"They're having supper," Olivia said, and winked at Nick.

"Oh, you little minx!"

"By the way, we're going to Nantucket the day after tomorrow."

"I believe I heard that rumor this morning."

"Unless you prefer to stay here?"

She gave him the details and he could only smile and shake his head.

"Of course I'll come. There's a museum there I want to visit. You know? I love your business. But tell me this. If they asked you to jump through flaming hoops of fire, I imagine you'd have to do it?"

"It pays the bills, Nick. It pays the bills."

"Hmmm. It's time to pull a cork," he said and lifted a chilly bottle of Chablis from the shopping bag. "And I have a piece of cheese in the bags somewhere. And some water crackers."

"I'll find them," Olivia said, and with that, the third evening in their new home was under way.

She fixed a plate of cheese and crackers and they walked outside with their gla.s.ses of wine to watch the sunset, hoping they'd catch a glimpse of the dolphins. Olivia put the food on a table between the rocking chairs and stood against the railing with Nick.

Down on the beach, there were couples walking arm in arm along the water and others with their dogs, chasing b.a.l.l.s and catching Frisbees in midair. Overhead the pelicans flew in formation, their wings casting long shadows across their front yard. And fat black-and-white sea gulls were everywhere, walking all over the beach like they owned it.

They watched as four beautiful sailboats went out to sea and then as several fishing boats made their way toward Shem Creek, finished for the day.

The air was deliciously drenched with salt and moisture. Olivia's hair, which she had twisted up into a knot, began to loosen and curl, creating tendrils all around her face. She kept peeling them off her cheeks and tucking them behind her ears, but the breeze would loosen them again.

"Don't bother with your hair," Nick said. "Those lovely curlicues make you look like Botticelli's Venus!"

"Are you telling me I'm half baked on a clamsh.e.l.l?"

"Not a bit, my darling girl, and you know it. Cheers!"

"Cheers!" They took a sip and Olivia said, "So, tell me what happened at the historical society today. I'm dying to hear!"

"It's just absolutely astounding. You know, there's so much to learn about this world and all the many diverse and fascinating people who inhabit it, never mind the ones from long ago."

Nick's eyes had that same irresistible dancing twinkle that stole Olivia's heart when they first met. The recognition of it ignited a quiver through her whole body and her arms got goose b.u.mps. It was a mighty powerful twinkle.

"So who'd you dig up, Nicholas Seymour with the crazy eyes? It's a good one, right?"

The repet.i.tive sounds of the ocean washing the sh.o.r.e were calming, the perfect background music for a good story. And the sun was slowly inching toward the horizon.

"Dave the Slave."

"Who?"

He turned to face her. "David Drake, also known as Dave the Potter or Dave the Slave. He was born into slavery in 1801, up in Edgefield County. He made some of the most remarkable earthenware pots ever built."

"Earthenware pots."

"Yes. You know, before indoor plumbing you had to bring your water to the house from the well. These pots and jugs were a critical part of life. Earthenware was more desirable because it was impervious to water and didn't break as easily. "

"I don't know how people endured that kind of life," Olivia said, and cut a piece of Gruyre. She fed it to Nick.

"Thank you. Neither do I. But there are several supremely interesting things about this fellow. First of all, he had only one leg. The legend around him suggests that he lost it in a train accident. To my way of thinking, losing a leg was one way to avoid working in the fields, which was backbreaking labor."

"Good grief! Do you think he laid himself across a railroad track? He could've died!"

"Easily! I don't know. That would require more research, and one still might not reach a definitive conclusion. Details of slave life are spotty. Cut me another piece of cheese, will you, my pet?"

"Of course!" Olivia cut several cubes and balanced the plate on the rail.

"But anyway, unusual fact number two: he was literate! Teaching a slave to read and write the language was illegal because it was thought literacy would lead to unrest and uprisings."

"How stupid." Olivia helped herself to a bite of cheese. "This is so good."

"Agreed, but as an historian, I seek the facts and try to weigh those facts in the context of their time. No judgment."

"I know that, but that whole period in time is mortifying." She fed Nick another bite and half a cracker. "G.o.d, I love cheese!"

"I love you! Well, it was an unenlightened era, to say the least. Nonetheless, his first owner, a staunchly religious fellow, was named Henry Drake. He owned a large plantation in Pottersville. Drake felt that the teachings of the Bible would have a positive effect on his slaves, so he taught them to read."

"That was nice of him. All you open-minded southerners."

She meant it just as a joke, but there was some truth in that some of her friends growing up in New York a.s.sumed the entire South was populated with narrow-minded, Bible-verse-spouting, patriarchal, misogynistic, judgmental bigots, whose ancestors probably owned slaves or condoned the inst.i.tution. And they all owned trucks for no apparent reason.

"Good grief, Olivia! I know you hate slavery. We all hate slavery. It's an abomination before G.o.d Almighty. But I didn't invent it and none of my ancestors ever partic.i.p.ated in it or thought it was right. Just because I'm a son of the Lowcountry, it doesn't mean I approve of any part of slavery in any culture one iota."

