The nights passed in what felt like a blaze of light, at once slow-burning and quick as a flash. Neither of them was wil ing to skip a night, take a break, although they both pretended to think it was a good idea. ( We should probably take a breather at some point, Josh said. And with a yawn, Melanie: I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep these late nights up. ) Josh figured that at some point the novelty would wear off; his insanely absorbing anticipation of the moment when Melanie climbed into his Jeep would diminish. A lackluster night would come upon them, a night when he just wasn’t that into it, a night when Melanie seemed less dynamic than usual, or too familiar. This was how things went with Josh and girls.

Eventual y he felt—as with Didi—that he was being pul ed along against his wishes.

But with Melanie, it was different. With Melanie, it was like climbing a mountain to a breathtaking view, and each time it was as novel and captivating as the first time.

More and more, he wanted to be with Melanie in a real bed, but that wasn’t possible. His bed, his childhood bed, in his room with his model airplanes and soccer trophies, his journals now tucked into the drawer of his nightstand? No. And Josh would never have the guts to sneak into Number Eleven Shel Street knowing that Vicki and Brenda and Blaine and Porter (and Ted, on the weekends) were al right there. Josh found himself brainstorming for an alternative—a night in a bed-and-breakfast, maybe? It was an expensive option and risky to boot because Tom Flynn knew everyone on the island. Somehow, Josh was sure, word would get back to his father that Josh had paid three hundred and fifty dol ars for a room, which he had shared with an “older woman.”

Josh hadn’t seen much of his high school friends al summer. He was busy with work, they were busy with work—and going to the parties or meeting up at bars meant risking a run-in with Didi, which Josh was happy to avoid. Josh felt bad cal ing up Zach for what was, basical y, the first time al summer—but Zach could help him. Zach was spending his summer working for Madaket Marine, the business his parents owned, but as a sideline, he served as caretaker for a house in Shimmo, right on the harbor. The house was modest for Nantucket’s waterfront—it had five bedrooms and three baths, with a deck that extended the length of the second floor. The house was only used two weeks of the year—the first two weeks of July—and the rest of the time, it sat empty. It was Zach’s responsibility to let the cleaners in every two weeks and arrange for the landscaping—and in winter to shovel the snow and check for burst pipes or leaks. The owners lived in Hong Kong; they never showed up without warning, and in fact, Zach spent the weeks before their arrival ensuring that every detail was perfect and in place—Asiatic lilies on the dining room table, Veuve Clicquot in the fridge. People had been urging Zach for the years that he’d been taking care of the Shimmo house to throw a party, man! But Zach was even more intimidated by his father than Josh was by Tom Flynn, and the owner of the house was a longtime Madaket Marine client. So Zach’s answer was always, No way, man. Are you kidding me? Zach threw his parties at the beach.

Zach had been known, however, to entertain women at the house in Shimmo, especial y summer girls (he told them the house was his). So Zach’s scruples were negotiable (this had always been the case), and Josh thought, Well, it’s worth a shot. He cal ed Zach one night on his way home from swimming at Nobadeer Beach.

“I want to use the Shimmo house,” Josh said. “One night. Any night next week.”

“What?” Zach said. “Who is this?”

“Shut up.”

“I haven’t heard from you in ages, man. You skipped my party. You never go out. And now you want to use the house?”

“Don’t be so sensitive,” Josh said. “You sound like a woman. Can I use the house?”

“You have a girl?” Zach said.

“Yeah.”

“Who is it?”

“None of your business,” Josh said.

“Oh, come on.”

“What?”

“Tel me who it is.”

“A girl I met in ’Sconset.”

“Real y?”

“Real y. There are girls in ’Sconset who never show their faces in town.”

“What’s her name?”

“None of your business.”

“Why so secretive? Just tel me her name.”

“No.”

“If you tel me her name, I’l let you use the house. Next Wednesday.”

“Her name is Merril ,” Josh said. He wanted to use a name he would remember—and Merril was Melanie’s maiden name.

“Merril ?”

“Yeah.”

“Is she in school?”

“She just graduated,” Josh said. “From Sarah Lawrence.”

“Sarah Lawrence?”

“Yeah.”

“She graduated? So she’s older?”

“She’s older. A little bit older. I’d like to impress her. Hence, the request for the house.”

