Page 12 of Summer on Lilac Island

“Yes, you really nailed it. You’d make an admirable Sherlock. For your information, Miss Georgiana,” he went on, seeming to

intuit that this formal address would be the most effective way to rile Gigi further, “I wanted to get dinner because I’m

new to the island and don’t have many friends. Your mom said you were coming home for the summer, so I was hoping we’d get

along. Apparently,” he added, rolling back his broad shoulders, “that was very idealistic of me.”

Gigi respected how he stood up for himself, even if she didn’t believe him.

“Don’t pretend this isn’t a date,” she said.

“I never said it wasn’t,” James conceded. “But we don’t have to go if you don’t want. I can turn Willow around and take you

home.”

“No, no, we have to finish what we started.” It wasn’t on brand, of course, with how quick she was to forsake things partway

through, but she liked projecting an image of commitment, if only because it was something new to try. Besides, things were

just getting interesting, and Gigi wasn’t going to give Eloise any reason to back out of the date with Clyde.

They skidded into silence. Gigi scooched up closer to James on the saddle, just so she wouldn’t jostle so much. He gave no

sign that he was even aware of her breath, let alone her body. It had been a while since she’d met someone so immune to her

charms. Usually guys ate up the harsh-humored ice queen act. She was annoyed he wasn’t more into her.

“I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot,” James said. “How about we start over?”

There was a puzzling calmness to him that was nearly contagious.

Gigi wanted to stay upset but couldn’t get her temper flaring like it usually did.

She put it down to boredom and how she didn’t care enough for him to make it worth the effort.

Still, she was glad to find he wasn’t one of those overly stubborn types like her last dozen or so exes.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” Gigi said. “I’m kind of an asshole, especially around guys I’m trying to impress.”

She was alarmed the words tumbled out of her, but she liked it too. The feeling of stripping away all the performance art,

even if only for a moment.

James swiveled his neck so he could access his peripheral vision. “You’re trying to impress me, are you?”

“Only to please my mother,” Gigi said quickly. “I’m a very dutiful daughter, you know.”

He laughed. The sound was springier than Gigi expected. “Of course.”

James was warming up, coming out of his shell. Gigi couldn’t blame him for being nervous at the start. She did have that effect

on people. And he was from Michigan, after all, so he was biologically hardwired to hide his feelings under ten layers of

winter coats.

Mackinac’s wooded interior was giving way to clear views over the Straits and into town. The mere sight of Gigi riding on

horseback with Dr. Kentwood would pour gasoline on the gossip fire. Deirdre was probably snatching up her binoculars right

now.

Gigi wanted to lean into it and spoon-feed new rumors to usurp the old tales that seemed to swirl and shape-shift but never

die. She draped herself around James, resting her head on his shoulder. It felt better than she wanted to admit. He smelled

subtly of leathery cologne with just a touch of hay. The scents paired well.

She stood by her assessment that she wouldn’t have swiped right on him on a dating app, but if she’d met him at a coffee shop,

she might’ve given him a chance. Especially if he offered to pay for her extra-large iced caramel latte with whipped cream.

“You all right back there?” James asked. He seemed taken aback by her sudden burst of affection.

“Never better.” Gigi was glad to have an excuse to hide behind. “Just giving the islanders something to talk about.”

***

“I never should’ve agreed to meet up with this fudgie,” Eloise fretted the next day.

She rifled through her color-coded closet in search of something elegant enough for dinner at the Grand Hotel. “Kitty says

she saw Mr. MacDougal buying seven jars of peanut butter at Doud’s. Seven .”

“Well, it’s scientifically proven that a person’s integrity and peanut butter consumption are directly correlated.” Gigi was

lounging on Eloise’s four-poster bed, adding creases to the crisp and tidy comforter. “And besides,” Gigi carried on, tossing

pillows into the air like juggling pins, “Clyde is something of a public figure in Scotland. He’s bound to have a few celebrity

quirks.” The search results had yielded pages upon pages about Clyde and his internationally acclaimed novels.

Eloise tugged at her low bun. “You’re a scheming weasel, you know that?”

“Learned from the best.” Slyness sliced Gigi’s smile. “But I held up my side of the deal. It’s only fair that you hold up

yours.”

The remainder of the date with James had been a success, or at least that was the external consensus. By the time Gigi arrived

home from dinner, Eloise had received multiple phone calls reporting how “besotted” and “intimate” Gigi and James had looked.

James had asked her a lot about herself, a nice trait, and told her about how he’d felt burned out from city life and the

grind of being a general practitioner in Detroit. He’d requested the Mackinac post. “I needed a break. A small town to recharge

and focus on my patients without any of the noise or bureaucracy.” He seemed like someone who held himself to ridiculously

high standards. Getting him to break free of his conventional path would probably be a difficult task. But if anyone could

help him do it, Gigi knew it would be her.

