“Dewey’s it is.”

Mitch had been cool when they ran into each other on Friday. If none of his spy ring recognized them at the Chinese restaurant or movie theater, surely someone at Dewey’s would. Cal would deal with her brother on Monday. Tonight was all about Bryony.

When they arrived, she allowed him to open the car door for her. Cal took her arm as they walked across the gravel to the door.

This time the waitress was young, vivacious, and blonde, in both hair color and stereotypical behavior. And he knew her because he had placed her there two days ago—Marabelle Piper, the student who preferred to stand during class.

Marabelle seated them at the same table they had occupied earlier in the week. She giggled every time she said something, no matter how inane. She touched Cal’s forearm twice, as if they were old friends. And she barely looked at Bryony at all.

Bryony ordered a decaf, and Cal followed suit. Marabelle returned within minutes, carrying steaming fresh brews, her attention again lingering solely on Cal. Choosing Dewey’s had been a mistake. He never would have agreed if he’d known she was on the schedule. He assumed she was feeling nervous and overcompensated with familiarity. He could relate, but he could not let her behavior go unchecked. He would talk to her later to discuss the importance of ensuring each customer enjoys the sense of being valued by the one serving them.

When she finally left, Cal dismissed her from his mind and focused on Bryony. “Is this our table now?” he asked.

“Seems so,” Bryony answered.

Her words were encouraging, her tone not so much.

“I like this table,” she said, looking away. “I like the lights on the water.”

“What did you like about the movie?” Cal asked.

Bryony continued to gaze out the window, and Cal started to ask again. Before he could, she took a breath, turned back to him, and said, “I like the idea of people being together for fifty, sixty years, and staying in love.”

He couldn’t read the look on her face, but before he had time to wonder what it meant, she asked, “How old were you when your mother died?”

Funny question, but he answered with ease. His father had taken both Heidi and him to therapy to help address their grief. Cal harbored no leftover, complicated feelings. “I was eleven. Mom was fifty-three. I was a bit of a later-in-life surprise for her and dad, though welcome, or so she said.” He was referencing the statement Bryony had made about him being an unwelcome surprise, trying to get a rise out of her, but she seemed to miss it.

“How’s your father doing?” she asked.

“He lives alone in the old homestead. A bit worrisome. He’s fallen a few times, but he doesn’t want to move.”

“Oh, my,” Bryony said. “But your sister lives in Cleveland. Does she help?” The distance in her eyes faded. She seemed interested in him again, her attention back at the table.

“She does. Heidi is ten years my senior. Lucky for me, she’s produced a slew of lovely children and grandchildren who claim me as their uncle and grand-uncle extraordinaire. They were quite angry about my moving here, and not quiet about it.”

“Sad and sweet at the same time.” Bryony smiled. “But you’ll be moving back at the end of the school year.”

“I have no solid plans at this point,” he said, for the first time realizing a longer stay in Fieldstone was not out of the question. The truth was, he could do whatever he wanted, stay or go wherever he wanted.

She nodded, smiling, and he was utterly taken in by her appearance, her presence, the warmth he experienced when he looked in her eyes. She was someone he could stay for, but before this thing with Bryony went any further, he had to ask. “Do you ever dream about moving away, maybe finding an island getaway, hanging out on a beach, or jetting off to South America?” How serious was Bryony Green about staying put? He knew he was moving a bit fast to ask, but he didn’t want a repeat of Leslie.

“Beaches….” Bryony said, her smile fading again, her voice trailing off.

“You know, the good life. Retire in a warmer climate. Work on the tan. No strings, no ties, day in, day out, fun in the sun?” He knew he sounded like an infomercial, but he had to ask.

“Um, I used to vacation in Florida.” Her right hand pushed her hair behind her ear.

Cal could not get a read on her response, so he pursued the topic again. “Brazil for instance. You could start a whole new life in Brazil. You could bake pies in Brazil.”

“You know, Cal….” Bryony’s face appeared drained of color. “I have a headache coming on. Mind if we cut this short? I’ll do better tomorrow if I take something and go to sleep.”

