She looked away, as though still trying to process what I said, just as the waitress arrived to take our dinner orders. Almost robotically, Natalie ordered a beet salad and red snapper, and I ordered the choices I’d picked earlier. When the waitress retreated, Natalie looked up at me.

“When I was young, my best friend died. I know it’s not even close to the same, but I remember how awful it was.”

“What happened?”

“We were both twelve. She lived two doors down, and her birthday was only a week before mine. Her parents were friends with my parents, so we pretty much grew up together. Went to the same school, we were in the same class all the way through, we even both took the same dance lessons. At the time, I think I was closer to Georgianna than I was to either my sister or my brother. Even when we weren’t together, we spoke on the phone all the time. But anyway, we’d walked home from school together. I remember we were talking about this boy named Jeff, who she thought was cute, and she was wondering whether he liked her, too. We said goodbye at my house, and I remember hugging her goodbye. We always hugged. Anyway, about an hour after that, she wanted an ice cream sandwich, so she decided to walk to the convenience store, maybe three blocks away. While she was walking, she was hit by a drunk driver and died.”

I could tell by her expression that she was reliving that moment and I stayed silent. When she finally realized I hadn’t responded, she shook her head.

“Like I said, it’s not the same as losing both your parents.”

“I didn’t lose my best friend when I was young, either. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” she said. Then, exhibiting a bit of false cheer, she added: “But look at us. Could our conversation get any more depressing?”

“I prefer to think of it as the two of us being honest with each other.”

“It’s still not the best dinner topic.”

“What would you like to discuss instead?”

“Anything.”

“All right,” I said. “What else can you tell me about growing up? Good things, I mean.”

“Like what?”

“Did you have any pets?” When she looked skeptical, I added, “I’m just trying to get an idea of who you were.”

“We had a dog and a cat for most of my childhood. They were named Fred and Barney.”

“From The Flintstones?”

“Exactly.”

“How about family vacations?”

“We took them all the time,” she said. “We went to Disney World every other year, we’d go skiing in West Virginia or Colorado, and we’d rent a house in the Outer Banks for two weeks every summer. One set of grandparents lived in Charlotte, and another near Boone, so we’d visit them, too. There were a lot of long car rides and I used to dread them…but now I think it helped us form closer ties as a family.”

“It sounds idyllic.”

“It was,” she said, seemingly growing more comfortable with sharing. “I have no complaints about our family life.”

“I don’t know too many people who can say that. I thought everyone had issues with their parents.”

“I’m not saying they were perfect, but it was easier for me and my siblings because they get along so well. Considering they work together all day and then go home together, you’d think they’d get tired of each other. But my dad is still crazy about my mom, and she dotes on him. There was a lot of laughter and we had dinner together every night as a family.”

I grinned, marveling at how different our childhoods had been. “What led you to choose NC State? After you finished high school?”

“It’s where my dad went to school,” she answered. “My mom went to Meredith, which is an all-girls college in Raleigh. But after Salem Academy, I wanted a big, public, coed school. I also knew it would make my dad happy. In fact, all of us—my brother and sister—went to NC State. We’re all die-hard Wolfpack fans, in case you’re wondering. Even my mom has been converted. My dad has season tickets for football and we usually have a family tailgate once or twice a year. My parents go to every home game.”

“And that’s where you met the guy you followed to New Bern, right?”

“Mark,” she said, adding nothing else.

“You loved him?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, her gaze falling. “But he’s not someone I want to talk about.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “I think I have a pretty good idea of who you are, even without that part of your life.”

“You do, huh?”

“Well, some of it, anyway.”

“What’s confusing you?”

“I’m still not sure why you decided to become a deputy. You strike me as more like the teacher or nurse type. Or maybe an accountant.”

“Should I be offended by that?”

“I’m not saying you’re not tough enough. I guess it’s just that you strike me as intelligent, caring, and thoughtful. It’s a good thing.”

She scrutinized me for a beat. “I already told you,” she answered. “I sort of fell into it. But to your point about nursing, I get that a lot, actually, although I’m not sure why. To me, hospitals…are…” She hesitated. “They’re depressing. I hate hospitals. And besides, I get squeamish at the sight of blood.”

“Another reason not to be in your line of work.”

“I think we’ve established that I’m not engaging in shoot-outs every shift.”

“But if you were, you’d be fine. Since you’re an excellent shot.”

“My nickname is Bull’s-eye,” she said with a wink. “In my own mind, anyway.”

The waitress came by with bread and rolls, apologizing that she hadn’t brought them earlier. I took a roll and buttered it, as did Natalie.

While we nibbled, the conversation continued to drift here and there, with an ease typical of people who’d known each other far longer. We talked about the bees and beehives, shared memories of our college experiences, life in a small town versus the city, the Navy, favorite rides at Disney World, a bit about my parents and my grandfather. I even touched on my grandfather’s curious journey to Easley and his final words to me.

When the waitress brought our food, it was as delicious as Natalie had promised. Out of town or not, it was a place where I’d gladly eat again. Especially with Natalie.

Though our easy rapport continued throughout dinner, it never crossed into the territory of flirting—whether she felt any real romantic interest in me was hard to tell. That she was enjoying dinner and my company, I had no doubt. As to whether she ever wanted to have dinner again, I honestly had no idea.

