N THURSDAY NIGHT I was all ready to go. As usual, I had left the clinic around four o’clock and headed straight home. I took Digger for a quick walk (he was getting better about not pooping in the house, and if he did, he very considerately went on the linoleum). I snacked on some carrots to avoid unpleasant stomach rumblings later and fed my dog. Then began the preparations for my date with Lorenzo. Shower. Hair. Clothes. Makeup. Jewelry. I took a long look at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door and was quite pleased with what I saw.

Curtis, Mitch and I had chosen the long black skirt and black ankle boots. For a top, we’d gone for the red sweater, which had a graceful, wide neckline. The sweater stopped right at the curve of my tummy, just camouflaging the little roll of fat that clung stubbornly to my abs. After a half an hour with the hair dryer and a few ounces of mousse and gel, my hair was gleaming and symmetrically fluffy all around, just brushing my earlobes. Red-and-black earrings discreetly echoed tonight’s color choices, as well as an antique-looking black beaded bracelet. Millie Barnes, I assured myself, you have never looked better.

The problem was, I had an hour and half to kill. Digger, sensing my impending departure, decided he wanted love.

“No, Digger. Sorry, baby. Lie down.” He whined but obeyed, looking reproachfully over his shoulder as he made his way to his corner. To make up for my neglect, I gave him a rawhide bone.

I called Katie, forgetting that she was already at work and that I would see her the moment I walked into the restaurant. I chatted with her mom for a minute, but I could hear the sounds of supper in the background and signed off quickly. Next I called Mitch and Curtis, but they were busy with guests. I debated calling my mom but decided against it, in case my dad changed his mind and came to the Barnacle after all. I checked my e-mail and answered a chatty note from Janette, my best friend from residency, and signed off. Skimming a New England Journal of Medicine, I found that I couldn’t concentrate. I clicked on the TV, but as I had eschewed cable, only the local news was on. I switched off the TV, leaned back in my chair and sighed.

Of course, having gone to so much effort, and having also announced the fact of this date to my family, I was filled with the fear that I would be stood up. But Lorenzo had called me the very day after we’d met, and he had called again to ask for directions to the Barnacle, which was certainly a good sign. On the phone, he had sounded very upbeat and sincere. I could only hope he was.

I imagined seeing Joe tonight. How great that would be! Just the same, make no mistake, I was excited about seeing Lorenzo. It’s not every day a woman gets to gaze at someone as drop-dead delicious as he was.

Finally, it was time. I had planned on leaving the house at five of seven, which would get me to the restaurant at 7:08. This, I thought, was just right; just a teensy bit late so as not to seem overeager, but close enough to the mark so as not to be rude.

I got to the Barnacle without an accident or even incident. I walked in without falling in a puddle. Despite its being only a Thursday in early May, the restaurant was filling up with regulars. I immediately sensed that Lorenzo wasn’t there.

Katie came up to me instantly. “Not here,” she confirmed. “You look incredible, Mil! And don’t worry. He’ll come. And in the meantime…dadada-dum!”

She stepped back a little, and who should be sitting at the bar but Joe Carpenter.

Oh, thank you, Powers That Be, thank you.

As I was a regular, sort of, at the Barnacle, I had hoisted a beer many times on my own. But tonight was different. Tonight, when I waved to Chris, the bartender, he smiled and raised an eyebrow and said something to Joe, who turned around and smiled, too. And I, the well-dressed, well-groomed, sweet-smelling woman that I now was, had no problem claiming the stool right next to the man I had loved for so long.

“Hey, Millie,” Joe said.

“Hey, Joe,” I smiled.

“What can I get you, Millie?” Chris asked.

“Oh, I don’t know.” What should I drink? What went with my image tonight? “How about a vodka and tonic?” That seemed very sophisticated.

“What kind of vodka?” Chris inquired.

“Oh…uh…Absolut?” I suggested, not that I could have thought of another brand with a gun to my head. I was really more of a beer person, occasionally a glass of wine. I turned to Joe. God, I was sitting next to Joe! He dimpled at me, and I tried not to grip the bar for strength.

“Good choice,” Chris said. “Regular? Citron? Vanilla? Raspberry? Pepper?”

I turned back to Chris. “The first one,” I answered firmly.

“Lemon? Lime?”

“Lime, Chris.” Just get me the damn drink, I thought, looking at Joe. He looked like an angel in the soft golden light of the bar. “So, Joe, what’s new?”

“Not much, Millie, not much. Hey, was that you I saw running the other day?”

“Might have been,” I answered, feeling my face flush. I gratefully took the drink from Chris and took a huge slurp, hoping Joe would drop the subject.

“On Nauset?” He didn’t seem as if he was trying to bust my chops with those big green eyes of his looking at me so innocently, his golden lashes catching the light.

“I live on Cable,” I said, artfully dodging the question. “I run on Nauset every once in a while.”

“Oh, yeah? I thought you lived on Oak Street.”

“My parents live on Oak.” I took another large swig of my drink. It wasn’t bad. Not good, either, but not bad. “I live not too far from the lighthouse.” Great! Now he knew where I lived.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned around. It was Lorenzo.

“Oh! Hi, Lorenzo!” I said.

“Sorry I’m a little late,” he said with a frown, glancing at Joe.

“Oh, that’s okay. Lorenzo, this is Joe Carpenter,” I replied. “Joe, Lorenzo Bellefiore.”

“Good to meet you,” Joe said, extending a hand to Lorenzo. They shook. My boyfriends shook hands. I fought the bubble of laughter that wanted to burst out of me.

