“Are you saying it was a mistake to visit Tuck?”
“Not for Tuck,” he said. “But for you? It depends on what you hoped to find here, and only you can answer that.”
She felt a flash of defensiveness, but before she could respond the feeling gave way as she recognized the pattern they’d shared so long ago. One would say something that challenged the other, often leading to an argument, and she realized how much she’d missed that. Not because they fought, but because of the trust it implied and the forgiveness that inevitably followed. Because, in the end, they’d always forgiven each other.
Part of her suspected that he’d been testing her, but she let the comment pass. Instead, surprising herself, she leaned forward over the table, the next words coming almost automatically.
“What are you doing for dinner tonight?”
“I don’t have any plans. Why?”
“There are some steaks in the fridge if you want to eat here.”
“What about your mom?”
“I’ll call and tell her that I got a late start.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“No,” she said. “I’m not sure about anything right now.”
He scratched a thumb against the glass, saying nothing as he studied her. “Okay.” He nodded. “Steaks it is. Assuming they’re not spoiled.”
“They were delivered Monday,” she said, remembering what Tuck had told her. “The grill’s out back if you want to get it started.”
A moment later he was out the door; his presence, however, continued to linger, even as she fished her cell phone from her purse.
5
When the coals were ready, Dawson went back inside to retrieve the steaks from Amanda, who’d already buttered and seasoned them. Pushing open the door, he saw her staring into the cupboard while absently holding a can of pork and beans.
“What’s going on?”
“I was trying to find some things to go with the steak, but other than this,” she said, holding up the can, “there’s not much.”
“What are our choices?” he asked as he washed his hands at the kitchen sink.
“Aside from the beans, he has grits, a bottle of spaghetti sauce, pancake flour, a half-empty box of penne pasta, and Cheerios. In the fridge, he has butter and condiments. Oh, and the sweet tea, of course.”
He shook off the excess water. “Cheerios is a possibility.”
“I think I’ll go with the pasta,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And shouldn’t you be outside grilling the steaks?”
“I suppose,” he answered, and she had to suppress a smile. From the corner of her eye, she watched him pick up the platter and leave, the door behind him closing with a gentle click.
The sky was a deep, velvety purple and the stars were already ablaze. Beyond Dawson’s figure, the creek was a black ribbon and the treetops were beginning to glow silver with the slowly rising moon.
She filled a pan with water, tossed in a little salt, and turned on the burner; from the fridge she retrieved the butter. When the water boiled, she added the pasta and spent the next few minutes searching for the strainer before finally locating it in the back of the cabinet near the stove.
When the pasta was ready, she drained it and put it back into the pan, along with butter, garlic powder, and a dash of salt and pepper. Quickly, she heated up the can of beans, finishing just as Dawson came back in carrying the platter.
“It smells great,” he said, not bothering to hide his surprise.
“Butter and garlic,” she nodded. “Works every time. How are the steaks?”
“One’s medium rare, the other’s medium. I’m good with either, but I wasn’t sure how you wanted yours. I can always put one back on the grill for a few more minutes.”
“Medium is fine,” she agreed.
Dawson set the platter on the table and riffled through the cabinets and drawers, pulling out plates, glasses, and utensils. She caught sight of two wine glasses in the open cupboard and was reminded of what Tuck had said on her last visit.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” she asked.
“Only if you join me.”
She nodded, then opened the cabinet that Tuck had pointed out, revealing two bottles. She picked out the cabernet and opened it while Dawson finished setting the table. After pouring them each a glass, she handed one to him.
“There’s a bottle of steak sauce in the fridge, if you want some,” she said.
Dawson found the sauce while Amanda poured the pasta into one bowl and the beans into another. They arrived at the table at the same time, and as they surveyed the intimate dinner setting, she noticed the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he stood beside her. Breaking the moment, Dawson reached for the bottle of wine on the counter, and she shook her head before sliding into her seat.
Amanda took a sip of wine, the flavor lingering at the back of her throat. After they served themselves, Dawson hesitated, staring at his plate.
“Is it okay?” She frowned.
The sound of her voice brought him back to her. “I was just trying to remember the last time I had a meal like this.”
“Steak?” she asked, slicing into the meat and spearing a first bite.
“Everything.” He shrugged. “On the rig, I eat in the cafeteria with a bunch of guys, and at home it’s just me, and I usually end up doing something simple.”
“What about when you go out? There are lots of great places to eat in New Orleans.”
“I hardly ever get to the city.”
“Even on a date?” she quizzed between bites.
“I don’t really date,” he said.
“Ever?”
He began to cut his steak. “No.”
“Why not?”
He could feel her studying him as she took a sip, waiting. Dawson shifted in his seat.
“It’s better that way,” he answered.
Her fork paused in midair. “It’s not because of me, is it?”
He kept his voice steady. “I’m not sure what you want me to say,” he said.
“Surely you’re not suggesting…,” she began.
When Dawson said nothing, she tried again. “Are you seriously trying to tell me that you — that you haven’t dated anyone since we broke up?”
Again Dawson remained silent, and she put her fork down. She could hear a trace of belligerence creeping into her tone. “You’re saying that I’m the cause of this… this life you’ve chosen to lead?”
“Again, I’m not sure what you want me to say.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Then I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say, either.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you’re making it sound like I’m the reason you’re alone. That it’s… that it’s somehow my fault. Do you know how that makes me feel?”
“I didn’t say it to hurt you. I just meant—”
“I know exactly what you meant,” Amanda snapped. “And you know what? I loved you back then as much as you loved me, but for whatever reason, it wasn’t meant to be and it ended. But I didn’t end. And you didn’t end, either.” She put her palms on the table. “Do you really think I want to leave here thinking that you’re going to spend the rest of your life alone? Because of me?”
He stared at her. “I never asked for your pity.”
“Then why would you say something like that?”
“I didn’t say much of anything,” he said. “I didn’t even answer the question. You read into it what you wanted to.”
“So I was wrong?”
Instead of answering, he reached for his knife. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that if you don’t want to know the answer to a question, don’t ask?”