GET A CALL on my cell phone the next day while I’m at the diner, and for a brief second, I think it might be Malone. It’s not. Of course not, as he doesn’t have the number.

“Maggie, hi, it’s Doug,” says the caller.

Doug? Oh, Doug. “Hi,” I say.

“Listen, I’m so, so sorry about last night,” he says. There’s a pause. I wait to feel bad, but nothing comes. “I just panicked at the last minute,” Doug says. His voice is heavy with misery. “Maggie, I guess I’m not really ready to see someone.”

“That’s okay,” I tell him. I ring up Stuart and move the phone away from my cheek. “Everything okay today, Stuart?”

“Wonderful, Maggie.” He hands me his filled-out ballot, and I wink at him and resume my conversation. “Don’t worry about it, Doug.”

“No, it’s not okay. I completely chickened out and didn’t even call. I feel awful,” he says. I think he’s crying.

Some high school girls open the door in a cloud of giggles. “Sit wherever you’d like, girls,” I tell them. “Doug, hang on a sec.” I take the phone into the closet that serves as my office and wedge myself inside. “Hi. Sorry, I’m at the diner. But I can talk now.”

“I was all set to meet you,” Doug chokes. “I was actually in the car, but I just couldn’t do it. You sound like the nicest person—”

“Listen, Doug,” I interrupt gently. “It’s okay. To tell you the truth, I ran into an old friend and we had a really nice time.” A bit of a stretch, but the truth is rather complicated at this moment.

“Really?” Doug asks hopefully.

“Yes,” I say. I can hear Georgie making his exuberant entrance, Octavio singing quietly. “It sounds like you’re just not ready yet to meet somebody, and that’s perfectly fine. When the time is right, you’ll know it.”

Doug doesn’t answer for a minute, and I realize he’s crying in earnest. “Do you think so?” he asks thickly, confirming my guess.

“I sure do, Doug.” I pause. “From what you said, your wife sounded like a really great person. It’ll take some time for you to want to be with someone else.”

“I think you’re one of the nicest people I’ve never met,” Doug says with a choked laugh.

“If you ever want to get together as friends, I’d like that,” I tell him. I wonder if I’d be so generous if Malone hadn’t given me something else to think about last night.

Last night, I lay awake in bed for nearly an hour, wondering at the strangeness of humanity. Usually when someone is attracted to someone else, there are signs. Not so with Malone. In fact, I’d have bet my last dollar that he suffered through every minute of our bizarre dinner together. That he didn’t like me a bit, especially after I was so catty in the bar with Chantal that night.

Father Tim comes in at 8:30, right after Mass. “Maggie, I want to hear every detail,” he says, rubbing his hands together eagerly. “Oh, and I’ll have the eggs benedict today, I think. With regular bacon instead of Canadian, if that’s all right?”

“Sure. One Father Tim special coming up.” I smile and pour him some coffee, then go into the kitchen to put his order in. When I come out, Chantal is sliding into the seat across from the priest. Any male, no matter his profession, is open season for Chantal.

“Hey, Chantal,” I say.

“Hi, Maggie. What’s new?” she purrs.

I feel my cheeks grow warm at her question. Chantal hears everything. Did someone see Malone and me together last night? Were there any Gideon’s Cove residents at Jason’s Taverne? Did someone perhaps see us kissing? I wonder if he’ll call me and ask me out. I mean, why would he kiss me—the mere memory of it causes a flutter—if he didn’t want to see me again?

“She’s blushing,” Father Tim observes. “Must have been some date last night.”

“Date? What date?” Chantal asks. No, thank God, she doesn’t know.

“Well, actually, I’m sorry to say that Doug isn’t quite ready for a relationship,” I say. I busy myself by refilling the creamers behind the counter. “Still kind of in mourning for his wife.”

“I can relate to that,” Chantal murmurs. I roll my eyes, but Father Tim is tricked and pats her hand.