And yet, I couldn’t recall the last time I’d had such a pleasurable evening. It wasn’t just because she’d said the right things when I’d told her about my parents, or that she’d shared with me her own loss from childhood. Instead, I realized that I admired the value she placed on certain things—family, education, friendship, and kindness, among other things—and it was clear that she struggled with some of the things she saw regularly on her job—addiction, domestic violence, bar fights. She confessed that those things sometimes left her feeling agitated and unable to sleep after a shift had ended.

“Why don’t you quit?” I finally asked. “You have a degree and work experience. I’m sure you could find something else.”

“Maybe,” she admitted. “But for now, I think it’s best if I stick with it.”

“Because you want to make a difference?”

She touched the thin gold chain at her neck. “Sure,” she finally said, “let’s go with that.”

Neither one of us was in the mood for dessert, but we agreed on coffee. A little caffeine would help with the drive back to New Bern. As she stirred her cup, I realized that aside from work and family, she’d told me little about herself since she’d arrived in New Bern a few years back. In fact, she’d said barely anything about her life in New Bern at all.

Maybe to her it wasn’t all that interesting. But as I turned these facts over in my mind, Natalie stared out the window. Because of the interior lights of the restaurant, I was treated to her profile as it was reflected back in the glass. And in that moment, I understood that instead of focusing on the evening we’d just spent together, she had something else on her mind.

Something that made her feel sad.

In old-school fashion and because I’d invited her, I paid the check. To her credit, she was content to let me do so with a gracious thank-you.

The night had cooled by the time we began the ambling trek toward our vehicles. It was clear, with a spray of stars overhead and the Milky Way illuminating a path toward the horizon. The streets were empty, but from the restaurants near the water, I could hear the faint murmur of conversation and clinking glasses. Waves gently lapped against the seawall.

It still wasn’t late and I thought about suggesting that we sit on the veranda of the restaurant, with its glorious view, but I was nearly certain that she’d decline. To that point, we’d yet to have had so much as a glass of wine when we were together, not that it mattered. It was simply another interesting quality of the time we’d spent together.

“I was thinking about what you told me earlier,” she finally said. “About your grandfather.”

“Which part?”

“His last trip, and his end at the hospital,” she said. “You’re sure that he’d never mentioned Easley before?”

“Not to me,” I said. “Claude didn’t know anything, either, but I haven’t spoken with his father yet.”

“Then for all you know, he could have been on the way to somewhere else,” she pointed out. By then, we’d reached the waterfront. She paused, her ocean-colored eyes searching mine. A strand of spun-gold hair fell across her face, and I was tempted to tuck it behind her ear. Her voice broke my reverie. “Have you thought about trying to find his truck?”

“His truck?”

“There might be something in the cab,” she explained. “Maybe an itinerary, or the name of whomever he was visiting, or even the place he was going. Notes, maps, anything.”

Even before she’d finished speaking, I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it before. Then again, I wasn’t in law enforcement or a fan of mystery novels, so maybe that had something to do with it.

“You’re right,” I mused aloud. “But how would I find his truck?”

“I’d start with the hospital. Find out who they use for ambulance services. There’s probably a record somewhere of where they picked him up. Depending on where he was found, the truck might still be there. Or it may have been towed, but at least you’ll have a starting point.”

“That’s a great idea,” I said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She nodded. “And let me know what happens. I’m interested, too.”

“I will,” I said. “Which reminds me—I don’t think I have your cell number. In case I need to call.”

Or wanted to call, which was far more likely.

“Oh,” she said, and I got the impression that she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Not wanting to give her too much time to think, I reached for my phone and activated the contact list. After a moment, she took it—her reluctance was clear—and typed in her details before handing it back to me.

“I should probably be heading back,” she announced. “Early day tomorrow, and I still have to finish some laundry.”

“I understand,” I said. “I have a busy day tomorrow, too.”

“Thank you again for dinner.”

“You’re welcome. It was a pleasure getting to know you better.”

“You too. It was nice.”

Nice? Not exactly the description I’d been hoping for.

“Oh, before you go, let me get the honey.”

I retrieved the jars from my SUV and handed them over, feeling a kinetic jolt as our fingers brushed. I was reminded of the way she’d gently touched my scar earlier. I knew I wanted to kiss her, but she must have read my mind and automatically took a small step backward. In the sudden space between us, I detected a lingering energy, as though she’d wanted to kiss me as well. Perhaps I was imagining it, but I thought I detected a trace of regret in her parting smile.

“Thank you for these, too,” she said. “I’m almost out.”

She turned and slowly made her way to her car. As I watched her go, I thought of something and pulled the phone from my pocket again. The screen was still on the contact page, and I dialed the number. A few seconds later, I heard the faint sound of a phone beginning to ring. She reached into her purse before catching sight of the number and glancing at me over her shoulder.

“Just checking,” I said.

She rolled her eyes before getting into her car. I waved as she drove past and she returned the gesture before reaching the road that would take her back to New Bern.

Alone, I wandered to the railing, watching the ocean sparkle in the moonlight. The breeze had picked up, cooling the air, and I turned my face to it, pondering her reluctance to kiss me. Was it part of her overall hesitation to appear in public with me? Was she really worried about small-town gossip, even this far from New Bern?

Or was it that she was already seeing someone else?