“Don’t you think it was too chilly for your other jacket?” “Definitely,” she said, smiling thankfully. “But it doesn’t match what I’m wearing.”

“I’d rather you be comfortable. And besides, this one looks good on you.”

She loved him for that. Take that, Mom!

They started down the street, and a few steps later-surprising herself as much as Miles-she took one hand from her pocket and looped it through his arm. “So,” she said, “let me tell you about my mother.”

At their table a few minutes later, Miles couldn’t stifle a laugh. “She sounds great.”

“Easy for you to say. She’s not your mother.”

“It’s just her way of showing you that she loves you.”

“I know. But it would be easier if she didn’t always worry so much. Sometimes I think she does it on purpose just to drive me crazy.”

Despite her obvious exasperation, Sarah looked positively luminous in the flickering candlelight, Miles decided.

The Harvey Mansion was one of the better restaurants in town. Originally a home dating from the 1790s, it was a popular romantic getaway. When it was being redesigned for its current use, the owners decided to retain most of the floor plan. Miles and Sarah were led up a curving set of stairs and were seated in what was once a library. Dimly lit, it was a medium-size room with red-oak flooring and an intricately designed tin ceiling. Along two walls were mahogany shelves, lined with hundreds of books; along the third wall, the fireplace cast an ethereal glow. Sarah and Miles were seated in the corner near the window. There were only five other tables, and though all were occupied, people talked in low murmurs.

“Mmm… I think you’re right,” Miles said. “Your mother probably lies awake at night thinking of new ways to torment you.”

“I thought you said you’d never met her.”

Miles chuckled. “Well, at least she’s around. Like I told you when we first met, I hardly even talk to my father anymore.”

“Where is he now?”

“I have no idea. I got a postcard a couple of months ago from Charleston, but there’s no telling if he’s still there. He doesn’t usually stay in one place all that long, he doesn’t call, and he very seldom makes it back to town. He hasn’t seen me or Jonah for years now.”

“I can’t imagine that.”

“It’s just the way he is, but then, he wasn’t exactly Ward Cleaver when I was little. Half the time, I got the impression he didn’t like having us around.” “Us?”

“Me and my mom.”

“Didn’t he love her?”

“I have no idea.”

“Oh, come on…”

“I’m serious. She was pregnant when they got married, and I can’t honestly say they were ever meant for each other. They ran real hot and cold-one day they were madly in love, and the next day she was throwing his clothes on the front lawn and telling him never to come back. And when she died, he just took up and left as fast as he could. Quit his job, sold the house, bought himself a boat, and told me he was going to see the world. Didn’t know a thing about sailing, either. Said he’d learn what he needed as he went along, and I guess he has.” Sarah frowned. “That’s a little strange.”

“Not for him. To be honest, I wasn’t surprised at all, but you’d have to meet him to know what I’m talking about.” He shook his head slightly, as if disgusted.

“How did your mother die?” Sarah asked gently.

A strange, shuttered expression crossed his face, and Sarah immediately regretted bringing it up. She leaned forward. “I’m sorry-that was rude. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay,” Miles said quietly. “I don’t mind. It happened a long time ago, so it’s not hard to talk about. It’s just that I haven’t talked about it in years. I can’t remember the last time someone asked about my mother.” Miles drummed his fingers absently on the table before sitting up a little straighter. He spoke matter-of-factly, almost as if he were talking about someone he didn’t know. Sarah recognized the tone: It was the way she spoke of Michael now.

“My mom started having these pains in her stomach. Sometimes, she couldn’t even sleep at night. Deep down, I think she knew how serious it was, and by the time she finally went in to see the doctor, the cancer had spread to her pancreas and liver. There was nothing that anyone could do. She passed away less than three weeks later.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

“So am I,” he said. “I think you would have liked her.”

“I’m sure I would have.”

They were interrupted by the waiter as he approached the table and took their drink orders. As if on cue, both Sarah and Miles reached for the menus and read them quickly.

“So what’s good?” she asked.

“Everything, really.”

“No special recommendations?”

“I’ll probably get a steak of some sort.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

He glanced up. “You have something against steak?”

“Not at all. You just didn’t strike me as the tofu and salad type.” She closed her menu. “I, on the other hand, have to watch my girlish figure.” “So what are you getting?”

She smiled. “A steak.”

Miles closed his menu and pushed it off to the side of the table. “So, now that we’ve covered my life, why don’t you tell me about yours? What was it like growing up in your family?”

Sarah set her menu on top of his.

“Unlike what you had, my parentswere Ward and June Cleaver. We lived in a suburb just outside Baltimore in the most typical of houses-four bedrooms, two bathrooms, complete with a porch, flower garden, and a white picket fence. I rode the bus to school with my neighbors, played in the front yard all weekend long, and had the biggest collection of Barbies on the whole block. Dad worked from nine to five and wore a suit every day: Mom stayed home, and I don’t think I ever saw her without an apron. And our house always smelled like a bakery. Mom made cookies for me and my brother every day, and we’d eat them in the kitchen and recite what we learned that day.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It was. My mom was great when we were little kids. She was the kind of mom that the other kids ran to if they hurt themselves or got in a jam of some sort. It wasn’t until my brother and I got older that she started to get neurotic on me.” Miles raised both eyebrows. “Now, was it that she changed, or was she always neurotic and you were too young to notice?”

“That sounds like something Sylvia would say.”

“Sylvia?”

“A friend of mine,” she said evasively, “a good friend.” If Miles sensed her hesitation, he gave no notice.

Their drinks arrived and the waiter took their order. As soon as he was gone, Miles leaned forward, bringing his face closer to hers.

“What’s your brother like?”

“Brian? He’s a nice kid. I swear, he’s more grown-up than most people I work with. But he’s shy and not real good at meeting people. He tends to be a little introspective, but when we’re together, we just click and always have. That’s one of the main reasons I came back here. I wanted to spend some time with him before he headed off to college. He just started at UNC.” Miles nodded. “So, he’s a lot younger than you,” he said, and Sarah looked up at him.

“Nota lot younger.”

“Well… enough. You’re what, forty? Forty-five?” he said, repeating what she’d said to him the first time they’d met.

She laughed. “A girl’s got to stay on her toes around you.”

“I’ll bet you say that to all the guys you date.”

“Actually, I’m out of practice,” she said. “I haven’t dated much since my divorce.”

Miles lowered his drink. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No.”

“A girl like you? I’m sure you’ve been asked out a lot.”

“That doesn’t mean I say yes.”

“Playing hard to get?” Miles teased.

“No,” she said. “I just didn’t want to hurt anyone.”