Page 14 of Summer on Lilac Island

Three sips into her wine, Eloise felt nearly drunk.

It wasn’t the sluggish effect of a hefty pour of red on a dragging winter night. It was the bright buzz of something summery,

a morning mimosa, as if she were the kind of person to mix orange juice with anything other than vitamins.

Eloise’s senses were dialed up. The Grand Hotel’s gilded trappings, the syrupy rays of sun dripping through the window, the

quirky charisma of the man across the table from her. She might not be tipsy, but she was certainly tipp ing. Forward, as if her chair were perched on a hill, trying to topple her toward Clyde.

“You all right?” Clyde asked as Eloise worked to zip her spine to the back of the green-and-white-striped chair. “Are you

not comfortable?”

“It’s nothing. I just have to be careful about my posture,” she explained away. “Lower back pain.”

Clyde asked the server for a pillow for lumbar support. One was provided straightaway. Eloise tucked it behind the small of

her back and pretended that solved the problem.

Coming into the evening, Eloise had prepared exit options. It was the only helpful tip Georgiana had offered. If the date

wasn’t going well, she would tell Clyde she felt a migraine coming on or that her mother had taken a fall and Eloise needed

to go home.

Now an hour into the date, Eloise hadn’t needed to give an excuse. On the contrary, she found herself scrounging for reasons to elongate the night.

Clyde talked a lot and told long, arching stories. Eloise was glad for this. It meant she didn’t have to carry or steer the

conversation. She could listen, she could follow.

“My last book was a sci-fi thriller set on Despina, one of Neptune’s moons,” Clyde told Eloise as they cut into their entrées.

The island salmon for Clyde, whitefish for Eloise. A welcome change from her home-cooked meals for one. “Humans were colonizing

and accidentally brought an extinct alien population back to life that had been frozen within the core,” Clyde went on, eyes

aglow. “And the natives weren’t exactly pacifists, were they?” He tossed his head back and laughed heartily.

As a rule, Eloise disliked when people enjoyed their own humor too much. But it was endearing in Clyde. The stylish setting

helped too. They were in the Grand Hotel’s main dining room. At a window table, no less, overlooking the porch, down onto

the Straits of Mackinac. The evening sun struck the water with the softness of a snare drum brush.

“In the end, I wasn’t able to do a research trip to Despina, sadly,” Clyde said as if he had seriously investigated it. “But

the book before that one was a murder mystery on the Amalfi Coast. My favorite place I’d visited before Mackinac.” His grooved

lips split into a smile as he sipped a Hummer, a Michigan-famous cocktail made with white rum, Kahlua, and ice cream. Clyde

had been thrilled to read about it on the menu, determined to immerse himself in the local culture.

“Do you ever run out of ideas?” Eloise asked.

Clyde waited until he set down his glass to answer, wiping his hands on the cloth napkin in his lap. His manners were crisp.

He’d gone to boarding school in Scotland, Eloise had learned, but slowly wiggled out of the “golden cage,” thwarting his parents’

hopes that he would carry on the MacDougal lineage of lawyers.

“Can’t say I do, but I have my share of other problems,” Clyde said. “I go a bit nutty from all the things swirling around up here.” He tapped his temple.

“I can imagine. Not that you seem crazy,” Eloise clarified. “Just the notion of inventing stories from nothing, writing book

after book. It feels insurmountable. I’m better with numbers than words.” Clearly , she nearly added but didn’t want to draw attention to her bumbling.

When they’d met in the lobby earlier, Eloise’s first thought was, I’m glad I wore this dress. He was handsome, with such clear blue eyes and that warm, twinkly smile. Not to mention the accent. She had thought herself

sensible enough not to swoon over the rhotic lilt of a Scotsman’s voice, but this assessment had proved delightfully untrue.

He had a peculiar sense of style, though; a bit too avant-garde—a billowy black pinstripe suit with a polka-dot bowtie, brown

moccasins, and high tartan socks.

“I always wear two pairs of socks on each foot,” he’d told her. “One layer for comfort, one layer for flair.”

Combined with his feather-adorned fedora, the outfit was quite peculiar. But the confidence with which Clyde donned the eclectic

ensemble had made Eloise reconsider. Perhaps it was in vogue over in Europe.

“You have a beautiful way with words,” Clyde protested now. “That accent of yours is captivating. And I’m not just saying

that so you might agree to a second date. Though I’m hopeful about that too.”

Eloise’s nerves sloshed again. Her stomach had been roiling on the walk over. She’d nearly turned around, but the prospect

of having to go back and face Georgiana had been enough of a catalyst for her to see this through. She was glad she had.

The dining room was packed. All tourists, which negated the risk of being spotted. Even if someone did see Eloise, they would

assume she was just being neighborly, welcoming the newcomer. She could lean over and kiss Clyde right now and no islander

would believe it when they heard it. Not that she was thinking about kissing him, of course.

Farther down the dining room, a live orchestra played. The volume was tasteful. Eloise didn’t have to raise her voice to be heard over the music.

