Chapter 18
When they stopped in front of the Cedar Ridge Elementary School, Beth studied the single-story building.
Its sand-colored stones glowed softly even under an overcast sky.
With its neat rows of square windows and inviting gabled entrance, the school held the timeless, comforting charm of what made small towns special.
The principal was waiting for them inside the entryway. The donated furniture turned out to be even better than they’d hoped.
The two maple worktables were scarred and stained with paint, but solid. The storage cabinets needed new handles, and one of the shelving units had a crack down the side, but Dave examined it and said it could be repaired.
The boxes of art supplies were a treasure trove of paintbrushes, paper, clay tools, aprons, drying racks, and half a dozen things Beth couldn’t identify.
With the principal’s help, they loaded everything into the trailer and pulled out of the parking lot just as the snow began to fall more steadily.
Within a few miles the flakes had thickened. The hills on either side of the highway were turning white, and snow clung to the branches of the pines, softening the landscape until everything seemed quieter.
Dave slowed the truck.
Beth watched the wipers sweep steadily back and forth. She liked being warm inside while the world beyond the glass grew colder and whiter. There was something unexpectedly peaceful about it.
“We should eat before we go much farther,” Dave said.
Beth checked the time. It was almost mid-day. “The principal said there’s a diner a few miles from here.”
Dave glanced at her. “Do we need to use the navigation system?”
Beth shook her head. “Just stay on this road. It can’t be too far away.”
The diner appeared through the snow ten minutes later, a low brick building tucked beside a gas station. A red neon “Open” sign glowed in the window, and several pickup trucks were parked outside beneath a growing layer of white.
The warmth hit Beth as soon as she stepped inside, carrying the smell of fresh coffee, fried onions, and something sweet baking in the kitchen.
Christmas decorations still hung along the counter, slightly crooked and obviously handmade.
An elderly couple occupied one booth, and two men in work jackets sat at the counter talking quietly.
Beth and Dave took a booth beside the window.
She had barely opened the menu before deciding Dave would order a burger. It seemed to fit him somehow—straightforward, uncomplicated, and sensible.
He surprised her by ordering tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich.
Beth stared at him.
He looked up and grinned. “What?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
Dave’s eyes narrowed. “You thought I’d order something else.”
“A burger.”
The corner of his mouth lifted.
When the waitress turned to Beth, she ordered the burger.
Dave waited until the woman walked away before looking pointedly at her.
“I know,” Beth warned. “It has more cholesterol and saturated fat than anyone should consume. But it has lettuce and tomatoes, so that makes it almost healthy.”
His grin widened.
It was such a small thing, but Beth found herself laughing.
Outside, the snow continued to fall, gathering on the hood of Dave’s truck and turning the parking lot white. Inside, the windows fogged slightly at the edges and the diner settled into the comfortable murmur of lunchtime conversation.
They talked while they ate.
At first it was about the arts center. The worktables would need sanding, and Dave thought they could replace the cabinet handles cheaply. From there they drifted to Kayla’s wedding, and then to Laurel and her increasingly elaborate plans for the center’s grand opening.
By the time Dave stole two of Beth’s fries, they’d stopped talking about anything important.
And Beth liked it.
She liked discovering that Dave’s first car had been an ancient Ford that he’d spent more time repairing than driving. She liked hearing about the summer job he’d hated as a teenager and the things his son had done years ago that he’d only discovered after Mark was an adult.
Then Dave admitted he’d once taken ballroom dancing lessons.
Beth was so surprised that her coffee sloshed over the edge of the cup.
Dave’s expression told her he already regretted telling her. Carol had wanted to learn, he explained, so they’d signed up for lessons together. He’d been terrible. So terrible, in fact, that he’d stepped on Carol’s foot hard enough to make her limp for two days.
Beth laughed until her eyes watered.
When she finally looked at him again, Dave was watching her.
His smile was still there, but something in his expression had softened.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Beth lowered her gaze to her coffee. The waitress passed their table and topped up their cups.
Beth wrapped both hands around hers. “Did you enjoy the dancing?”
Dave looked toward the window, considering the question. “I liked dancing with Carol.”
The answer caused an unexpected ache inside Beth, but there was no jealousy in it. She liked that he’d loved his wife. There was something reassuring about knowing he’d once loved someone enough to take dancing lessons simply because she’d wanted him beside her.
Beth understood that kind of love.
“Jessie and I never took lessons,” Beth told Dave. “We danced in the kitchen instead, usually while I was trying to make dinner. Jessie would turn up the radio, take whatever I was holding out of my hand, and pull me against him.” She hadn’t thought about that in a long time.
“You miss it,” Dave said quietly.
Beth watched the snow drift beyond the window. “Yes.” The word didn’t hurt as much as she expected. Perhaps because Dave understood that missing someone wasn’t the same as being unable to move forward.
After a moment, Beth looked back at him. “I think I miss having someone special in my life more than anything.”
Dave didn’t interrupt.
“Not for the important things,” she added. “Just the ordinary ones. Someone to tell you you’re out of milk. Someone who already knows why you’re annoyed before you’ve finished explaining it.” Her fingers tightened around the warm mug. “Someone sitting across from you while you eat lunch.”
Dave’s gaze held hers. “Someone to steal your fries?”
Her smile came slowly. “Even that.”
For a few seconds, the sounds of the diner seemed to fade around them.
“Yeah,” Dave said softly. “I miss that, too.”
It wasn’t a declaration. Nothing had changed, and yet somehow something had. Beth looked at him across the Formica table, an empty soup bowl between them and snow falling outside, and understood what she’d been trying very hard not to examine too closely.
This was what she missed. Not flowers, candlelight, or grand romantic gestures.
This.
Someone beside her.
Someone who knew how she took her coffee. Someone who enjoyed singing to songs that were forty years old, stole her fries, and made a long drive through falling snow feel much too short.
Someone she could sit beside in silence without needing to fill it.
Beth had spent years proving she could build a good life on her own. And she had. That was what made the realization so unsettling.
Because sitting across from Dave, Beth wondered for the first time whether being perfectly capable of living alone was the same as wanting to.