Another day they ride the hotel bikes out to Madaket and have lunch at Millie’s （there’s a picture of a seared-scallop taco with purple cabbage slaw）， and over the weekend they head out to Sconset to do the bluff walk. （Grace remembers that bluff before a single one of those homes was built. She used to pay a nickel to take the train to Sconset!） There’s a sweet photo of Richie and Wanda holding hands while Richie walks Doug and a funny one of Louie appearing to hold the Sankaty Head Lighthouse in the palm of his hand.
The late afternoons are always bittersweet because Richie has to be at work by six. He showers and changes in the suite, kisses Kimber long and deep, then heads down the hall to the front desk. He still makes phone calls in the middle of the night in Lizbet’s office with the door closed, Grace notes. She finds this disappointing and blows cold air down the neck of Richie’s dress shirt, but that doesn’t stop him.
Then there’s a happy development for Richie and Kimber. Edie’s mother, Love Robbins, is willing to work one night shift per week, giving Richie the night off!
Because of the children, there’s only one place Richie and Kimber can go for dinner alone, and fortunately, it’s the only place either of them wants to go: the Blue Bar.
“I’ll just charge it to my room!” Kimber says, and Grace notes the relief that washes over Richie’s face.
Grace peeks in on the two lovebirds on their date. They order a cocktail called Here Comes Trouble and start feasting on yummy bites and spreads and dips and crunchy snacks; after their second Here Comes Trouble, Kimber orders the decadent caviar sandwiches. Eventually Beatriz, the whipped cream concierge, comes out with shot glasses of chocolate-mint-flavored whipped cream, and Kimber and Richie feed each other with the tiny spoons, then start kissing, and Grace can sense the bartender, a real pistol named Petey, thinking: Get a room! At exactly nine o’clock, Petey flips a switch under the bar and one of the panels in the coffered ceiling slides open and the copper disco ball drops. “White Wedding” starts playing and Richie takes Kimber’s hand and leads her to the small dance floor in front of the penny-sheathed wall. They dance to “Burning Down the House” and “Hit Me with Your Best Shot” and “You May Be Right” as brilliant copper spots of light spin around them. Kimber throws her head back and windshield-wipers her arms in the air while Richie does moves he calls “the lawn mower” and “the shopping cart.” Kimber is laughing; Richie is hamming it up. Then “Faithfully” by Journey comes on and they press their sweaty bodies together and shuffle in a tight circle （some dancing lessons should be in their future, Grace thinks）， and when the song ends, Richie leads Kimber back to the bar, where she signs the bill, leaving Petey a huge tip.
Kimber throws back what’s left of her Here Comes Trouble and, in the spirit of the greatest decade of the twentieth century, cries out, “Take me to bed or lose me forever!”
It’s five thirty in the afternoon a few days later; Richie is in the bathroom shaving before he has to go to work. Kimber is sitting on the bed, still in her bikini, sandy from the beach, her skin golden from the sun, her hair newly dyed flamingo pink, which is actually quite flattering. Kimber watches Richie swipe clean strokes through the shaving cream with his chin lifted just so and she blurts it out.
“I love you.”
Richie’s head jerks a bit—he’s lucky he doesn’t cut himself—and his eyes meet hers in the mirror. Uh-oh, Grace thinks. Is it too much too soon? Kimber is always pushing the envelope. But then Richie sets down his razor and, with half a face of shaving cream, kisses Kimber. “I’m so in love with you,” he says. “Maybe more in love than I’ve ever been in my life.”
Way to double-down, Richie! Grace thinks.
That night, very late, when Richie comes to bed, Kimber says, “You know what I think we should do tomorrow? Go see your place. The children have been asking where you live when you’re not here.” She scratches her fingernails lightly down Richie’s chest. “And I have to admit, I’m curious too.”
Richie seizes up. “My place is really small,” he says. “A dump, actually. I wouldn’t want the kids to see it, because I don’t want them to feel sorry for me.”
Kimber waves a hand. “They won’t care—they’re kids. We’ll just swing by and poke our heads in before we go to Fortieth Pole tomorrow. You said Cliff Road? That’s on our way.”
“Not a good idea,” Richie says. “My landlady, Mrs. Felix, said no visitors.”