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Fraser sighed, glanced her way, and rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. Eloise chuckled. Their exchange definitely had to do with how some people had very little spatial awareness more than irritation.
When her aunt’s studio came into view, Eloise breathed in a sigh of relief. The studio had been her haven growing up. Her escape from reality. It had always been a place where she could be herself, and not whatever it was her parents wanted her to be. When she was barely three, her grandfather had put a paintbrush in her hand. He didn’t care what she painted, including the walls of his house. Everything was a masterpiece. George Harris taught Eloise how to use her hands and mind to create the world around her with painting, sketching, or pottery. He was a master of the arts, and Eloise was his apprentice.
Margaux’s, the two-story white brick building with black accents, sat on the rounded bend on the most prominent street in Seaport. Summer flowers in wooden flower boxes decorated the front and the black and white awning, with lights added to the ambiance. Upstairs, artists could rent rooms for whatever they needed. Whether to paint, sculpt, or write. From the outside, no one could tell this was one of the most sought-after locations in the city. The real estate value alone had investors knocking on the door daily.
“You know,” Fraser said, interrupting her thoughts. “The studio is on the tourism pamphlet now.”
“Really?” Eloise wasn’t surprised, but then again, she was wholly biased.
“Last year, the new Chamber of Commerce director revamped the website, the brochures, and had a couple different commercials produced to build up tourism. I’m surprised your aunt didn’t tell you she shot a feature.”
Eloise thought that was odd. Seaport never had any trouble enticing visitors before. “Nope, she didn’t. How come there’s such a big push for tourism?”
“Target new people. Younger crowds,” he told her. “It worked. The hotels are booked from May until September. The restaurants are packed. Seaport is booming during the summer.”
They crossed the street, and Fraser held the door open for Eloise. She stepped in and inhaled the scent of vanilla—her aunt’s favorite smell. As much as Eloise wanted to look around, the excitement of seeing her aunt had her dropping her bag and rushing toward the back.
Margaux came around the corner and grinned from ear-to-ear, holding her arms out for her niece. The two embraced, hugging each other tightly. “Oh, I have missed you my sweet girl.”
“Me, too,” Eloise whispered. For the first time in years, Eloise felt like she was truly home. Home wasn’t where you laid your head at night or where you hung your hat, it was where your heart was, and her heart was with her aunt.
The two women parted. Margaux cupped Eloise’s cheeks and beamed with delight. “You being here means everything to me.”
“I had no idea how much I needed this until now. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. My dad?—”
“Hush. You’re home now, that’s all that matters.” They hugged again until Margaux let Eloise go. “Where’s your stuff?”
“I left it by the door with Fraser.”
“Fraser? I didn’t know you were still in contact.”
“We’re not,” Eloise said. “He saw me right after I got off the ferry and offered to help me with my luggage.”
“Oh, well, he was always such a nice young man.” Margaux’s eyes widened knowingly.
“No,” Eloise said. “Just no.” She didn’t want her aunt getting any ideas. She was there to paint, figure life out, and enjoy her summer.
Margaux laughed. They made their way to the front, where they found Fraser rocking back and forth on his heels. He turned at the sound of them approaching and ran his hand over his short hair.
“I should go,” he told them. “I’m going to be late for work. You should stop by when you have time. Drinks are on the house.”
“I will. Thank you for helping me today. It was great seeing you.” She stepped forward and gave him a hug.
“I’m glad you’re back, Eloise,” he said as he reached for her hand and gave her fingers a little squeeze. “I’ll see you around?”
“I’ll be here.” Here could’ve been anywhere in Seaport, but if he looked hard enough, he’d find her. Not that she wanted him to look. Or did she? She didn’t mind being friends with him and reconnecting with former classmates, but that would be it. Eloise wanted to focus on herself and her art and help make the Endless Summer series the best one yet.
Eloise and Margaux followed Fraser out. He helped load the suitcases into Margaux’s truck and then took off toward the restaurant where he worked. Margaux lived on the other side of town, steps away from the beach. From her house, you could see the mansions, separated by the ocean. Eloise had spent many mornings and evenings at her aunt’s house, watching the majestic beauty of the sun rising and setting every day or witnessing an osprey dive for food.
Every year, Margaux and Eloise would hold a tea party in the backyard and invite everyone they knew. The one caveat—you had to dress from the gilded age. An ode to the summer cottages built in the 19th century: The Marble House owned by William Vanderbilt, and The Breakers owned by Cornelius Vanderbilt II. These houses were mansions with numerous bedrooms, living rooms, and fireplaces in each room. Not to mention the sprawling acres of lush green lawn used for parties, galas and any other social event of the summer. Of course, the view was spectacular, overlooking the cliffs where the Atlantic Ocean ebbed and flowed. There wasn’t anything “cottage” like when it came to them. These homes belonged to the elite of New York City.
From Margaux’s front yard, you could see the backside of the homes and they were a mere one mile away, across the bay if you were to swim. Women and young ladies flocked to Margaux’s, dressed to the nines and ready to hold their pinkies out while they sipped tea and ate biscuits with clotted cream and jam, finger sandwiches, and an assortment of other foods and desserts. For one day out of the year, women got to pretend they were partying with the Fifth Avenue elite.
Eloise missed those fun days. She would have to suggest to her aunt that they revisit their tea party now that she was back. Although, she wasn’t sure if Margaux still had their dresses or if any of their old friends were still around. Sometimes, people moved away when the economy changed, or tourism took over their beloved area. But Eloise had a feeling some of the ladies were still around and they could easily relive their moments.
Margaux pulled into the driveway of her baby soft pink, three-story home. The large farmer's porch with white columns allowed for optimal viewing of the bay, while the upstairs balcony gave Margaux the best vantage point. As a kid, Eloise loved spending nights on the balcony, under the stars with the sound of the waves lulling her to sleep. What she didn’t like was the briny smell of seaweed waking her in the morning when the tide brought it in.
But it was the studio in the backyard where Eloise would spend most of her time, in the full apartment on the ground level. But it was the upstairs loft that had always been her favorite with the glass wall leading to a nice sized balcony with a partial overhang, which afforded her the ability to paint or lie out in the sun without leaving the confines of her home. She’d always said she would live there one day, not ever realizing her day was now.
