“People or dogs, I’d say it’s more about how you’re raised than bloodlines.”

Oddly that made her think of Sam Freemont, and just thinking about him annoyed her.

“But I get some breeds are better for kids,” Beckett added.

“It’s funny, Clint and I talked about getting a dog right after Harry was born. We thought we’d wait maybe a year, let them grow up together. Then, what do you know, Liam’s on the way, and we’re dealing with Clint’s next deployment, so it got put off.”

He started to speak, but the waiter arrived with the menus, the list of specials, offers for cocktails.

They studied the menus a moment in silence.

“Does it bother you when I talk about Clint?”

“No. It’s just I never know what to say. He was a good guy.”

“He was.” She made a decision. Lay it out, say what should be said. Nothing would be real between them unless she did.

“It was love at first sight,” she said. “He always said it was the same for him. Just instant, just . . . there you are, now let’s start planning the rest of our lives together. Heady stuff for a girl of fifteen.”

“Heady at any age, but yeah, especially.”

“I never had a single doubt. Never worried, never wondered. We argued sometimes, had more than a few scenes of high drama. But still, I never worried. My parents did; I certainly understand that better now than then. But he was a good guy, and they saw that. They loved him, too.”

“You were like the golden couple in high school. C and C. The cheerleader and the football star.”

“Heady stuff,” she repeated. “We were together two years before . . . we were together. Again, I was sure. I never worried. When he left for basic, I cried all night. Not because I was worried, but because I missed him like a limb.”

The waiter came back, took their orders.

“You were so young,” Beckett prompted.

“And bold. Fearless. I married him, went off with him, left my home, my family and friends without a single twinge of doubt or regret.” She laughed. “Who was that girl?”

“I’ve always thought of you as pretty fearless.”

“Well, I learned about fear when Harry came along. What’s this little person? What if I make a mistake? What if he gets sick, gets hurt? But even then, I didn’t doubt we’d manage it all.”

She picked up her water glass, smiled as she sipped. “We wanted four, with an option for five. Crazy. A potential of fivechildren. I imagine we’d have done that if he’d lived.”

“You were happy.”

“Oh yes. And sometimes brutally lonely, overwhelmed. That’s when fear would sneak in. But I was too busy for that, I told myself. I was proud of him. I hated being without him, hated knowing what he faced every day, every night. But he was made to be a soldier, like his father, like his brother. I knew it when I married him.”

The waiter brought the wine, and after the ritual, Clare sipped. “It’s good. Even better when it signals someone’s going to bring me food I didn’t have to cook.”

“You have more. You should finish.”

“Yes, I should finish.” And be grateful he was willing to let her.

“Harry was playing, and Liam was crying in his crib. I had morning sickness, so I had to let him cry until I’d finished. I knew I was pregnant. I hadn’t taken the test yet, but I knew.”

She paused for a moment, just a moment. “He’d only been back in Iraq three weeks. I never got to tell him we were having another child. It’s my biggest regret. I never got the chance to tell him. He never got to see Murphy, touch his face, smell his hair, hear his laugh. Murphy never had him. Liam doesn’t remember his father. Harry, at best, has some dim memories. Clint was a good father. Loving, fun, attentive. But they didn’t have time.”

“You never have enough.”

Understanding, she nodded, put a hand over his. He’d lost his father, too. “No, I don’t guess you do.

“They came to the door that morning. You know when you see them. The officer, the chaplain. You know without a word being said. The lights dim; the air goes out. For a little while there’s nothing at all.”

Beckett squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry, Clare.”

“I was holding Liam. I’d forgotten I’d picked him up when the knock came. He’s crying—teething and fussy, a little feverish with it. Harry’s hugging my leg. He must have sensed something because he started crying, too. And the baby’s inside me. Clint’s gone.

“The other wives came, to help, to comfort. I broke, a million pieces. There was fear and doubt and worry, and such horrible, horrible grief. I didn’t think I’d live through it.”

He thought of her, alone, two babies, newly pregnant, and widowed.

“Who could? How did you?”

“All I knew was I needed to come home. They needed to come home. It was the only clear answer for all of us, and it was the right one. I can think about Clint here, how much I loved him, and I’ve been able to accept that we had what we were meant to have. No more, no less. Now I have something else. I can think about him, talk about him. I have to, the boys deserve that. Just as they, and I, deserve the life we’ve made now.”

“I don’t know if it helps, but I know when we lost Dad, we were all just numb, I guess. Just taking a step at a time dealing with all the horrible, practical things you have to deal with. Eventually you find yourself in another place. Some of it’s familiar, some of it’s not. You make something else out of it, and you know you couldn’t have without the person you lost.”

“Yes.” Now she could be grateful he understood. “When you think of your dad, or talk about him, it reminds you of that. It’s the same for me. You knew Clint. We have a history that includes him, so since we’re seeing each other I don’t want you to feel awkward or uncomfortable.”

Beckett considered, went with impulse. “Do you remember Mr. Schroder?”

“I had him for U.S. history. I hated Mr. Schroder.”

“Everybody did. He was a dick. Clint and I, and some other guys TP’d his house.”

“That was you? Clint was in on that?” She sat back and laughed. “Oh my God, I remember that so well. You must’ve used a hundred rolls. It looked like a cargo ship of Charmin exploded.”

“No point in doing something if you do it half-assed.”

