Blake skipped a beat and his expression grew more guarded. “How do you know Carson?”
Taylor, hearing the hint of an interrogation in the question, stiffened perceptibly.
“Taylor and I got to know each other in Florida,” Carson offered, seeming to find her voice. “At the Dolphin Research Center. He’s in town and looked me up. Mamaw, you remember me talking about him.”
“I do, indeed,” Mamaw replied graciously.
Carson walked to Blake, her caftan swooshing against her legs. Harper sensed the tension between them and was sorry for it. Harper had always liked the marine biologist who’d claimed Carson’s heart—and the hearts of all the Muir family with his steadfast love for Carson. His rescue of Delphine earlier in the summer had been nothing short of heroic.
“Blake, what brings you here?” Carson asked, an edge to her voice, her tone unwelcoming.
Blake’s eyes flashed briefly, then he took a step back. “I had some news about Delphine,” he said coolly. “But we can talk later.”
“Delphine?” Carson went for the hook. “What about her?”
“I don’t want to interfere with your . . . reunion. I should’ve called first.”
“Is she all right?”
Blake paused to meet Carson’s gaze. “Yeah.” His lips suppressed a smile as he offered her a loaded glance. “She’s more than all right.”
Harper watched as the two shared a long look that spoke volumes and made the rest of them feel like voyeurs to witness it.
Carson turned to Taylor. “I’m sorry, Taylor, but this is important. It’s about Delphine, the dolphin I told you about. Can I be terribly rude and ask you to wait a bit longer?”
Taylor inclined his head toward the porch. “No problem. I just came by to say hey. I’ve got to run. The dog and all.” He glanced at Blake, then turned to leave.
“I’ll walk you out.” Carson walked to Taylor and slipped her arm in his. She offered him a brilliant smile that melted the awkwardness. “Seems the least I can do.”
Harper stood by the door, still holding the tray of iced teas and feeling very much the fool for it.
Passing her at the door, Taylor offered a smile. “Nice to meet you, Harper.”
She looked in his eyes, pulsing with warmth. She wanted to say something . . . anything . . . but couldn’t.
When Carson drew near, she heard Taylor say to her in a low voice, “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”
“You didn’t.” Carson patted his arm. “The trouble was there before you arrived. It’s a long story.”
Harper stood stock-still after the door had slammed behind Taylor and Carson. She squeezed her eyes shut, embarrassed for the gush of romantic feelings that had been roiling inside her since she’d met Taylor McClellan. Enough, she told herself. No more dreaming. It was time to put away childish thoughts and focus on tasks at hand. She had a job to get, an apartment. She had to make plans to return to New York.
She turned and walked resolutely across the kitchen. Mamaw and Blake were struggling to keep up some semblance of polite conversation while Carson was out.
“Care for some tea?” Harper asked Blake and Mamaw.
They each took a glass with thanks. Harper heard her phone ding and, setting the empty tray on the counter, quickly checked it.
It was a message from her mother.
After making her excuses and retreating to her bedroom, Harper closed the sliding doors and sat on the four-poster bed. Her mother’s terse query asked why Harper hadn’t responded to her mother’s e-mail from the previous week, checking in on Harper and where she stood with her return plans. Harper groaned inwardly, knowing she couldn’t keep putting her mother off. She hadn’t spoken to her since their blowout on the phone back in May. She was sure her mother had been waiting for her to come crawling back to New York. As the days flew by, however, and Harper remained on Sullivan’s Island, it brought Harper a smug pleasure that her mother had reached out first.
But it wasn’t smugness that had kept Harper from responding to her mother’s e-mail. Georgiana had been pleasant enough in the e-mail, but Harper could imagine the foot tapping in her mind. Rather, Harper didn’t know what she’d say to her mother. She hadn’t made up her mind what to do or where to go come fall. She’d been hoping the answer would become clear to her. It seemed instead she was going to rely on her default program and return to New York for lack of other options.
Staring at her phone, she summoned her courage. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she dialed a number she hadn’t called since Memorial Day.
On the second ring she heard the familiar clipped British accent. “Georgiana James here.”
“Mummy?”
“Harper!”
“Yes, hello. It’s me.”
“I was just thinking of you.”
“Were you really?”
“Yes. I’ve just returned from the Hamptons and the apartment is so quiet with you gone.” Georgiana released a dramatic sigh. “I’m exhausted. It was a madhouse. Everybody was there. I had to come back to New York to get some rest before the next onslaught at Labor Day. But it’s always so beautiful there, and I’m expected. We do what we must. You should have been there. Everyone asked where you were.”
Harper doubted that but she heard the thinly veiled criticism. No one even knew she was there most of the time. Harper wondered why her mother insisted on filling the house with tiresome guests only to complain about it later. There was never respite from the loud, slightly inebriated conversations, the raucous laughter, and the long string of parties. Her mother’s packed social calendar was her life’s blood. In contrast, Harper couldn’t bear constantly being “on.” Usually she retreated with a book to the beach or with her laptop to her room, much to her mother’s annoyance.
“It’s quite peaceful here,” Harper said.
“I’m sure it is, darling.” Georgiana skipped a beat. “There’s no there there.”
“Well, I’m quite content.” Harper could already feel herself growing petulant and contrary in the face of her mother’s disapproval.
“About that.” Harper tensed at the tone that signaled a lecture. “When are you coming back from your summer vacation? I mean, really, darling, aren’t you going stir-crazy lost in the swamps?”