Page 23 of Postmarked December

“Yeah. I grew up by the lake and moved into the city when I went to Belmont.”

She perked up. “My…” She was going to say her husband went to Belmont, but thought better of it. If she said that, she’d surely have to explain everything. She was enjoying being herself and not Toby’s widow. Not that she’d tell him anything personal anyway. “I think I knew someone who went to Belmont.”

He smiled and took another drink of beer. “How about you?” he asked. “Are you from Nashville?”

“I’m originally from Florida, but I moved to Nashville when I went to Vandy, and I never left.” She dared not mention that she’d met Toby at a bar the summer before her college graduation, when she’d originally planned to move back home, but he’d changed the trajectory of her life forever.

Nick held eye contact just a tick longer than normal, revealing his interest. “So you said you’re meeting someone? What happened tonight? Mind if I ask?”

Great. Should she admit she’s alone? He seemed like a perfect gentleman. But there was a tiny voice in the back of her mind that reminded her to be cautious. At the end of the day, she didn’t know him. Then a completely irrational thought flashed through her mind: What does it matter? If he murders me, I’ll just be with Toby faster.

“I lied,” she heard herself say.

His head cocked to the side.

“I didn’t want to admit that I’m here by myself.”

Marion would kill her if he didn’t.

He pursed his lips. “That’s smart.”

“I didn’t know you, so I was being careful. And my best friend makes me feel like everyone is a murderer.”

He laughed. “Well, hm. What can I tell you about me that will prove I’m no murderer?” He scrutinized his beer. “I have a rescue dog that I think is part poodle. Her name is Ophelia, and when I take too long to walk her, she puts her leash in her mouth, exits through the doggy door, and walks herself around the backyard.”

A strange affection bubbled up at this revelation. “How long have you had her?”

“Six years. My friend owns a shelter, and she was going to be put down. I told him I’d find her a home or take her myself.”

“She sounds adorable. You couldn’t find her a home?”

“I never looked. The minute I put her in my car, she laid her head on my thigh. I had to peel her off me to get her into the crate for the drive home. And when I let her into the house, she wouldn’t leave my side. I finally sat on the sofa, and she jumped in my lap and tucked her head under my chin. It was like she was thanking me for saving her. I adopted her that night.”

Heather put her hand to her heart. “Oh, that’s so sweet.”

“It was as if she knew I was her person before I did.” He pulled out his phone and opened a picture of the dog, showing it to her.

The photo showed the poodle mix sitting on a worn blanket on a sofa, light filtering in from a window and catching in the loose curls along its face. One ear drooped a little more than the other, and her dark eyes looked straight into the camera with a calm, searching expression, as if she were trying to understand who was on the other side of the lens. Her coat looked freshly brushed but imperfect, a soft mix of cream and gray that curled tighter around the ears and loosened along the body. Behind the dog, Nick’s apartment appeared clean and carefully kept. A coffee table in front of the dog held nothing but a coaster and a closed book. The floors were bare and uncluttered, the surfaces clear. The space felt unmistakably like a bachelor’s apartment—practical, restrained, and quietly intentional, with just enough comfort to show it was lived in and nothing extra to suggest any chaos—a lot like how he seemed.

“She’s adorable.”

“Thanks.” He clicked off his phone and set it face down on the table.

The waiter returned and asked if they’d like a second drink. Given how relaxed Nick was making her already, she decided it was best she retain all her inhibitions. She ordered a mocktail. He got another beer.

“We haven’t considered my safety in all this,” he said when the waiter had left them alone once more.

“What?” she asked.

“You might be a murderer. The Midtown murderer—has a ring to it.”

He was incredibly cute… With those looks, I’ll bet he knows how to woo the women.

“Want to tell me something interesting about you?” he asked.

She hadn’t considered it until now, but for the last year, apart from losing Toby, she didn’t really have any defining characteristics to her life anymore. She worked, and Nick already knew that. And then she came home and tried not to fall apart. There were times when she could muddle through life, but those moments weren’t anything special—cleaning the house, grocery shopping, getting coffee with Marion…

“Cat got your tongue?” he asked.