Page 38 of Summer Love

I grit my teeth and straighten up.

The Salt Vine is wedged between a closed hair salon and a souvenir shop with its shutters drawn, right across from the little Main Street medical center. The sign is understated—gold letters on a black background, almost snobbish for Coral Bay. I push the door open.

Inside, it’s narrow and long, with an elegance that feels more New York than a small California surf town. Dark polished wood, chalkboards on the wall with grape varietals scrawled across them, low lighting, muted jazz. The tables at the back disappear into alcoves divided by low partitions.

I don’t know anyone. Couples, older people, the kind of crowd that would never set foot in the Lighthouse Diner. Ryan’s territory, not mine.

He’s already there, settled at a table in the back lit by a candle in a smoked-glass holder. White shirt, collar open, sleeves rolled in neat folds over his forearms. The watch gleams on his wrist. There’s a nearly empty glass in front of him and another, full, across from it.

When he spots me, he gives me a wide smile, warm on the surface. But his gray eyes stay cold.

He stands.

“Evening, New York girl.”

I can’t tell if it’s a compliment or a label.

“Sorry I’m late,” I say, sitting down.

My right foot throbs in my shoe. Under the table, I cross my ankles.

“Don’t worry. I got a bit of a head start.”

He gestures at his glass, almost drained, then at mine.

“Sauvignon blanc. Marlborough. You’ll like it.”

Maybe, but he chose for me.

I take the glass and have a sip. Of course it’s good.

“Thanks,” I say.

Ryan sits back down. His posture is perfect—back straight, shoulders relaxed, elbow resting on the armrest.

“So… third day in Coral Bay. What do you think?” he asks.

“Dusty.”

He laughs—a short, controlled laugh.

“The town’s changed, you know. You missed a lot.”

“In six years, I’d imagine.”

“More than you’d think. Especially since Diane Carter became mayor.”

I frown.

“Evan’s mom?”

“Yeah, for two years now. She’s got ideas. She wants to modernize the town, draw in investors, get things moving. I pitch her projects now and then.”

Ryan Caldwell, twenty-five, heir to the local real estate agency, pitching projects to the mayor. Already inside the machinery of power, and delighted that I know it.

“What kind of projects?”

“Development, waterfront renovation, new businesses. Coral Bay has potential, but it’s asleep.”