“I’m confident we’ll see each other again,” Gigi had told Eloise when asked if there would be a second date. It was true. A run-in was inevitable on an island this size.

He hadn’t asked for her number at the end of the night. It wasn’t surprising, given Lillian was in the picture. Gigi was used

to losing out to her, not that experience lessened the blow. James was probably looking for someone who was better “wife material.”

As if that phrase weren’t synonymous with the world’s dullest traits. Gigi had felt him cringing when she told him about how

she’d lived with six surf instructors in Venice Beach and they took turns stealing beer and ice cream from the corner market.

But if someone wasn’t able to embrace all of her, he didn’t deserve any of her.

***

An ignorant and ebullient Eloise had been basking in the success of her matchmaking until she had to turn her attention to

her own predicament. “I don’t even know how to do this,” she now lamented, throwing up her hands. “My last first date was

when I was a high school freshman.”

Like Eloise, Gigi’s dad grew up on Mackinac. He and Eloise were high school sweethearts, marrying at nineteen. All had seemed

well until Gigi turned eight and her dad decided he couldn’t waste another moment on this suffocating island. He took off

traveling the globe on his motorcycle, leaving Eloise to raise their two daughters alone.

Growing up, Gigi blamed Eloise for the divorce more than her dad. She reasoned that if Eloise had been the type to enjoy exploring,

perhaps they all could have gone with him. Instead, her dad went solo, only popping back to Mackinac every couple years or

so, avoiding any consistent pattern. He was absent enough that Gigi had a hard time remembering him but present enough that

she couldn’t forget him. Nor could Eloise, who’d remained doggedly loyal to the man who’d left her.

Now that Gigi was in her late twenties, she was able to look back and see that the divorce was both of their faults and that Gus had been far from the perfect husband or father.

But she still felt like Eloise should’ve been more open to moving off the island with Gus.

Mackinac seemed to have this grip on Eloise, this spell.

From the start, Gigi had been determined not to fall into the same trap.

“Everyone knows you’re the best conversationalist on the island,” Gigi said, thumbing through Eloise’s closet, casting aside

the heaps of formless dresses and saggy mom jeans. “Wear this.” Gigi plucked a jade-green calico dress. With puffed sleeves

and an elegant A-line cut, the dress was conservative but would show off Eloise’s slim waist and draw out her eyes. “Rebecca

suggested it,” she said.

“You didn’t tell Rebecca about Clyde, did you?”

“Of course not,” Gigi lied. “I just said we were going out for a fancy dinner.”

Eloise reached for the dress, though not without grumbling about how she was too old for it.

“You could borrow my crop top,” Gigi offered. “If you want a more youthful vibe.”

“What a thoughtful offer, but I think I’ll pass.”

Once ready, Eloise collected her nicest satchel, triple-checked that she wasn’t forgetting anything, and made for the door.

“Wish me luck.” She had a jumpy energy that Gigi couldn’t place. “I’m off to meet Mr. MacDougal.”

“What happened to your rule about the man always coming to the house?” Gigi had been looking forward to seeing Clyde again

and observing how he and Eloise interacted.

“Conventional dating rules don’t apply after age fifty,” Eloise said. “And besides, I don’t want him to know where we live.

He might be a thief, for all I know.”

“He’s staying at the Grand Hotel all summer. Something tells me Grandma Jenkins’s old teacups wouldn’t merit a heist.”

“You never know with fudgies.” Eloise’s ski-slope nose tilted upward. “One must always be on guard.”

“Want me to chaperone?” Gigi offered.

“Enough, Georgiana. Now, don’t forget to run the dishwasher and sweep the floor while I’m gone. You’ve hardly been home a

day and this place is already a pigsty.”

“Yeah, it almost looks as if people actually live here now.”

Eloise headed out the side door, muttering something about never making deals with the devil.

“Don’t forget to be home by curfew, Mother!” Gigi called out from the front porch. It was a nice change to have the roles

reversed and dole out instructions. Though she had to admit it was an odd feeling watching Eloise walk away. She found herself

genuinely invested, even nervous, on Eloise’s behalf.

“What do you think, Nonni?” Gigi asked when her grandmother popped over to check in soon after. “Will the date be a success?”

Nonni camped out in an Adirondack chair on the porch, unfolding her daily crossword and holding it at arm’s length, squinting

one eye and then the other so she could make out the words. “My bet is she’ll be home within the hour,” she said. “With a

silver platter to serve your head on.”

Gigi checked her phone, just in case James had figured out a way to get her number. He might have asked Deirdre or one of

the islanders.

But there was nothing from James, just a sloppy string of texts and memes on the group chat with her former roommates in LA.

They were taking tequila shots on Venice Beach, by the sounds of it. Not one of them had texted Gigi individually to check

in since she’d left. It was as if her presence in their lives had been nothing more than a blip.

“We’ll have to see,” Gigi said to Nonni. “But I certainly picked a much better match for her than she did for me.”