The Guardian

Mike smiled as he reached for the menu. "So would you like to start with a bottle of wine? Perhaps a Chardonnay? I was thinking the Kendall-Jackson might be nice. It's not too heavy, and I think the oak flavor is just about right."

"Wow," she said, "I'm impressed. I didn't realize you knew so much about wine."

"I am a man of many talents," he admitted, and Julie laughed as she picked up her menu.

They lingered over wine and dinner, talking and laughing, barely noticing the waiter scurrying about the table, collecting their plates. By the time they were ready to go, the sky was filled with stars.

The boardwalk was still bustling, but the crowd was younger now; people in their twenties and thirties leaned against the railings that overlooked the water and milled around the bars. A few steps down the boardwalk there were two patio restaurants,

and in each, an entertainer was setting up his equipment and making the final adjustments to his guitar. More boats had arrived than the slips could hold, and in the spirit of Friday night, the late arrivals tied up to the boat nearest to them until a few dozen of varying shapes and sizes were clustered together like a floating shantytown. Beers and cigarettes were exchanged freely, boats rocking as people used them like bobbing sidewalks, and strangers were forced to become chummy with people they'd probably never see again, all in the name of having a good time.

As they left the restaurant, Mike offered his hand. Julie took it, and as they began to stroll the boardwalk, their shoes clicking against the wood like the clip-clop of tethered carriage horses, Mike felt the warmth of her hand radiate up his arm, right toward the center of his chest.

They spent another hour in Beaufort, watching and talking until Julie felt any last traces of nervousness evaporate completely. Mike still held her hand, his thumb sometimes tracing the back of hers. They stopped for a piece of fudge and walked shoeless through the grassy park before finding a place to sit and enjoy it. The moon had risen and the stars had shifted by the time they returned to the still-lively boardwalk. Lazy waves slapped against the seawall, and the white glow of the reflected moon slipped across the water. They stopped once more to sit at a weathered table beneath the rotating blades of a creaky ceiling fan. The singer at the restaurant nodded toward Mike-it was obvious they knew each other-and Mike ordered another beer while Julie sipped a Diet Coke.

As they listened, Julie could feel Mike's eyes on her, and she marveled at how much had changed in the past couple of days. How much she had changed. And how much, she thought, was about to change from this point on.

It was funny that you could know someone for years but still discover something you never noticed before. Despite the hazy lighting, she could see traces of gray in the hair near Mike's ears; she could see a tiny scar beneath the fold of his brow. Two days ago, she would have said he looked to be in his late twenties; now she could make out smile lines on his cheek and crow's-feet at the corners of his eyes.

The musician eased into another song, and Mike leaned toward her.

"Jim and I used to come here a lot," he said. "Before you moved to town. Did you know that?"

"He told me. He said that you two used to come here to meet women."

"Did you know that we were here when he first told me about you?"

"Here?"

"Yeah. We were here the weekend after he came back from Daytona. He told me about this girl he'd met."

"What did he tell you?"

"That he bought you breakfast a few times. And that you were pretty."

"I looked terrible."

"He didn't think so. He also said that he promised you he'd find you a job and a place to live if you came up here."

"Did you think he was crazy?"

"Without a doubt. Especially because he couldn't seem to stop talking about you."

"So what did you think when I took him up on it?"

"I thought you were crazy, too. But after that, I got to thinking you were brave."

"You didn't."

"Sure I did. It takes guts to change your life like you did."

"I didn't have any choice."

"You always have a choice. It's just that some people make the wrong one."

"My, aren't we feeling philosophical tonight."

"It happens sometimes when I've had a couple of drinks."

The music stopped then, and their conversation was interrupted when the singer put down his guitar and came over to their table to whisper something in Mike's ear.

Julie leaned forward. "What's going on?" she asked.

The singer looked up. "Oh, hey. Sorry for interrupting. I'm taking a break and wanted to know if Mike would like to take over for a song or two," he said.

Mike turned toward the setup and stared before finally shaking his head.

"I would, but I'm on a date," he said.

"Oh, go ahead," Julie urged. "I'll be fine."

"You sure you wouldn't mind?"

"Not at all. Besides, it's obvious you want to."

Mike grinned and put his bottle on the table; a minute later, the guitar strap was over one shoulder and he was plucking a couple of strings, tuning it. He glanced at Julie, then winked before strumming the first chords. It took only a moment before everyone recognized the song. First, they clapped and hooted, a couple of people whistled; and then, to Julie's surprise, people began to wave their beers in time as they sang along.

He'd chosen a crowd pleaser on boozy nights, that perennial jukebox favorite "American Pie."