Eloise fiddled with the topaz ring on her left middle finger, twisting it like a bottle cap. She had started wearing it some

years ago. It made her hand feel less naked after she’d finally removed her wedding band.

“But I’m ruining my chances by talking too much, aren’t I?” Clyde carried on. “Verbosity is one of my faults. Not my only

one nor the wickedest, but the most vexing, or so I’ve been told. I must know more about your story. How long have you lived

on the island?”

“I was born here.” She was aware of how dull, how provincial this made her sound, especially to someone as worldly as Clyde.

But with age came confidence in who she was and who she wasn’t. She felt no tug to embellish. “My grandfather started a construction

company here, and my father took it over. The island is in my blood, I guess you could say.”

“Fascinating.” He looked like he meant it. “Are you involved with the business yourself?”

“No, my father didn’t think it was a woman’s industry,” Eloise said. “And I wasn’t particularly eager, though my then-husband

was involved for a while.” She tended to refer to Gus as her then-husband rather than her ex-husband . It was softer on the ears and the emotions. “My dad eventually sold the business when he retired. It took him a while to

come around to the idea. He wanted to find the right buyer, someone who wouldn’t overdevelop the island. Many old-timers feel

Mackinac has become too modern. My mother included.”

“Too modern?” Clyde said. “Really?”

Eloise smiled, giving Clyde permission to laugh along. She was protective of her island the way she was of her daughters,

never allowing anyone to take the first dig.

“But she’s stayed,” Clyde said. “Your mother.”

Eloise squeezed lemon over the fish fillet. “Mackinac is our home.”

The way Clyde nodded made Eloise want to tell him more about Gus. About how his departure had made her determined to remain on the island, give her daughters a stable home. But there was no need to bring that up. “Keep it light,” Deirdre had coached before the date. “Like lemonade.”

“Eloise!” Voices called from the window, making them both flinch.

Paula and Kitty, the other two of Eloise and Deirdre’s euchre foursome. They were standing on the porch, just on the other

side of the window.

Paula was part of the original trio from elementary school, the much-needed hypotenuse to Eloise’s and Deirdre’s right angles.

Kitty moved to the island fifteen years ago. Eloise had been skeptical at first; Kitty was an East Coaster, among other things.

But now Eloise couldn’t imagine Mackinac without her.

“How serendipitous to run into you here!” Paula exclaimed.

Eloise was half amused, half embarrassed. “Serendipitous indeed,” she remarked, knowing Deirdre must have alerted them. Paula

and Kitty never dined at the Grand Hotel, disapproving of the paycheck to portion-size ratio.

Eloise briefly introduced Clyde.

“Delighted to meet you both,” Clyde said, sticking his arm out the open window and wringing the hands of both women, as if

this were a perfectly natural meeting.

“We’re practically Eloise’s sisters,” Paula told Clyde. “So you’ll have to win us over too.”

“We can be bribed,” Kitty added. “With Hummers and chocolate.”

“Ladies,” Eloise scolded, trying to laugh it off.

They finally trotted off, turning to give Eloise the thumbs-up as they went.

“I’m so sorry.” Eloise massaged her palms. “If it were Georgiana, I would have expected it, but grown women...” She shook

her head, though gratitude for her friends surged too.

“Why let age ruin us by making us sensible?”

It was something Gus might have said. “Very true,” Eloise replied, though sensibility was something on which she prided herself.

The bellmen began taking down the flags from the porch. “It’s a sunset tradition,” she explained. “They do it every night.”

“Lovely.” He turned his eyes back to hers. “You have beautiful posture, by the way. Very regal.”

Eloise felt herself redden. “Georgiana tells me I look ridiculous, like a wax figure.”

“Well, your beauty does deserve to be in a museum,” Clyde said. “But for now, I’m glad I get to enjoy it all to myself.”

“I see why you’re a writer.” Eloise took another sip of wine. “Good lines.”

“I don’t write romance, though,” Clyde said. “I’m not trying to get a story out of you, if that’s a concern. I just found

Georgiana so delightful, I couldn’t wait to meet the woman who raised her.”

She appreciated that he addressed his reasons for coming tonight, as it had been nagging. His words about Georgiana landed

well too, though Eloise still felt like a subpar mother.

“Are you saying you have pure intentions?” Eloise asked, coiling a strand of hair that had come loose from her bun.

“I wouldn’t exactly call them pure .” Clyde’s blue eyes danced. “Sorry, that was cheeky of me.”

Eloise became all too aware of the fact that he had a hotel room waiting for him upstairs. “I don’t mind cheeky.”

“Don’t mind it, or like it?” Clyde said. “I’m insufferable about syntax, you’ll learn.”

Eloise dabbed her napkin to her mouth, covering her smile. “Like it.”

The server came by to refill her wine. She declined, trying to ward off accidental flirting. Though intentional flirting was

worse, which was what she seemed to be doing now. It was disgraceful, really.

And she loved it.