THE SUN HAD completely set by the time I parked my truck in front of Grace’s house. The flurries had stopped, but the forecast said more snow was on the way. I gazed up at the clouds reflecting the orange glow from the streetlights of town. It was just a little after 6:00pm and everything was as silent as the dead of night. I shifted my eyes back to Grace’s house. Two large windows flanked the front door and I knew similar windows looked over the sloping backyard. No fence separated her house from the next or from the trees on the far edge of the property. Her only protection from the outside world was a deadbolt and a gun I was sure she didn’t know how to use.

I breathed out my worry and walked to the front door. After a quick rap, Chloe answered the door, her big blue eyes squinting with her smile and her long strawberry blonde hair pulled back into a braid.

“Wyatt, we need to talk before Mom comes out of the kitchen.”

She was eleven, but for as long as I’d known her, she always seemed years above her age. Stepping in from the cold, I saw the picture of Erica Gunter on the local news. I closed the door behind me as Chloe walked into the living room and stood behind the sofa.

“What did you need to talk about?” I asked with a gentle smile.

She gestured to the TV and said, “Mom won’t admit it, but she’s freaking out.”

“It’s a natural reaction.”

“I know it is, but I think she’s lost her sense of protection.”

I pursed my lips to cover my smile. I nodded my head toward the bookshelves surrounding the TV. “How many of those books have you read by now?”

“Probably all of them.” She waved my question away. “My point is she’s not going to just come out and say it.”

“What would you like me to do, Chloe?” I crossed my arms, giving her my undivided attention.

“Offer to stay the night.”

My eyes popped a little and I quickly tried to hide my reaction by clearing my throat and cocking my head to the side.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Chloe.”

“Just think about it,” she said just before the hardwood floor creaked under footsteps.

“Wyatt…”

I looked away from Chloe and sucked in a deep breath. Grace stood at the entrance of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. She wasn’t wearing anything fancy; jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt, her blonde hair pulled back in her signature messy bun. The smell of meat and onions seemed to follow her and my stomach growled with hunger. I wasn’t sure if I was starving for food or for her.

“I didn’t hear you come in. Dinner is almost ready.” She smiled and turned back to the kitchen.

“Want me to grab you a beer?” Chloe offered.

I nodded, overcome by what I imagined Mike must have come home to everyday. I walked around the sofa and stared at the TV as I removed my coat. The story of Erica Gunter cut abruptly to a commercial. Familiar eyes peered at me from the shelf next to the TV; the stoic face of a young Mike in his Marine uniform. He looked so young, so full of life. My shoulders sagged as I met his ghostly stare.

You want her to be happy, don’t you?

His continued to stare back at me, not giving me the answer I needed.

You want me to be happy, right?

I would never know. I hoped any disdain for my actions he might have felt didn’t transcend into the afterlife. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep myself from fucking everything up with Grace. Once I told her how I really felt, I knew the friendship would end, one way or the other. I needed to be sure I was willing to give everything up.

A hand squeezed my arm. I turned my gaze away from Mike’s hard stare and found Grace’s smile.

“He would be glad you’re here,” she whispered, rubbing her thumb gently against my arm. Her smile hesitated as her eyes locked with mine. “He would be okay with this.”

I turned around and saw that face brighten under the glow of the lamps in the room. I reached my hand out, touching her silky-smooth cheeks. Her breath hitched ever so quietly, but loud enough for me to hear. I didn’t move forward. I didn’t move backward. My thumb gently grazed her cheek.

A piercing buzzer echoed from the kitchen.

“I’ll get it,” Chloe hollered. I pulled my hand down and stepped back; my eyes remained on hers. She clasped her hands together and looked down, breaking up whatever the hell had just happened.

“We’re trying to low-carb it after Christmas, but I promise there’s meat.”

“With you, I have no doubt there’s meat.”

She laughed and turned toward the kitchen. I followed the sweet sound of her laughter into the overwhelming smell of low carb deliciousness. Chloe was seated at the kitchen table with a glass of water and her face in a book. The large, uncovered window looked out into the dark night. Anyone could be watching us without our knowing. I walked around the table and pulled down the blinds. When I turned around, I found a bottle of beer resting next to an empty plate. A glass of wine marked Grace’s spot at the table.

“Go sit and I’ll bring you a plate,” Grace ordered. I complied and sat across from Chloe. She gave no acknowledgement that we were in the kitchen or that I was at the table.

“What are you reading?” I inquired.

“Oliver Twist,” she answered, still not looking up from her book.

“Oliver Twist? I figured you’d be into Harry Potter or something like that.”

