Josie felt something beneath her and scooted up to retrieve another one of Tristan’s books. She held it up to him as he took a seat.

“Do you read in the car?” she asked.

His lips curled up on one side, a wordless answer. Josie tossed the book onto the backseat and shook her head.

“I guess I should be happy you’re addicted to books and not something like crack whores.”

“Nah. I gave them up for Lent this year,” Tristan joked.

“Are you Catholic?” Josie asked.

“No, but I’ve read the Bible.”

“You mean you have that entire book memorized?”

“Ephesians 6:12. ‘For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.’”

“Wow,” Josie said. “How do you do that?”

Tristan laughed and turned the key.

“I don’t do it. I’m just built that way.”

The car rumbled to a thunderous start. He glanced at Josie’s reaction, watching her denim-covered legs cross and then uncross. His baby always had that effect on ladies. At first, they’d be dazzled by her cherry red paint, clean lines, and whitewall tires. It wasn’t until they were seated in the plush vinyl seat, and she kicked to life, that they fully understood her appeal.

Josie fidgeted nervously, stunned by the feel of the pulsating seat beneath her. She let her mind drift to their possible destinations and felt her anxiety go into overdrive. The idea of being in a crowded place with tons of whispered conversations surrounding them terrified her. Too many people, too many faces and eyes to see her. The thought left her reeling.

“Where are we going?” she finally asked, blowing out a breath.

“A quiet place with a fantastic view,” Tristan answered, slipping his hand over hers.

She took a deep breath and exhaled again, letting her apprehension and worries slip away into the black night sky. His words and touch soothed her. It was as if he knew what she needed before she did.

A measure of reflective power.

They sat at the last table on the patio at Edgewater Grill. The restaurant wasn’t crowded, but the low hum of surrounding conversations was enough to give the couple a sense of sociability. Utensils wrapped in soft linen sat just below the water glasses. A single candle marked the center of the table, its flickering warm light washing the two in swaying shadows and a honey-yellow glow. Sporadically, the salty breeze would drift in from the bay, bringing with it the cooler ocean air and a breath of repose.

Tristan ordered a Stella Artois and Josie asked for a glass of red wine.

“What kind of red would you like, miss?”

Josie glanced at Tristan and back at the expectant waiter; she didn’t know the answer. Monica had advised her that self-respecting women ordered wine at dinner and did not get so drunk they had to be carried out. Just as panic began to overwhelm her, Tristan rescued her from embarrassment.

“She’ll have the 2007 Talisman Vineyard Pinot Noir. Thanks.”

“Of course,” the waiter said before smiling tightly and turning to fetch their drinks.

Following more of Monica’s instructions, Josie unfolded her napkin and laid it across her lap. She kept her elbows off the table and sat stiffly in her chair. Glancing over the menu, she felt a bit overwhelmed by the choices and the prices attached to them.

“Relax, Josie,” Tristan teased, nudging her foot beneath the table.

She loosened her posture just a bit, wondering if everyone could tell she didn’t belong here. Selections were made, food was ordered, but conversation was mostly absent. Tristan wondered why Josie was at ease with him within the confines of her apartment, but here she seemed unreachable.

Josie’s eyes scanned the bay, the black glossy surface dotted with specks of light on each ripple. Boats sailed by, returning from their sunset cruises, cutting through the water with no resistance. Josie had never before noticed the sleek lines and curves of these vessels and suddenly longed to sketch them out on her pristine napkin. She recognized her need to return to consoling habits, but with no tools available she sipped her water instead.

There were so many sets of eyes here and she felt like all were bearing down on her. Josie resisted checking the faces at each table. She knew that they weren’t here, the eyes of her longtime demons. This place was too refined for them, for her too, if she was being honest. Like a shadow that followed her even in darkness, Josie always feared running into her foster parents. She knew they still lived here, though she’d made sure they couldn’t take in any more kids. Most of the time she could ignore that they lived in the same city.

“Are you okay?” Tristan asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she offered.

“‘I’m fine’ is the biggest white lie ever told.”

“Because it’s easy. Usually, when people ask how you are, they don’t really care about the answer anyway. So they take for granted that you’re telling the truth,” Josie said. “And what is a white lie? Why white? Are there other color lies?”

“No, it’s based on the idea of opposites. White meaning good and black meaning bad. White lies are thought to be harmless and trivial, lying without ill intent.”

“Harmless. That’s a joke. I’ve told that lie hundreds of times and no one cared enough to call me out on it.”

“I care,” he said softly.

Josie shifted in her seat, her eyes scanned the restaurant again, getting stuck on a familiar face.

“I know that guy.”

Tristan turned toward the main dining room.

“Which one?” he asked.

“The Asian waiter with the glasses.”

“How well do you know him?” Tristan asked.

Josie smirked, loving how easily he was baited.

“Well enough to know that he wears boxer briefs and likes to be spanked.”

Tristan felt the possessive anger bubbling up inside and it was all he could do to not growl when the kid passed by.

“Something wrong?” she asked, feigning innocence.

“No. I’m fine,” he hissed. “We all have a past. It doesn’t matter who you’ve slept with.”

“Good, because I don’t remember half of them.”

Tristan slid closer to the corner, allowing his leg to lean against hers. Beneath the frosted glass tabletop, she watched as his hand slid from his own thigh to hers, resting just above her knee.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Josie. It won’t work.”

“And what is that?”

“You’re trying to make me jealous. I’m not a dog pissing on my territory here. I don’t need to sleep with you to prove that you’re mine.”

Josie scoffed at the idea. Of course he needed to sleep with her. How else would anyone believe that he was with a girl like her?

“Do you believe that people, in general, are good?” Josie asked, abandoning one heavy conversation for another.

“I guess it depends on how you define good. I don’t think there’s any genetic predisposition toward the idea of being good. I mean, Nazi youth were considered righteous, suicide bombers are honored by supporters of their cause. Does that make them good? I think becoming a good person has more to do with your environment, your caregivers, and society.”

“Look at my environment, my caregivers. How could I possibly be good?”

Tristan was confused by her question. Of course she was good. She was everything.

“Buddha said, ‘Neither fire nor wind, birth nor death can erase our good deeds.’ Before you suffered at the hands of those evil people, you were raised by two loving parents. Even though you may not remember it, I believe those ideas and values are ingrained into who you are.”

Josie looked down at his hand still covering her thigh, his thumb tracing a small sweeping arc across the denim. She could feel the heat coming from his palm, the slight squeeze as his fingers curled around her. It was hard to believe that she was good, but she wanted to. She wanted to be good for him.