“And I take it this Merril person is why I haven’t seen your ass al summer.”

“Pretty much.”

“Wel , okay,” Zach said. “Next Wednesday. I’l get you the keys. But you must promise to strictly adhere to al the rules.”

“I’l adhere,” Josh said.

The fol owing Wednesday, instead of driving to the beach, Josh turned down Shimmo Road and pul ed into the last driveway on the left. He was al wound up with anxiety and sexual anticipation and an overwhelming desire to surprise Melanie. He dug the keys to the house from the console and jangled them in her face.

“What are we doing here?” she said.

“What we normal y do,” he said, grinning.

He got out of the car and hurried around to open Melanie’s door for her.

“Whose house is this?” she said.

“It belongs to a friend of mine,” Josh said. “He’s not using it this week.”

He watched for her reaction. She seemed nonplussed. It had occurred to him since the moment that Zach handed him the keys that Melanie would think borrowing someone else’s house was cheesy and juvenile. Peter Patchen made serious money. He was the kind of guy who booked a suite at a five-star resort in Cabo. He could have rented a place like this with ease.

Josh’s hands shook as he unlocked the front door. He checked over his shoulder at the neighbor’s house, where a single onion lamp burned.

These neighbors, according to Zach, were real watchdogs, and so one of the rules Josh had to strictly adhere to was not to turn on any lights on the north side of the house.

Inside the house, Josh took off his shoes.

“Take off your shoes,” he said.

Melanie laughed. “Ohhhh-kay.”

“I know,” he said. “Sorry.” The floors were made of some rare wood, Zach said, and the rule was: No shoes, not even if you were the Queen of England.

Josh walked up a curving staircase to a great room with windows overlooking the harbor. He turned on some lights and immediately set them on dimmers, way down low. There was a fancy bar with mirrors and blue granite and a hundred wineglasses hanging upside down. On the counter, as promised, Zach had left a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice and a plate of cheese, crackers, strawberries, and grapes.

“For us,” Josh said, brandishing the champagne bottle.

“Oh,” Melanie said. She walked to the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the deck. “This place has some view!” she cal ed out.

Josh nearly asked her to lower her voice. The last thing he wanted was for the neighbor to hear them and come over to investigate—or worse, to cal the police. Since he’d gotten the keys, a hundred ruinous scenarios had presented themselves in Josh’s mind, making him wonder if al this was even worth it.

But later, after they had used the bed (not the master bed, of course, but the best guest-room bed, which was a king and very soft and luxurious, a five-star bed, in Josh’s estimation) and after they had showered together in a bathroom tiled with tumbled marble and after they had consumed the entire bottle of champagne (this was mostly Josh, since Melanie was pregnant) and the plate of cheese and fruit (this was mostly Melanie because she was ravenous after sex)—he decided that yes, it was worth it. The champagne had gone to his head, but that only intensified his enjoyment of these moments stolen, borrowed. Josh turned on the flat-screen TV at the foot of the bed. He had never done anything normal with Melanie, like watch TV.

“What do you watch?” he said.

“Nothing,” she said. “Wel , The Sopranos. And Desperate Housewives, if I remember to Tivo it. And footbal .”

“Footbal ?” he said. “Col ege or NFL?”

“NFL,” she said.

He fed her Brie on crackers, and the cracker crumbs fel onto the sheets. Josh tickled her and she squirmed and Josh noted how squirming on 400-count sheets was far superior to squirming in grainy sand. He tickled her so relentlessly that she squealed, and Josh stopped immediately, cocking his head like a dog, listening. Had anyone heard them?

“What’s wrong with you?” Melanie said.

“Nothing.”

“We’re not supposed to be here, are we?”

“Of course we’re supposed to be here,” Josh said. “We are supposed to be here.”

He and Melanie wrapped themselves in white, waffled robes that were hanging in the closet and stepped out onto the deck. Josh found himself wondering where he might find six mil ion dol ars, so he could buy the house. So they could just stay there. So they would never have to leave.

He pul ed Melanie back into bed. “Are you happy?” he asked. “Do you like it here?”

“Mmmhmmgwshw,” she said. Her mouth was ful of strawberry. “Yeah. It was very sweet of you to arrange this. You didn’t have to, though, Josh.