“But he loves how shabby and worn-out Ebbtide looks,” Julia interrupted. “Of course, he hasn’t seen the bathrooms.”

“The movie is supposed to be set on Cape Cod, in the summer,” Booker explained. “But all the houses they scouted there looked too elegant and old-money. Which brings us to Nags Head, and Ebbtide. If the producer likes what he sees, Simon will want to talk to your friend, Ellis, about the possibility of renting it for three or four months.”

“For real?” Ellis asked. “When would they want it?”

“Right away, I imagine. Production is supposed to start September fifteenth. They want to wait until after Labor Day, when tourist season is over and crowd control won’t be such an issue.”

“Isn’t that awesome?” Julia asked. “Won’t Ty just flip over the idea?”

“Awesome,” Ellis repeated. “If he can hang on to the house until then.”

41

The dinner dishes had been cleared away, the last of the wine drunk. Booker had graciously accepted all the women’s compliments for the dinner he’d masterminded: tuna steaks on the grill; chipotle-pepper-roasted corn on the cob; and risotto with green peas, asparagus, shallots, and basil. Dorie and Ellis spilled a five-hundred-piece jigsaw puzzle depicting the Cape Hatteras lighthouse onto the dining room table and declared their intentions of finishing it by midnight. Madison, who’d finally given in to their pleas, joined them for dinner, but declared herself hopeless at puzzles. For the first time since she’d been living in the house, she seemed at ease with the group.

“Come on, Book,” Julia said, flipping him lightly with her dish towel. “I can’t stand all this excitement. Let’s take a walk on the beach.”

She led him down the beach stairs and onto the sand. They left their shoes in the pillowy sand at the base of the steps and walked hand-in-hand out to the water’s edge.

“Which way?” Booker asked.

“Hmm, north, I think,” Julia said. “Cottage Row is just up ahead.”

“What’s that?”

“What’s left of the original old houses built in Nags Head at the turn of the century,” Julia said. “There were originally, like, a dozen or so houses. All of ’em wooden, like Ebbtide. They call them the ‘unpainted aristocracy.’ Ebbtide’s not one of them. Ty told us his family had the house built in the 1930s.”

They walked slowly, stopping to gaze at the stars, or just stand in the moonlight, looking up at the rows of houses, lit up with summertime occupants. Voices and the sound of a radio playing drifted down from the houses beyond the dunes.

“These are the oldest houses,” Julia said, when they’d walked a little further. The houses were further apart here, sprawling wooden structures with outward-canted porches, their wooden walls gleaming a dull brownish-silver in the moonlight.

“Not very fancy,” Booker said approvingly.

“Nope,” Julia agreed. “From what Ty tells us, the old-time Nags Headers consider it crude to flaunt your money by fixing up your house or adding on a wing. Nothing at all had been done at Ebbtide in decades, until Ty bought it from an uncle and started trying to fix it up.”

“You like it here,” Booker said, sounding surprised.

“It has a certain charm that grows on you,” Julia admitted. “At first, I was pretty grossed out by the place. I mean, I didn’t want to hurt Ellis’s feelings, since she did all the research and work of tracking down the house and getting it lined up and everything, but it was seriously skanky when we moved in.”

“Not exactly the kind of beach house you’re used to.” Booker laughed, nudging her gently.

“We had a little bit of a rocky start,” Julia said. “Ellis was being so … bossy. She even made up a chore chart for the kitchen, if you can believe it.”

“And we all know how Julia Capelli deals with authority, now, don’t we?” Booker said.

“We worked things out,” Julia said. “Pretty much. It’s been an interesting month, that’s for sure.”

“And what about you?” Booker asked. “What’s been going on with you? Aside from the pictures and a couple phone calls, you’ve been surprisingly quiet for the past month, Julia.”

“I know,” she said, squeezing his hand. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“Come to any conclusions?”

“Some.”

“Such as?”

Julia brushed her long hair back from her face. “I’m done modeling.”

Booker nodded. “Have you told the agency?”

“Not yet. They’ve booked me for a JCPenney catalog shoot when I leave here. I guess I’ll have to go ahead and do it, because I don’t want to leave Jessica in the lurch. But that’s it. No more.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Booker said.

“The girls think…” she started. “No, I think I’d like to try doing photo styling.”

“You’d be a natural,” Booker said. “You’ve been doing it on your own for years, anyway. I’ve always said you have the best eye in the business, Julia.”

“I’d need your help,” Julia said, giving him a sidelong glance. “You know everybody. The magazine people, the photographers, art directors.”

“Not everybody,” Booker said. “But I do have some resources.”

“I know I’d have to start off as an assistant,” Julia went on. “Doing the grunt work. Cataloging props, making coffee runs, ironing shirts and pillowcases.”

“Not very glamorous,” Booker said.

“I was thinking of asking Annette Joseph if she’d take me on,” Julia said.

“Do I know her?”

“I met her at a catalog shoot in Miami last year,” Julia said. “She works out of Atlanta, but she does a lot of work for shelter magazines, so she gets assignments all over the East Coast.”

“Atlanta,” Booker said, his face impassive.

“It makes sense because of the airport,” Julia said.

“We have two airports in DC, you know.”

“Hear me out,” Julia said, taking a deep breath. “We could sell the flat in London.”

Booker stopped walking. “You’d consider it?”

Julia swallowed hard. “If I’m not working in Europe, it doesn’t make sense to keep it. I know the real estate market is crap right now, but Mayfair is so trendy, even in a down market we should be able to make a killing when we sell it.”

“Or lease it, long-term,” Booker said. “In case you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” Julia promised. “I’ve been in a holding pattern for too long, avoiding the inevitable. London was wonderful, my work was exciting, but it isn’t anymore. Hasn’t been in a long time. You’re here in the States. I want to be with you. It’s that simple. I have missed you, Booker.”

“Have you?” He put his arms around her waist and pulled her to him.

She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him fiercely. “I do love you, you know,” she said, resting her forehead on his chest. “This month, at the beach, with everything the girls have been through, sort of forced me to stop and take stock of things. Dorie basically told me off the other day.”

“Dorie? Sweet little Dorie?”

“Not so sweet if you really get to know her,” Julia said ruefully. “And then, Madison, who barely knows me at all, said something at lunch today that kind of tipped the scale for me.”

“And what was that?” Booker inquired, running his hands up the back of the thin cotton peasant top Julia was wearing, and kissing her neck.

“She kind of called me out,” Julia said. “She said I couldn’t keep making chickenshit assumptions about marriage based on other people’s mistakes.”

“Smart girl,” Booker said, holding her closer.

“I guess…” Julia stopped and pulled away, but Booker had no intention of letting her go.

“You guess what?”

She turned, so that her back was to him. “I guess I don’t think I deserve somebody like you. Somebody as good as you. Maybe that’s why I keep trying to push you away.”

“What?” He put his hands on her shoulder and wheeled her around. “What kind of crap is that?”

Julia shrugged and swallowed hard. She took a deep breath. “There are things about me … things you don’t know.”