“Chloe finished that series two years ago,” Grace said as she placed plates down in front of Chloe and I, brimming with hamburger steak smothered in onions and mushrooms, roasted brussels sprouts, and salad.

“This looks amazing.”

Grace sat next to me and smiled before turning to Chloe. “Oliver wasn’t invited to dinner.”

“He should have been.” Chloe leaned up in her chair and slowly closed the book, absorbing every word possible.

I picked up my fork and speared into the pile of greens.

“Mom, did you know that lady who got murdered?”

The fork stopped just before it reached my open mouth. I looked at Grace.

“Maybe we shouldn’t discuss this at the table,” Grace said before popping half a sprout in her mouth.

“Well, since Wyatt is here, he might get some useful information out of this discussion.”

“She’s got a point, Grace.” I chewed on the lettuce, waiting for Grace to answer. Sure, I wanted to discuss this with her, but I had assumed it would happen after Chloe left the table. Her timing was damn near perfect.

“I’ve met her before. Possibly once or twice.”

“Where did you meet her?” Chloe asked. Apparently, I would leave the questioning to the professional as I continued to eat my salad. Grace sighed a bit, clearly not wanting to discuss it now.

“Sometimes the nurses and I went to Dixie’s after work. She met up with us a couple of times since she was Camille’s roommate. But that’s it as far as I can remember.”

“How did she seem with everyone?” I asked, taking control of the questioning.

“What do you mean by seem?”

“How did everyone get along with her?”

“Oh … I thought she was really sweet. She had been interested in getting into nursing recently. She was full of questions the last time we all went out.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Maybe a month ago? It was the week of Thanksgiving. So, a little bit longer than a month.”

“Did she talk about any guys? We know she didn’t have a boyfriend.”

“There weren’t any serious relationships that I knew about, but she was really into the bartender who works with Megan for a bit. I can’t remember his name, though. Jeffrey? Jason?”

“Jeremy.”

“That’s it. Jeremy.”

Chloe clanged her fork against her plate. I looked across the table to see all of her salad and sprouts gone, half of the meat eaten. I looked down at my plate and realized I’d only eaten half of my salad.

“Can I be excused?” She smiled.

“Sure.” Grace smiled at her daughter as Chloe grabbed her book and disappeared down the hallway. A door silently closed behind her.

“Grace, I have to tell you something. Chloe asked me to stay over.”

Grace’s eyes widened. “Why?”

“She said you were a little anxious.”

“Well, I think everyone is, but since she asked … would you?”

“Can I be completely honest?”

“I would prefer it.” She placed her fork down and took a sip of wine.

“Do you think it’s wise with the neighbors watching? How would it look with my truck parked in front of your house all night?”

“They already ran us out of Olde Town, Wyatt,” she huffed. “My husband is dead, but I didn’t die with him. I have to move on. I’m not even thirty yet.”

Move on?

“They need to understand that.”

I tried to listen to what she was saying, to not get my hopes up that it was me she meant to move on with, but I didn’t make up that moment we shared in the living room. Something had definitely happened between us.

“If you don’t mind my staying here, I wouldn’t be as worried about y’all during the night.”

“Then good. It’s settled. Chloe can sleep with me and you can have her bed.”

“I’m not kicking either of you out of your bed. I’m sleeping on the sofa, that way I’ll be closer to the front and back door.”

“Okay, Wyatt.” She laughed and continued eating her dinner. Our conversation turned to random chatter and we fell into easy conversation just like we always did. She would tell me all about the books she was reading, but would stop before giving the ending away. I told her to make a list of books for me to read and I’d go through them one day, though it would probably take a little while.

After we finished eating, I helped her with the dishes and then we sat in front of a muted TV with fresh drinks. The thing about it was that we were so natural together. If I could just accept what she’d said, maybe I could slowly work on building something with her. As horrible as it was to admit, Mike was dead, and Grace… Grace was very much alive, sitting next to me with her legs crossed underneath her and going on about some doctor at work all the nurses swooned over.

“Maybe you should ask him to be your date for New Year’s Eve.”

She rolled her eyes and nudged my shoulder. “Don’t be silly. I already have a date.”

“Can I take you out to dinner before we go to Dixie’s?”

“We just went out to dinner.” She cocked her eyebrow, teasing me yet again.

I rolled my eyes back at her. “But you’re the one who said date. If it’s a date, then I take you out to dinner. At a place with real napkins.”

“Real napkins? Oh, I don’t know, Wyatt. Cloth napkins are a big deal.”

“New Year’s Eve is kind of a big deal.” I shrugged my shoulders and turned my head away, taking a sip of beer.

“Okay,” she agreed. “I think that would be … amazing.”

I couldn’t hide my grin. I sipped my beer until I could.