“Poor dear,” he says, and Chantal sighs hugely, her breasts rising dramatically in her low-cut shirt. Father Tim’s compassionate expression doesn’t flicker, nor does his gaze drop a millimeter. The man is a saint.

At lunchtime, the bell over the door tinkles and I look up to see my sister, Violet and my parents. “Good morning!” Christy says.

“Fashoo,” says Violet, reaching out a plump hand for me to smooch.

“That means ‘I love you, Auntie Mags,’” Christy translates, pulling off Violet’s pink coat. My parents likewise take off their coats and line up like penguins at the counter. For some reason, no member of the Beaumont family ever sits at a booth.

“How was your date last night?” my mother asks without preamble. “Did you finally meet someone with potential?”

“Oh, it was fine,” I answer, feeling that heat creep up my neck again. “Doug is very nice, but he’s not ready for a relationship. His wife died about two years ago.” There. Nothing I said was untrue. An image of Malone’s slight smile causes a sudden cramp in my abdomen.

“Well, he should get out there anyway,” Mom says, irritated that a daughter remains single. “A rolling stone gathers no dirt.”

“Well said, Mom,” Christy says. Our dad smiles into his coffee cup.

“Don’t laugh. Maggie’s not getting any younger. Before long, Maggie, you’ll have problems getting pregnant, and then where will you be?”

I stare at her, stunned that the woman whose womb I began my life in could be so cruel.

“Jeezum, Mom,” Christy says.

“It’s true,” our mother states.

“You’ll meet someone when the time is right. Don’t worry,” my father says in a rare show of defiance to Mom. He pats my hand. My mother snorts.

“Hey, Dad, you know who I ran into last night?” I say, grateful for the chance to change the subject. “You know Malone? The lobsterman?”

Dad looks blank until Christy says, “You know, Dad. His boat is next to Jonah’s.”

“Oh, yes. Dark-haired fellow? Quiet?”

Pathologically so, yes. “Yeah. Did you have him in school?” Dad taught biology for thirty years and knows just about every person who ever went to school in Gideon’s Cove.

“Sure. I think he transferred in midyear. Why, honey?”

“Oh, I just was wondering what his first name was. He wouldn’t tell me.” I realize I have erred as Christy’s left eyebrow lifts. No one else notices.

“Hm. Let’s see. Malone. Skinny kid, tall…not a bad student toward the end, but way behind at first. I think there was trouble at home, to tell you the truth. Was it Michael? No, no, not Michael, I’m thinking of the Barone kid. I think it was an Irish name. Liam? No, no, that’s not right. Brendan. It was Brendan. Brendan Malone. Or no, that was Brendan Riley. Hmm.” Dad thinks for a minute, then shrugs. “Sorry, honey. As I recall, everyone just called him Malone.”

“Oh, well. Not important. I was just curious.”

Christy looks quite speculative, and I turn away to wait on Ben at the counter, since Judy is doing a crossword puzzle.

Our mother offers to take Violet for the afternoon, claiming that she never gets to see her only grandchild (here with a significant look at me, the daughter who has failed to reproduce). She ignores the fact that she sees Violet almost every day. Once we’re alone, Christy pounces.

“So, why the sudden interest in Malone?” she asks, pretending to help me as I pack my car for meal deliveries.

“Oh, I just ran into him last night,” I say, feigning nonchalance.

“Mmm-hmm. And?” she prods. Damn this twin thing. She knows far too much.

“Okay. I’ll tell you, but you can’t tell anyone else.” Knowing she won’t, I give her the story from last night—Skip, Annabelle, Malone—but for some reason, I don’t tell her the ending.

“So he drove me home. Jonah brought me out to get my car this morning and, unlike some siblings, he didn’t ask prying questions.”

“Well,” Christy says. “That was awfully nice, pretending to be your date. Wicked nice.”

“Mmm,” I murmur. “Listen, I have to go. Do you want to come? It’ll be fun. They’ll have Colonel and you.”

“Double the pleasure, double the fun,” my sister says. “Sure, I’d love to.”

