Read an Excerpt

Her alarm chirped. It was time to close the dockside bar.

She stood up with a low groan and stretched, then headed outside to help Al. Physical work. Something to do with her hands that wasn't holding a phone.

Ellen came out through the side door. She kicked off her shoes and pulled her hair up in a ponytail. She picked up a bar cloth and got to work without discussion.

Al was already there at the dock, stacking the chairs and lowering the umbrellas. The dock lights pulled a long yellow stripe across the dark water. The last of the sunset was going quietly, casting a soft glow over the water. At the end of the dock was a great blue heron that stood with the patient authority of something that predated the dock and expected to outlast it.

He didn't look up. “Towels okay up there?”

“Towels are fine.”

She continued folding the bar cloths, stacking the napkin holders, and consolidating the condiment racks. Al righted a bar stool. The loon out on the bay called once into the dark and waited for an answer that didn't come. It called again and gave up.

They worked. The water moved slowly and without intention. The heron didn't move at all.

“Good count tonight,” Al said eventually, filling the silence.

“Full count all week.”

“Mm.” He set another chair on the stack with the same deliberate care he gave everything. “Good year.”

“Good enough year,” she said, which from her was the same thing, and Al knew it.

He made a sound that wasn't quite a laugh. He knew better than to expect more. She was good at declarations that didn't require words. It was the other kind she'd never quite gotten to.

She was reaching for the last bar cloth when the porch door opened.

The newlywed MacAllisters came around the corner with messy hair. They were barefoot now with shoes in hand. She was mid-laugh when they spotted the lights over the bar. They approached with smiles.

The husband registered Ellen's expression and had the grace to look mildly apologetic. “Any chance it's not too late? We got carried away at dinner, and then we were on the deck, and the evening sort of . . .” He spread one hand in the gesture that covers all manner of evenings that run long for good reasons.

Al looked at the bar. Then, he looked at Ellen.

Ellen smiled at the MacAllisters. The bare feet on the porch boards. Her hand still looped through the crook of his arm like it had been there for years and intended to stay.

“Give me one minute,” she said, and went inside.

She stood in the back room in front of the wine rack. The Meiomi Pinot was on the third shelf, where it had been since February. She'd been saving it for something and had not been able to specify what. That was generally how she knew she'd recognize it when it arrived.

She took the bottle and went back outside.

She held it out to them.

The woman's whole face shifted. “You didn't have to do that.” She looked at Ellen for a moment. Smiled. “And wow. You have the most remarkable eyes. I can't believe I didn't notice earlier!”

“Thank you. Congratulations again,” Ellen said.

Her husband laughed, warm and real and purely for his wife. He found her free hand, and then they were moving again, leaning into each other and running back through the door. The night belonged entirely to them.

Ellen watched them go. “It exists,” she whispered. “The fairy tales are friggin' true.” She hadn't realized until just now how much she'd needed to see that. She reached for the nearest table to wipe down.

Al leaned on a stack of chairs to catch his breath.

“Good bottle,” he said. “You've sacrificed a lot to be able to afford it.” He panted for a moment. “You know, I've been saving a really nice bottle for your honeymoon one day. Where's that Derrick fellow been lately? I'm starting to wonder if we should just drink it now while you and I are both still around to enjoy it.”