"I'm sorry. I'm being rude. Please finish your story."

"It's hard to talk about anything related to slavery without your going on a rant. I agree. But anyway, there happened to be another slave on the same plantation with no arms. Henry was his name."

"Seriously? What are the odds on that?"

"I don't know. Not high. But if he was born on the plantation, he probably stayed there all his life."

"I'm sure. Where else was he going?"

"Exactly. So Dave decides he wants to be an artist and make pots, but he can't turn the wheel with one leg. But Henry can turn the wheel just fine. So Henry turned the wheel and Dave applied the clay and together they built thousands of pots and jars. Like forty thousand. Now, here's why they were so unique."

"Tell me, sweetheart," she said in her best come hither voice, teasing him.

Nick was very excited to tell Olivia this quirky story, and Olivia was excited by Nick's enthusiasm. Nick laughed and used his Boris voice from Rocky and Bullwinkle.

"Ah, Natasha, my temptress! Your moment will arrive later this evening, when I will treat you to a night of magic in the boudoir!"

"I can't wait for zee darkness."

"Okay. Okay. So, anyway, Dave was a poet! He wrote short poems on his pots! How do you like that?"

"Such as?"

"Well, one of them was something like Sure must be the fourth of July, fifes play and flags fly. Then he signed them Dave and dated them. And they're gorgeous things, beautiful glazes and ingenious design. There are a dozen or so on display at the Charleston Museum."

"It might be fun to try and buy one," Olivia said.

"The last one that sold at auction went for over one hundred and thirty thousand dollars."

Olivia coughed. "What?" She whistled, but no sound came from her lips. "For a clay pot from Pottersville, South Carolina. You're lying to me!"

Nick laughed and Olivia did too.

"No, ma'am! It's a doc.u.mented fact."

"Maybe we'll find one for Bob instead!"

CHAPTER 9.

Fishin'

The next morning, after a slow start due to some earnest pyrotechnic gymnastics the prior evening, Nick went downtown to go read at the historical society.

"I want to read the papers of Laura Bragg," he said.

"Who's she?"

"Very interesting character. She was the first female director of a scientific museum in the United States. And she was allegedly very controversial."

"What did she do?"

"I'll let you know."

He kissed her cheek and left.

Olivia set up shop on their dining room table, which would be her works.p.a.ce until she bought a desk. She began making lists of what she had to do. She needed to find a local upholsterer for starters. She made a note to ask Jason to recommend a good local landscaper and tree-tr.i.m.m.i.n.g service, a pest-control company, and a housekeeping service. Maybe he might know a good used-car dealer?

Around eleven, Roni came strolling in with coffee from Starbucks.

"Morning! A skinny latte macchiato for you and a Tazo chai for me."

"Thanks! How was last night?"

Roni plopped herself in the dining room chair opposite Olivia and sighed.

"It was the perfect date, probably only because I'm leaving town. You always want what you can't have."

"You just don't know how true that is."

"Jason is a blast and funny as a rip! And he has such nice manners! Ah, southern men!"

"You don't have to tell me!" Olivia said, removing the top on her cup and inhaling deeply. "Wouldn't it be wonderful if coffee tasted as good as it smells?"

"Yeah, it would. Well, you sort of wrote the book on the charms of southern men. We stayed downtown and went to someplace called Fish. Awesome! Just awesome. When we were across the table from each other, he acted like I was the only other person in the room. Olivia? Did you ever meet someone and it's like you've known them all your life?"

Roni had that wistful look, the one Olivia knew from experience had the launching power to send a girl over the moon.

"Yes. Only one. Nick." Olivia handed the audit notices from the IRS and State of New York to Roni. "Southern men aren't always scanning the room to see who else came to the party."

"Hmmm. The last guy I dated in New York hardly knew I was there. Ah well, it's too bad Mr. Fowler lives in South Carolina. He's gonna cry for me something terrible. That poor man! Breaks my heart to think about it. What do you want me to do with these?"

Olivia smiled. Roni clearly liked Jason very much. Olivia hoped she liked him enough to find excuses to return to South Carolina as soon as possible and frequently and that Jason would remain available. It was a lot to hope for.

"I looked at both of them. They just want records. Keep copies for us and send the originals over to our accountants. Tell the accountants to give them whatever information they want. We don't have anything to hide."

"Right. I know we don't. It's just unnerving. And it generates expenses we don't need."

"That's the real issue. And it makes me nervous. Anyway, this is the first time I've ever shown a loss."

"Yeah, well, you know I always say better days are coming."

"They'd better get here soon."

"Do you want me to call all our vendors to send swatches and samples here?"

"Yes, I don't know why I didn't think of that before now."

"Because your head is still in Manhattan. "

"What's the matter with you and Nick? Don't you know it's rude to read other people's minds?"

"Whatever. I'll send you a duplicate of your portfolio too. In fact, I'll send it in PowerPoint as well."

Her book was all she really needed to acquire projects. Once a prospective client saw the before-and-after photographs of other living s.p.a.ces she had renovated or redesigned, she was always given the job. Unless money was an issue.