And it is fun. The fourteen people on my route are always overjoyed to see Colonel and me, and when encountered with my mirror image, they nearly wet themselves in delight. We bring in the meals, tidy up at one house, check a prescription at another, chat with the clients, let them pet my gentle dog. I urge Christy to show pictures of Violet, and a lot of old faces break into tender smiles at the sight of my beautiful niece.

“She could be yours,” Mrs. Banack says, handing the picture to me.

“True enough,” I answer. “I couldn’t love her more if she was.”

We finish up our route and head for home.

“So still no boyfriend,” Christy says as we drive home. I don’t comment. “Any ideas?”

“Not really,” I say, glancing in my rearview mirror. “I think I’ll just give it a rest for a while. I’ve been on four dates in the last month, and none of them worked out very well.”

“You sure? Idle hands are the devil’s workhorse, as Mom would say,” Christy advises somberly. I laugh, but at the back of my mind is Malone and his gently scraping kiss.

When I get home from dropping Christy off, I zip over to the answering machine, hoping to see the blinking light. No blinking. Malone has not called me.

Nor does he call me that evening. The next day is Sunday, and as I flit between tables, clearing and serving, Malone is on my mind. Why hasn’t he called me? Why would he kiss me and then not call me? Should I call him? I shudder at the thought—I wouldn’t be able to see him either nod or stare from my apartment, would I? And since that seems to be his main form of communication, it wouldn’t be much of a conversation.

It’s not that I really like him, I tell myself. Because really, he’s a complete stranger. Almost. I liked kissing him, yes. At the thought, my stomach knots and my knees tingle. The after-church crowd takes their time finishing, and when they’re done with breakfast, the Sunday lunch crowd comes in. Finally, by about two, all my customers are gone. I wipe down with unusual speed, opting to skip the floor-washing. I’ll just wander down to the dock, I think. See how Jonah’s doing. Check on the little brother.

Jonah’s boat is right against the dock, not moored at its usual spot, which is convenient for me. Inconveniently, Malone’s boat is out, so I’ll just have to hang out with my little bro for a while. “Hey, Jonah!” I call down. It’s low tide, so the dock is a good twenty feet lower than it will be six hours from now. Tides in this part of Maine are dramatic, and the gangplank is pitched quite steeply. The smell of fish and salt and tide greet me as I totter down carefully and walk over to Jonah’s boat, which is named Twin Menace after his beloved big sisters. My brother is not in sight.

“Hey, Joe!” I yell.

“Maggie,” he calls back, climbing out of the hold and shutting the door firmly behind him. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, nothing. Permission to come aboard, captain?”

“Um, no. Actually, I’m just leaving. Sorry.”

Drat. “So, do most people go out on a Sunday?” I ask. I’ve never really taken note of the patterns of the lobster boats; it’s something that’s so familiar and constant here that it’s like background noise. During the summer, it’s against the law to haul traps on a Sunday, that I know, but as for the practices of the off-season, I’m clueless.

“Nah. Most of us stay in, even now, I guess.” He glances back at the stern of his boat.

“But some go out?” I prod.

“Ayuh.”

“When do they come back?” I glance casually over the railing at a small school of baby stripers.

“Dunno.”

I sigh. Malone is rubbing off on Jonah, apparently. Usually, my brother won’t stop talking…rather like me, I guess. I give it another try. “So they just come back whenever?”

“Maggie, I just said I don’t know. What’s it to you?”

“Nothing. Just making conversation.”

“Well, I have to tie up, and then I’m going,” he says. “See you.” When I don’t move, he frowns. “Did you want something else?”

“I—No. Sorry. Have a nice day.”

He nods and starts the engine, pulling the Twin Menace away from the dock out to his mooring, then disappears back into the hold, busy with whatever keeps him there.

Clearly, I have to go. I can’t be here when Malone comes in, because that would be too obvious and desperate. Hi, Malone, I’m just hanging around waiting for you. How was your day? Want to kiss me again? I wince and wisely decide to go home.