“The lady will order her own dinner,” Devlin said.

“Certainly.” The waiter turned his attention to Dora.

She cleared her throat and studied the enormous menu. “I’ll have the chef’s summer salad, no dressing . . . the grilled shrimp, and hold the hushpuppies. And could I substitute the creamed corn for collard greens?” She closed the menu and, handing it to the waiter, added, “No dessert.”

“Well played,” Devlin said. He closed his menu and returned it to the waiter. “I’ll have the same. Except, I still want some of that coconut cake.” He glanced at Dora again. “I might convince the lady to try it.”

“Dev . . .”

“One bite!” he exclaimed, then laughed.

Their laughter was interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone. Dora immediately drew her evening bag closer and pulled it out. She kept her phone turned on in case the call was about Nate.

“Hello?” she said.

“Hi, Dora. It’s me, Cal. I thought I’d better give you a call and check in.”

“Uh, Cal, I can’t talk now. Can I call you back?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m out to dinner.”

“Oh. Okay.” There was a pause. “With who?”

“I have to go. I’ll call you back. Bye.”

She slipped the phone back into her bag and, a little sheepishly, looked up at Devlin. He was watching her with a skeptical expression.

“Sorry about that. I thought it was about Nate.”

“That was your husband?”

The word husband coming from his lips while they were on a date sliced the air of intimacy they’d been enjoying.

Dora cringed, thinking, What were the odds that Cal, who rarely called, would pick tonight? “Cal, yes.”

“Does he call you often?”

“Actually, no.”

“You are separated . . . getting a divorce?”

“Yes, of course,” Dora replied, bristling. “You don’t think I’d be having dinner with you, accepting gifts, if I weren’t?”

He spread out his palms. “Just asking.”

Dora couldn’t respond. An awkward moment passed while she sipped her wine. It was with great relief that the first course arrived.

The remainder of the evening continued in an uncomfortable vein. It was as though Cal had pulled up a chair and joined them at the table. Their conversation was stilted; a bad first date. All the natural ebb and flow that they usually enjoyed had run dry. By the time the famous coconut cake was presented, neither Dora nor Devlin wanted any and were eager to go.

The short drive home to Sea Breeze seemed long, even in his luxury BMW sedan. It was a dark night. Heavy cloud cover obscured the moon and stars. Dora was tired and, closing her eyes, listened to moody ballads sung by Michael Bublé. When they pulled into the driveway, Devlin put the car into park but kept the engine running.

“You don’t have to walk me up,” Dora said in the darkness. Then, turning toward him, she added in a soft voice, “Thank you for a lovely evening. I had a wonderful time.”

There was a pause, then Devlin switched off the engine. He turned and slid his arm around her waist. She stiffened, but he didn’t release her.

“You don’t have to be polite. You didn’t have a wonderful time,” he said in a low voice.

“I . . . It was a delicious meal.”

He nodded in agreement. “It was. But I’m sorry I got all messed up by Cal’s phone call. Plus, that whole scene is not my style. I just wanted to impress you.”

“Impress me? Why? I’ve known you since we were kids.”

“That’s exactly why. You knew me when I was flat broke. I couldn’t ever have afforded to take you out to a restaurant like that or buy you pretty earrings. I wanted to, but I never had the money.”

“Dev, you and I . . . we never needed any props between us. It’s always been just you and me, having a good time because we were together.”

He reached out to take her hands. Looking at them, he played with her fingers, then tapped the wedding ring she still wore on her hand. “But you married him.”

“Yes.”

“Tell you what,” Devlin said, looking at her face. “Give me another chance to take you out again. We’ll go out on the boat, like we used to. Take a spin through the creeks. Do it proper.” He drew her closer. “What do you say?”

Dora let her arms slide under his suit jacket and around his waist, and she leaned against him. She felt his warmth and smelled the faint remnants of his aftershave. It was a spicy scent and, smiling, she thought she wouldn’t be at all surprised if he was still wearing Old Spice. She turned her head up toward his.

“I’d love to.”

His smile came slow and easy as he wrapped his arms around her and lowered his mouth to hers. His arms tightened as his kiss deepened, and all thoughts of Cal evaporated into the night like an exorcised ghost.

The following morning, Dora stood at the wooden kitchen table overflowing with produce that had been delivered from a local farm. She was packing a bag of snacks for her boat trip with Devlin. She’d washed and cut up carrots and celery, added a bag of cherries and almonds, and put them into a large canvas bag beside bottles of water. A month ago she would have packed cookies, a candy bar, and soda. Though she still craved sugar, with every day that passed the desire loosened its hold on her as her refined taste buds began to appreciate the natural sweetness of fruit. After talking with Carson about Nate and his colorful schedule, Dora had affixed her own routine and diet calendar to the fridge. Every X on the calendar gave her strength to stay on her diet another day.

Across the room Lucille was at the stove, stirring a pot of vegetable soup. Lucille and Mamaw stuck by their word unwaveringly, clearing all the processed foods and sweets from the cabinets. There were nights when she’d prowled the kitchen for something good to eat—meaning cookies, candy, anything sweet—cursing them for not leaving a single morsel of chocolate. Dora had gained a whole new understanding of Carson’s addiction to alcohol.

“That soup smells wonderful!” Dora exclaimed.

Lucille grunted. “It’d be a whole lot better if I could put a ham bone in it. Nothin’ a good soup needs more than a ham bone. That’s what gives it the flavor.”