Jake Alvarez. Asked him to homecoming last year only to have him blink, stumble backwar
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d, and stutteringly tell me he already had a date.
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Dominic Hoffman from Camp Belman. Mocked him relentlessly in an attempt at flirting. Made him cry and leave for home early.
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Siddharth Patel from driver’s ed. Lusted after him silently throughout the entire course. Finally exchanged numbers on the last day. No response to my one, brave text (Hey).
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Tyler Nelson. Spent four summers madly in love with him, only to finally make a move and be utterly, devastatingly rebuffed.
Isaac—handsome, smart, sophisticated Isaac—would not be another example of me failing at boys. He was way more grown-up than any of my other crushes, sure to be better at conversation and easier to hang out with. And this time, I’d master the art of flirting. Or I’d at least follow the steps laid out by Google, for as much as they were worth. (Step three: start talking. Possibly, Google needed as much help at flirting as I did.)
In any case, I knew better than to expend energy on Tyler Nelson. I tore my attention away from him to check Uber and groaned at the surge pricing. And—
No car available.
Impossible. I tried Lyft with the same result.
With a sense of looming dread, I looked out the windows again. The snow obscured the world. Hard to believe leaves had still clung to trees a month ago, yellow-green and orange-brown. The chill in the air had only been enough to make boots acceptable. But today, a nor’easter had swept the Eastern Seaboard with the reckless speed of Elsa icing Arendelle, painting the world white—even Nantucket, where the sea usually whipped the island wet and bleak.
Outside, a car pulled into the taxi lane, careful on the snow-dusted asphalt. By the terminal doors, Tyler gathered his duffel bag, tightened a hand around his suitcase handle, and walked into the blizzard.
Pride warred with desperation, and the latter won. I dashed after him, heaving my suitcase off its broken wheel. It banged against my legs, the pain and embarrassment warming me against the hideous cold. Snowflakes smacked into my skin, dissolving in icy pinpricks. “Tyler!”
He stood by the back of the taxi, placing his bag in the trunk. “Shira.”
“Can I share your car?”
“Let me guess.” A close-lipped smile curved his perfectly shaped mouth. “You can’t get one. Tough break.”
“Tyler, come on. You live next door to me.”
The driver pushed his head out the window. “That you, Shira Barbanel?”
“Phil!” I beamed at the driver, who I’d known for years. “How are you?”
“Doing well, doing well. Where’s the rest of your family?”
“Snowed in in Boston. Their flight was canceled.”
“Really?” Tyler said. “Same with my family. What were they doing in Boston?”
“Noah had a thing. I had to stay home for a final.”
“Toss your stuff in the back,” Phil said. “I’ll give you kids a ride.”
Throwing a triumphant look at Tyler, I maneuvered my bag into the trunk, then slid into the back after he beat me to the front.
Phil pulled away from the curb. “You two have a good flight?”
“Some turbulence, but not bad,” Tyler said. I made a noise of agreement. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed him on the plane. Maybe I’d boarded after him, and he’d been in the back. Maybe he’d boarded at the last minute, when I’d already been absorbed in my book. Maybe, I thought with a shot of hope, I was no longer so tuned in to Tyler’s presence that I noticed every move he made.
We drove down Old South Road. Though the storm might have been a transportation nightmare, I adored how the snow powdered the pavement white, like we’d been transported to a time when horse-drawn carriages traveled on dirt paths, where people hurried down the streets in velvet capes and fur muffs, and sleigh bells mixed with the sound of laughter. The island already had a quaint, old-timey atmosphere, and winter just heightened it. This was my favorite season on Nantucket: I loved the stark, cold beauty, the snowy beaches and brilliant stars.
The drive only took fifteen minutes, winding past the cedar-shingled island houses outfitted for the season, decked in sparkling lights, yards populated by light-up reindeer. Windows displayed Christmas trees and candelabras whose branches I always counted. There were wreaths twined with pine cones and holly, and red and gold everywhere.
But Tyler’s house, when we reached it, was dark. The lawn was a sheet of white, the bushes snowy heaps, and the house—usually an elegant beauty—a blank monolith under the darkening sky.
“Thanks,” Tyler said to Phil. When he climbed out, icy air swept in, and goose bumps rose on my neck. Tyler tossed a look my way. “See you around, Shir.”
“Shira,” I muttered. Being called Shir always made me think of sheep or transparent tops. But he’d already shut the door and gone to unload his bag.
“We’ll wait to make sure he gets in all right,” Phil said as Tyler trundled to the front door, then stepped inside. Relief broke over me as Phil put the car in reverse. With Tyler out of the way, I could focus on Isaac—on the future, not the past.
“How’s Aimee doing?” Phil’s nineteen-year-old daughter was a lifeguard during the summers and had just started college in Boston. “Is she home for Christmas?”
“She got back two days ago. Brought a suitcase of dirty laundry.” Phil laughed, hearty and familiar. “She’s loving college. Next semester she’ll have to declare her major, and she’s teetering between computer science and physics. Her mom and I tell her—” Phil paused, and I saw his frown in the rearview mirror. “Huh.”
I twisted. Tyler was running toward us, waving his arms for attention.
Phil rolled down the window. “You okay?”
Tyler reached the car, his breath coming out in white puffs. Snowflakes glittered in his golden hair. “The electricity’s out. The heat, too; the panel didn’t work.”
Oh no. Surely he wouldn’t deign to suggest
He met my gaze and smiled, more ironic than charming. “So, Shira. Can I bunk with you tonight?”
“You want to stay with me. At Golden Doors.” Why don’t you stay at a hotel? I wanted to ask, but I didn’t want to bicker in front of an adult. And while Tyler could afford it, why would he shell out money for a last-minute room when he could stay at my grandparents’ place for free? Besides, then Phil would have to take Tyler to a hotel, spending even more time driving in these conditions.
Still . . .
But no. I couldn’t turn him down. Our families ran in the same social circles; we’d be attending their Christmas Eve party later this week, and they’d be attending our Hanukkah celebration a few days after. “Fine.”
“Great.” With a flash of his white, even teeth, he retrieved his bag and returned to the car, his long legs once more cramped in the front seat. “We’ll have a good time.”
I didn’t dignify his lie with an answer.
Tyler’s moms’ summer home abutted my family’s ancestral property, the sprawling estate of Golden Doors, so the ride took a scant minute. The house loomed as we pulled up the circular drive, not gold, but gray: gray shingles covered the original nineteenth-century building as well as the modern expansions. Endless windows reflected the gray-white sky. Someone had plowed and shoveled the porch steps, but even so, a blanket of snow had gently returned.
“Thanks so much,” I said to Phil, and Tyler echoed me. Then we were pushing through the drifts, our legs struggling against the snow. On the porch, where a lighter layer carpeted the wooden boards, we brushed ourselves off as best we could.
I let us in to the dark foyer and flicked the light switch, my chest tight—what if the power had died here, too? But the chandelier lit up and the HVAC panel summoned the telltale whir of heat. I stepped back on the porch, directing two thumbs up at Phil. He gave a friendly honk and sped away.
Leaving me and Tyler Nelson alone.
We stared at each other. I had never met anyone else with such perfectly sculpted features, with eyes so blue and hair so gold. This boy could get away with murder or fraud or heartbreak, and people would chuckle and pat him on the cheek and say, “What a rascal!”
“Well, Shira,” he drawled, and even his voice was beautiful, damn him. “This should be fun.”
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