“No problem.” A headache would explain the way she had been fading in and out since they arrived. “I’ve had a migraine or two in my life. Do you get them often?”

“Not a habit with me, but I know better than to ignore them.” She was up and out of her chair before she finished her sentence.

Cal left money on the table and followed her out the door. She said little on the way home, and he tried to be quiet. He remembered what headaches could do to him, and he didn’t want to add to hers. After pulling into her driveway, Bryony opened the door and stepped out of the car before Cal could turn off the engine.

“Thanks. I had a good time,” she said, shutting the door a bit harder than necessary and walking herself to the front door.

Stunned by the abrupt ending to what he had considered a propitious beginning, Cal watched until she turned and gave a quick wave before closing the screen door behind her.

He pulled out of the driveway and headed home, but his mind remained on Bryony. Should he be concerned about her? Sudden headaches could be a symptom of a serious medical condition. Should he call her?

Cal circled the block. As he approached her house, he could see lights on in the living room and toward the back of the house. She was okay. He was being overly concerned. Calling her would be a bit too much.

He drove home thinking about how he disliked the way she had clammed up. He would have liked staying with her, even if she felt unwell. If he needed help, she might be the first person he called for assistance. Cal considered the enormity of that assumption. He wanted to see her as available for him because that left him less lonely, when in fact he knew so little about her. For instance, he had learned earlier this week that she spent time helping her friends Maggie and Howard. What other commitments soaked up the time and attention of Bryony Green?

Starting a relationship with another human being was hard.

He did, he reminded himself, have one uncomplicated connection.

Bailey had no secrets. Bailey made his needs known and appreciated every attempt to provide for those needs. When he had no immediate needs, he napped.

At least his dog would be happy to see him.

BRYONY WILTS

Sluggish, Bryony dragged herself into the shower on Monday morning. Sunday had been a stay-in-bed-and-read day ending with her first attempt at Shaker lemon pie, number twenty-seven on the list. She’d been skeptical, unsure how sliced lemons in a pie with a top crust would stack up to the more common custard-with-meringue version of lemon-based pies, but as with every other pie on her list, this one surprised her.

The marriage of sweet to tart worked. Her stomach—fully linked with her brain in the scaling of relationship satisfaction when it came to ingredients—would have rebelled against too much of either. But while her gut aced pie testing, she couldn’t get a read on how to think about Charity’s offer or the date with Cal.

He had texted once, asking if she was okay. She had answered with a brief, “Resting,” and hoped he would get the hint. He must have because he didn’t text again.

Stepping out of the shower to buff dry with a fluffy orange towel, she thought again about the disaster Lillian would reference as a “first date” with Cal. It had all seemed perfect until the saucy new waitress practically sat on Cal’s lap as she took their order. And then Cal launched into asking about retirement to a beach location.

Bryony stood at the sink, looking in the mirror. She could have been honest with him. “I was offended by the waitress’s behavior,” she could have said, and, “No beaches for me.”

If sandy shores were a requirement, he could have politely seen the evening through and never asked her out again. Being honest with him might have left her feeling intact because she would have asserted herself. She would have been proud she took a stand. Instead, she had collapsed into herself like she always did.

Maybe she always would. Maybe she should accept Charity’s offer. Maybe she belonged in a swivel chair all day long, her eyes locked on a computer screen. She didn’t need a man. In particular, she did not need a man who would upend her life, expecting her to fly off and retire to a South American beach.

Fully attired for the day at hand, she entered the kitchen for a quick bite, still coaching herself, reasoning herself into acceptance of the inevitable.

Cal needed a woman with adventure in her spirit. He needed someone like… every woman who came to mind would be a better choice. Anyone would do for Cal, anyone but Bryony. At this delayed stage in her life, discovering her own desires and setting her own expectations required constant attention. Bryony had no time to live up to someone else’s. And she had no intention of moving away. She liked Ohio. She liked Fieldstone. She was going nowhere because being here now was good enough for her.

She opened the refrigerator door for the carton of orange juice. The pie, minus one piece, sat on the top shelf, a reminder of her commitments—to complete the pie list, and to piece together her life based on her own thinking and inclinations. She’d think about Charity’s offer later.