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Informationen zum Autor Hannah Reynolds grew up outside of Boston, where she spent most of her childhood and teenage years recommending books to friends, working at a bookstore, and making chocolate desserts. She received her BA in creative writing and archaeology from Ithaca College, which meant she never needed to stop telling romantic stories or playing in the dirt. After living in San Francisco, New York, and Paris, she came back to Massachusetts and now lives in Cambridge. Klappentext Jordan Edelman, determined to avoid dating during her summer trip to Nantucket, finds herself entangled with her father's research assistant, whom she has disliked for years, but as she delves into a centuries-old mystery with a local astronomer, her growing relationship becomes increasingly complicated. Leseprobe My therapist told me recently that instead of making lists about things I hated (Ethan Barbanel, Benjamin Franklin, death, entropy), I should make lists about things I loved, or even liked, or, at the very least, could appreciate in the moment. And so: I liked the seventy-five-degree June day. I appreciated the cup of Dunkin’ in my hand. I liked all the fishing boats filling the port of Hyannis. Dad loves boats. He took me to harbor after harbor every time we visited the Cape, explaining the difference between sloops and bowriders, daydreaming out loud about the kind we’d get if we were the kind of people who could afford boats, as opposed to a widowed historian and his seventeen-year-old daughter. And while I liked looking at the small craft, I couldn’t really picture myself sailing down the Charles River. Maybe because most of those people dressed a little differently from my normal all-black outfits and combat boots. However, people underestimated the greatness of combat boots,which went on my list of things I appreciated (specifically, their arch support). I’d taken the CapeFlyer from Boston to Hyannis, and good shoes were crucial as I hauled my two suitcases from the train station to the harbor. I maneuvered my load down the sidewalk edging Hyannis’s port, passing men loading giant cages onto a weathered fishing vessel next to elegant catamarans. When I neared shouting distance of the ferry building, I dropped into one of the many Adirondack chairs lining the green. Forty minutes until my ferry left, and it hadn’t arrived yet, either, though people already waited by the dock. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, trying to let the sunshine and lapping water soothe me. How bad could this summer be? Most people would be thrilled to spend three months on Nantucket. When I opened my eyes a few minutes later, a boy sat in the chair closest to me, eating pizza out of a box. Broad shoulders, aquiline nose, and an easy confidence in the way he took up space. Too good-looking and exactly my type. I’d dated guys with his same rangy frame and smiling eyes before, and they’d been all flirtation and flattery right up until they dumped me. Two women walked by dressed in capris and light blouses. They paused in front of the boy. One, wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat and bedazzled sandals, made an exaggerated expression of awe. “Is that a salad on your pizza?” I glanced at the pizza. There did, in fact, appear to be a pile of arugula on top. The boy in the chair, too, contemplated the pizza and the green leaves. “Sure seems to be.” The women both laughed. “What is that, arugula?” “Yup.” “I love arugula on pizza,” the second woman said. “Makes me feel so healthy. Where did you get it?” I tuned out the rest because, honestly, how much could one listen to a conversation about arugula on pizza, attractive boy notwithstanding? Yet not five minutes after the women walked on—seriously, the chair boy had probably only eaten two bites— another woman paused before him. “Isn’t th...