“You sure didn’t go half-assed on Mr. Schroder. And he was a dick.”

“Owen organized it, as you’d expect. Me, Owen, Ry. Two other guys whose names I must protect, as we swore an oath.”

“Clint never told me, and everybody talked about that hit for weeks.”

“An oath’s an oath. We had about fifty rolls, and it took forever to accumulate that much. If a bunch of guys walked into Sheetz or wherever and bought that much at a time, you’d be busted. So we bought a little at a time, in different places, snuck some out of the house, a roll or two each time. We had time lines and maps and lookouts, escape routes. It was a major campaign, and it was beautiful.”

“You were the unsung heroes of Boonsboro High. If we’d known we’d have thrown a party for you.”

“We had our own about a month later. Camped out in the woods near our place and got wasted on Budweiser and peach schnapps.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Yeah, it was. Good times.”

“Charlie Reeder.” She pointed, got an aha glimmer in her eyes that sparkled green. “One of the others had to be Charlie. He and Clint were tight.”

“I’m unable to confirm or deny.”

“Charlie Reeder,” she repeated. “He was always up for trouble back then. Now he’s a town cop. You just never know. He likes men’s adventure novels and black coffee with a shot of espresso.”

“I guess you get to know people by what they look for in the bookstore.”

“I also have secrets. I know, for instance, that all the Montgomery boys like to read—and what they like to read. That you all drink too much coffee. I know that you and Owen go for sentimental cards for your mom for Mother’s Day and her birthday, and Ryder goes for funny.”

Lifting her wine, she shot him a knowing glance. “That’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

“A side benefit of the small-town merchant.”

“You bet. And I know of at least half a dozen customers who are planning to book a night at the inn for a special occasion, even though they live locally. You’re going to have a hit, Beckett.”

“It’ll be nice for Lizzy to have company.”

“Who? Oh, your ghost. She’s Lizzy now?”

“Well, we’ve gotten close. How do you think Hope’s going to deal with that?”

“Hope deals, that’s part of who she is.” Ghosts, Clare thought, were fanciful nonsense—and deliberately shifted the subject. “How’s the apartment coming?”

“Should be ready next week. Lizzy could take lessons from Avery, as she’s been haunting the place. She nagged—let’s say she persuaded Owen that the place needed a little more than paint, so it’s taken a little longer.”

They talked throughout the meal. A nice next step, Beckett thought, in the slow-and-steady plan. Maybe he’d suggest a movie next time, with a casual meal after. Keep it easy and traditional.

“This was wonderful.” She made a quiet sound of pleasure as they walked back to the car. “I can’t think of the last time I had an adult dinner out.”

“We can do it again.” He opened the car door for her. “As soon as you want.”

Tomorrow, she thought, then felt a little pang of guilt. She couldn’t spend two evenings in a row away from her kids. So she’d better make the most of the one she had. “I’ll check the schedule, see what I can work out.”

She turned, giving him the perfect opening to kiss her. When he didn’t, she slid into the car.

Maybe the dinner had decided for him that he wanted to stay friends. Take her out now and then, be a pal to the kids when he had the time and inclination.

She couldn’t fault him for that. Dating was meant to let people figure out if they wanted a relationship, and what they wanted from one. And a relationship with her had multiple complications, she thought as they started the drive home.

Which she’d certainly reminded him of by talking about the kids. She’d probably talked about the kids too much. What guy wanted to hear a bunch of kid stories out on a date?

And all she’d told him about Clint. She’d hoped to give him a clear picture of why she’d gone, why she’d come back. Who she’d been, who she’d become. And to be honest with him about how deeply she’d loved Clint Brewster.

And what man wanted to hear about a woman’s dead husband on a date?

Why couldn’t she have talked about books? Well, they had, she remembered. But just books or movies, or anything breezy and datelike?

Maybe, if they did go out again, she’d think of a list of appropriate topics beforehand. It surprised her just how much she wanted more, from Beckett, with Beckett. He’d made her feel like a woman again, with all those nerves, all those needs.

Safe topics, she decided. Start now.

“I meant to tell you, I read a review copy of Michael Connelly’s latest.”

“Harry Bosch?”

“That’s right. I think you’ll love it. And I’ve got a debut thriller author booked for an event next month. You might want to check it out. She’s good, and we have a local author signed up for the event, too.”

They talked books all the way home. Better, Clare told herself. She’d work on her dating chops. She knew how to have conversations that didn’t involve her children.

She just didn’t have many opportunities for them.

When he pulled up at her house, she thought of the quiet. She could work on the website for an hour undisturbed. She could have the unspeakable luxury of a long bath. She could do absolutely anything she wanted to do without any other responsibility or concern.

“Nights are getting cool,” she murmured as he walked her to the door. “Almost chilly. Summers never last long enough.”

“And winter’s too long.”

“But this one will be special. The inn,” she said when he gave her a puzzled look. “It’ll open this winter.”

“That’s right. The way it looks, we’ll be freezing our asses off when we load in.”

“It’ll be worth it. I’d love to help. In fact, I’m dying to.”

“The more hands and asses, the better.”

“Then I’ll plan on it. I had the best time.”

“So did I.” He leaned in, a light touch on her shoulders, a long, slow, dreamy kiss.

No, oh no, she thought as her skin went to humming. A man didn’t kiss a woman like that when he just wanted to be good friends. She wasn’t that out of the loop.