatt continued, “get to know each other.” He shook his head. “I have all the social graces of a rock. But…I certainly would like to get to know you.”

  “Me, too.” I could love this man, she thought, and blushed, and replied, “I mean I’d like to get to know you, too.”

  They moved to the corridor, smiling at each other.

  “Well,” Wyatt said.

  “Well,” Ariel said. “I’d better unpack.”

  “Me, too.”

  After Wyatt walked off down the hallway, Ariel quickly returned to her suitcase, in case Wyatt came back. She didn’t want him to see her standing there like Cinderella with bluebirds on her wrists.

  Even though that was what she felt like.

  For the first time in her life.

  Stop this! Ariel told herself. You’re going to be wanton for once in your life! You’re going to have thousands of lovers. You can’t be serious about the first man you see!

  She pulled out a drawer, filled it with ironed tees and a few light sweatshirts. She set a small pile of books on her bedside table. When she was thoroughly unpacked, she zipped her suitcase shut and put it on the shelf in her closet.

  There! she thought. That’s done. Now what? Would she have time to write?

  She heard a series of clunks and peered around her door.

  “Oh, dear,” a girl whimpered. “I’m sorry. This suitcase is heavy.”

  A very pretty, plump, and rather amazingly buxom young woman in a sundress covered with butterflies stood at the entrance door with one suitcase next to her and another on the floor, just inside the hallway. It had popped open, displaying a variety of ruffled pastel undies, including lacy bras large enough to hold kittens.

  Wyatt stepped out of his room. “Let me help.” He went down the corridor and bent over to gather the clothing spilled from the bag.

  “Oh, that’s awfully nice of you, thank you,” the girl cooed.

  She had red hair tumbling down around her shoulders and skin as pale as cream. Her eyes were large and green, and they widened when she saw Ariel.

  “Oh, thank heavens! Another woman!” She hurried down the hallway and held her hand out to Ariel. “I’m Sheila Murphy.”

  Ariel smiled. “Hi, Sheila. I’m Ariel Spencer. I left you a little present in your room.”

  “Really?” Sheila hurried into her room. She squealed and came out holding the teddy bear with the flower. “This is adorable! Thank you! I’m sorry. I didn’t bring you anything…”

  The light shifted and the three looked toward the open door at the entrance.

  A tall, broad-shouldered man with pale skin and thick wavy black hair came toward them. A heavy duffel bag hung from one shoulder. He carried an impressive leather suitcase.

  His eyes were an unusual and intriguing amber. His teeth were very white when he smiled. “Hello, everyone. I’m Nick Volkov, another winner in the basement room lottery.”

  Ariel and Sheila drifted down the hall toward him. Wyatt followed. The four shook hands, exchanged names, and sorted out whose room was whose.

  “I have to report to work tomorrow,” Sheila told them. “I’m a chambermaid at the Rose Hotel.” She shrugged. “I guess I should get unpacked.”

  Nick snorted. “Are you kidding? We’re not working today. The sun is out. We ought to hit the beach.” He spoke with the confidence of a natural leader, the strongest, handsomest, boldest guy in any room.

  “Good idea,” Wyatt said.

  Sheila glanced nervously at Ariel.

  “It’s a brilliant idea,” Ariel said. “The perfect way to start the summer.”

  Nick clapped his hands once. “Okay. I’ll change and be waiting outside.”

  Ariel went into her room, surprised that Sheila followed.

  Sheila seemed worried. “Are you really going to put on your bathing suit? Now?”

  “Of course! I can’t wait to get into the water.” Ariel took a moment to give Sheila her full attention, which was hard, because all she could think about was Wyatt. “Is something wrong, Sheila?”

  Sheila clasped her hands nervously. “You’re nice. It’s just, I’ve never swum in the ocean before. And, well, the ocean is a few streets away.
Are we going to walk there in our bathing suits?”

  “Everyone does,” Ariel assured her. “Or, mostly, they bike. Sharon Waters said we can pick up some old bikes from Young’s Bicycle Shop to rent for the summer if we want.”

  “You want to ride a bike in your swimming suit?” Sheila’s eyebrows rose.

  “Sweetie,” Ariel said, “Nantucket isn’t like anywhere else. Let’s go day by day, okay? Do you have a cover-up? A sarong? No? Okay, I’ve brought two or three, I’ll loan you one.”

  “Thank you. I apologize for being so lame.”

  “Go put on your suit, I’ll be in with something for you in a minute.”

  Sheila went into her room, shut the door, and undressed while leaning against the door—just in case the odd little button on the cheap metal doorknob didn’t really keep it locked. She hadn’t unpacked yet. She had to scurry to her suitcase to paw through it and find her bathing suit. It was a one-piece, with wire supports sewn into the bodice, and it was old, but looked new, because she hadn’t gone swimming often. Swimming was what you did when you didn’t have to work.

  As she struggled into the unforgiving material, she held back tears. She had known it. She had known that she’d have to share space with perfect people, as relaxed and secure about their perfection as Nick, Wyatt, and Ariel.

  Ariel. Ariel, for God’s sake! What kind of name was that? It sounded like something out of Shakespeare. It probably was out of Shakespeare. And Ariel was absolutely lovely. She had bought a stuffed teddy bear and put it on a pillow for someone she didn’t even know. Was she on the island to work for money? When she could afford to buy a teddy bear she wouldn’t even keep? It was a small teddy bear, but still…