They fell into a brief period of silence while they tucked into the food. Amber complimented Martha on her choice of restaurant, which catered to both vegan and non-vegan customers, and, while they ate, sneaked covert glances at how she approached the meal. Her spine was straight, her elbows bent at ninety degrees, as her fork, filled with tiny amounts of food, skillfully bridged the distance between plate and mouth. Amber had always thought you could tell so much by how someone ate. From the perfection of Martha’s table manners, Amber deduced hundreds of formal dinners, dozens of times telling her children not to put their elbows on the table, to fold a napkin just so.

The life Martha had lived. Married to a man for decades. Three grown children. Two grandchildren. It felt as though Martha’s entire life was visible in the way she sat there. They were so different. The only way they could ever bridge the gap between their personalities and what they had become after so many years of life, was the same way Martha brought food to her mouth: in small, measured steps. Careful not to spill. Not to want too much at a time. Amber had done exactly that in the past. Wanted too much too soon—because she couldn’t help herself. Perhaps that made her too cautious when it came to matters of the heart, but this was the only way it could be now.

While they waited for Martha’s dessert—Amber wasn’t much of a dessert eater, not even on a first date when she’d drunk more than her customary one and a half glasses of wine—Martha spoke of her two-year-old grandson and how his arrival had given her a whole new perspective on life.

“You can’t help comparing, you know? Jason, my eldest, is thirty, but I just can’t help myself. The protectiveness I feel towards my grandkids... Just when my own children are all old enough to stand on their own two feet, a couple of other little ones come along, and you see them, and you know there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to guarantee their happiness.” She cocked her head, the way, Amber had already learned, she did when she was about to ask a deeper question. Amber could easily predict this one. “How about you, Amber? Did you ever want children?”

“There certainly was a time when I did.” The wine wasn’t missing its effect and Amber spoke more freely than usual. “But let’s just say I squandered my most fertile years.”

“Squandered how?” Martha wasn’t the kind of woman to let a comment like that slide. It was what Amber liked about her, although right now, it made her a little uncomfortable. They were having a nice date. There was a definite tinge of promise in the air. Amber didn’t want to talk about the past—about that time when she’d made so many bad decisions, despite having already taken so many steps to change her life since then.

“A relationship that lasted too long and ended badly. The subsequent fall-out. And all the years in between during which I never truly considered raising a child on my own. And I have Christopher and Olivia.”

Martha drew her lips into a lopsided pout, then said, “Well, you certainly deserve an award for vagueness.” She leaned over the table. “I consider myself a pretty intelligent woman, Amber. Hell, I’d better be seeing as an important part of my job is to transfer knowledge to our nation’s youth, but if I’m meant to unlock the mysteries of Amber Gilroy from the meager information you’ve just given me, I will admit defeat here and now.”

Amber chuckled. “I don’t mean to be all mysterious but, er, there are a number of things I don’t like talking about on a first date.”

Martha held up her hands. “I get it. I hardly feel like talking about my ex-husband. And I know all about squandering opportunities.”

“I like you, Martha. A lot. Our first date hasn’t even ended yet and I’m already looking forward to the second. But I’m going to have to take certain things slowly. In the past, I’ve made the mistake of not doing so and I ended up paying for it.” And there it was. An image of Holly flitted through Amber’s brain. Quick. Gone in a flash. But for a split second, it was there.

A waiter came by with the dessert Martha had ordered: avocado chocolate mousse.

So much sugar just before bed, Amber thought, then immediately scolded herself for doing so.

Martha let her tongue slide over her lips as she looked at her plate. “You’re going to have to help me with this. There’s no way I can eat this by myself.” Martha heaped some of the mousse on her spoon and held it in front of Amber’s mouth. “What do you say, Amber? Are you living dangerously tonight?”

Already, Amber found it difficult to resist that smile. The small taunt in her words. The glimmer in Martha’s eyes when she looked at her. She luxuriated in the tensing of her muscles as her glance lingered. Martha’s eyes had a peculiar color: not quite blue and not quite gray.

She opened her mouth and let Martha feed her a spoonful of the mousse. It tasted heavenly for a few seconds, then it slid down, and Amber hoped she would be able to sleep. Her body wasn’t used to such sugar ingestion, especially so late at night.

Later, alone in bed, Amber focused hard on trying to recall the feel of the soft press of Martha’s lips on her right cheek. She couldn’t sleep, despite having taught three classes earlier that day and having gone on a date. Both her body and her brain should be exhausted. But the date had been a treat. So full of promise for more. So relaxed, yet injected with enough anticipatory energy of things to come, of the unknown, of talking to someone she really wanted to know.

Amber wondered whether, if she had asked, and if she’d let her own lips slide closer to Martha’s when they’d kissed good night, Martha would have come home with her. Amber was well aware how even her best friend regarded her. Amber would never sleep with someone on the first date. That wasn’t her style—not anymore.

Yet, there were things Micky didn’t know. Not many, but important bits of Amber’s life that she didn’t feel like sharing. Perhaps out of a sense of shame, or perhaps just to keep a certain image of herself alive. Amber, the wholesome. Amber, the friend you can always count on. Amber, who never falls apart—not anymore.

And there it was again, a flash out of nowhere. Holly. This time the image lingered—or Amber held on to it. She stood in typical stance. Head tilted, chin pointing down, glancing up at Amber from under heavily-painted lashes. Amber couldn’t help herself. She compared Holly’s features to Martha’s. Whereas so much about Martha was light, Holly’s eyes were dark brown, her hair, always long and loose, always colored deep red or raven black or whatever the hue of the week was. However, Amber couldn’t shake off a sense of similarity between them. Perhaps it wasn’t one visible on the outside.

Amber pushed the thought from her mind. Because Martha was not Holly. And Amber certainly wasn’t the same Amber she’d been back then.

She went back to focusing on the patch of skin Martha had so gently kissed, traced the tip of her finger over it, and nodded to herself, in silent affirmation, that yes, this could be good.