His voice, she observed, was typically out of tune, but tonight, with this crowd, it didn't matter. They sang and swayed along in time, Julie included.

When Mike finished, he put down the guitar to a nice round of applause and started back toward the table, offering those who patted him on the back an "it was no big deal" expression. Julie watched him with a mixture of newfound admiration and pleasure.

Mike, she thought, had just made a really nice night even better.

A little later, when they were leaving, the bartender told them that their bill had already been taken care of.

"One of your fans, I guess," he said.

During the ride home, Julie felt pleasantly surprised at how much fun the evening had been. Mike walked her to the door, and when she turned to face him, she could see in his face that he was thinking about kissing her, but after what had happened the night before, he was unsure how to go about it. Julie looked up at him, giving him the official go-ahead, but instead of moving closer, Mike missed her signal.

"Listen, I had a great time tonight-"

"Would you like to come in for a few minutes?" Julie said, cutting him off. "There might be an old movie on that we can watch for a little while."

"Are you sure it's not too late?"

"Not for me. But if you'd rather head on . . ."

"No, I'd love to come in."

She unlocked the door and led him in. Singer had been waiting at the door and greeted them both before he headed outside. He pointed his nose in the air and barked once, then lowered his head to sniff the yard as if satisfied there were no critters in need of a good chase. A minute later, he'd vanished into the shadows of the trees.

Inside, Mike took off his jacket and slung it over the recliner as Julie went to the kitchen and brought back two glasses of water. Mike was still standing, and she motioned toward the couch. They sat, close but not touching, as Julie picked up the remote and started flicking through the channels. Though they didn't find a movie worth watching, they did find an old episode of I Love Lucy, and they laughed through that. That was followed by The Dick Van Dyke Show.

By the time the show ended, Singer had returned to the front door and barked again. At the same time, Julie yawned.

"I guess it's about time for me to go," Mike said as he stood from the couch. "Looks like you're getting tired."

She nodded. "Let me walk you out."

At the door, Mike turned the handle and pulled; Singer pushed past them on his way to the living room as if he, too, knew it was time to go to bed.

As she watched Mike struggle into his sport coat in the open doorway, Julie flashed to the fact that he had been her friend for years and that moving forward possibly meant the end of all that. Was it worth the risk? she wondered. She wasn't sure.

And would kissing Mike be a lot like kissing her brother? If she had one, that is?

She didn't know that, either.

But like a gambler at a slot machine, hoping the next spin would change her life for the better, she closed in before she lost her nerve. Taking his hand, she pulled him toward her, near enough to feel his body against her. She looked up at him, tilting her head slightly as she leaned in. Mike, recognizing what was happening but still having trouble believing it, tilted his head and closed his eyes, their faces drawing near.

On the porch, moths were fluttering ar

ound the light, bouncing against it as if trying to break through the glass. An owl called from the nearby trees.

Mike, however, heard nothing at all. Lost in her breathlike touch, he knew only one thing for sure: In the instant their lips first met, there was a flicker of something almost electrical that made him believe the feeling would last forever.

That was nice, Julie thought. Actually, even better than she'd thought it would be. And it was definitely not like kissing her brother.

She was still thinking about it after she'd heard him crank the engine of his truck and disappear down the street. She was smiling and had reached to turn off the lamp when she caught a glimpse of Singer.

He was staring at her, his head angled and ears up, as if asking, Did I just see what I thought I saw?

"What?" she said. "We kissed." She collected the glasses from the table, still feeling Singer's eyes on her. For some reason, it felt almost as if she were a teenager who'd been caught by a parent.

"It's not like you've never seen me kiss someone before," she continued.

Singer kept staring.

"It's no big deal," she said, heading toward the kitchen. She put the glasses in the dishwasher and turned on the light above the faucet. When she turned, a shadow loomed and she jumped back before she recognized what it was.

Singer had entered the kitchen. He was sitting next to the counter, looking at her with the same expression. Julie put her hands on her hips.

"Would you stop staring at me like this? And quit following me around. You scared me."

With that, Singer finally glanced away.

That's better, she thought. She picked up a rinse rag, ran the top over it, and started wiping the counter before deciding to leave the kitchen until tomorrow. Instead, she tossed the rag in the sink and headed back to the bedroom, her mind already replaying scenes from the evening. She felt herself blush a little.

All in all, she decided, Mike was a very good kisser.

Lost in thought, she barely registered the sweep of headlights as a car rolled down her normally quiet street, slowing as it passed her house.

"You awake?" Julie asked into the receiver the following morning.