“Lorenzo’s new to the Cape,” I told Joe. “He’s a marine biologist.”

“Oh, yeah?” the golden one replied affably. “Great.”

“What do you do, Joe?” the dark god asked. Was it my imagination, or did Lorenzo sound a little…impatient? Impatient to be with me?

“I’m a carpenter,” Joe answered.

“Oh. I thought that was your name,” Lorenzo said, looking perplexed.

“It is. Joe Carpenter the Carpenter. It’s my slogan.” Joe smiled at me again, and my heart stopped beating for a second.

“Gotcha.”

I could have watched them all night, my head swiveling back and forth like a frenetic windshield wiper, but thankfully, Katie interrupted. “Your table is all set,” she said in professional-waitress mode.

“Nice talking to you, Joe,” I said, sliding out of my seat to follow Katie.

“Don’t forget your drink,” he replied, handing me my glass with a half grin.

“Thanks.” Oh, he was so sweet!

Lorenzo and I sat down at an intimate little corner table (thank you, best friend). Katie handed us our menus and gave the wine list to Lorenzo. When she was safely out of his field of vision, she gave me the thumbs-up.

“So,” I said to Lorenzo, “how’s your hand?”

He frowned. “It’s all right. It still hurts. Do you think it’s infected?”

I took his hand and studied the cut. The stitches were holding fast, and the cut was healing perfectly, no inflammation, no redness. “It’s not infected.”

He raised his eyebrows as if dubious.

“Well. So, Lorenzo, what do you think of the Barnacle?”

He looked around, taking in the mishmash of nautical decorations and eclectic tablecloths. “Very cute. Have you eaten here before?”

“Oh, absolutely. Lots of times. The lobster bisque is out of this world.”

For what seemed like forever, Lorenzo studied the menu. After all, he was a scientist and clearly needed all the facts before making a decision. I sipped my drink and looked around casually, wondering who, other than Joe, Chris the bartender and Katie, would see me tonight with this divine creature.

“I guess I’ll try the bisque,” Lorenzo said, giving me a smile that was very nearly as beautiful as Joe’s. “And the grilled swordfish.”

Katie came back with a refill on my drink and took our orders. I was already starting to feel a little warm, so I asked Lorenzo a few questions designed to get him to talk until my bloodstream adjusted to the vodka I was pouring into it.

“Do you like it here so far, Lorenzo? Spring on the Cape is gorgeous.”

He leaned back in his chair and regarded me with his bottomless brown eyes. “It’s fine,” he answered. “Very pretty in parts. But the thing that’s driving me a little crazy is the lack of decent conversation. It’s great talking to you.”

Hmm. Was that a compliment? Hard to say.

“The people…I don’t know,” he went on.

Alarm bells went off in my head. I sat up a little straighter. “What about the people?”

“Well…no one is exactly welcoming. I mean, I’ve been here a month, and you’re the first person I can actually talk to.”

“I think that’s just the way it is in an area that relies on a tourist economy,” I said reassuringly. “The locals are generally a little reserved. They need the tourism dollars but feel a lack of respect from the out-of-towners.” Nicely said, I thought, despite (or perhaps because of) my buzz.

“I suppose that’s true,” Lorenzo agreed. I smiled at him to show there were no hard feelings.

Katie arrived with our soup. “Enjoy,” she murmured, deliberately stepping on my foot as she set the bowl in front of me. Lorenzo took a slurp.

“Oh, that is good,” he said. The bisque was, as always, rich and piping hot, with huge chunks of lobster swimming in the creamy liquid. I managed not to dribble any on my bosom and forced myself not to tip the bowl up and drink from it.

“How about the accent up here?” Lorenzo said, just as I put another spoonful into my mouth. A spoonful with a big lobster piece in it, which would require significant chewing.

“Did you hear that guy at the bar?” Lorenzo went on, oblivious to my accelerated mastication. “‘Joe Cahpenteh the Cahpenteh.’ Is that still considered English?”

I put my spoon down and swallowed. “Actually, as you’re visiting here,” I said as if addressing a child, “you are the one with the accent, not the Cape Codders.” And should a Brooklyn native be making fun of anyone’s accent?

“I know, I know,” Lorenzo said, grinning sheepishly. “But come on.”

“And Joe Carpenter happens to be a very nice guy.”

This got his attention. “Do you know him?” he asked.

“I was talking to him, wasn’t I? We went to high school together.”

“Oh, shit! You’re from here?” His dismay, whether at putting his foot in his mouth or at my point of origin, was almost funny to see. Almost.

“Yes, I was born and raised here,” I said sternly.

“But you don’t sound like those…those people, uh, the natives,” he backpedaled.

“Well, I haven’t really lived here since I was eighteen. And my mom’s from Connecticut, so I suppose I sound more like her.”

Lorenzo wisely refrained from further comment, and we turned back to our bisque.

My mind was whirling. Lorenzo, his dark god looks aside, had yet to say something to make me like him. However, he did have the aforementioned dark god looks, and furthermore, Joe Carpenter was sitting twenty feet away, well aware that I was on a date with a very handsome man.

“Why don’t we talk about something else?” I said, offering the olive branch.

“Good idea,” Lorenzo replied.

“Tell me about your graduate work,” I said.

Oh, how I regretted those words twenty minutes later! Lorenzo was off and running with the subject, clearly very full of himself and his subject. When Katie brought our dinners, I toyed with my earring, our teenage sign language for Help me.

“Can I get you anything else right now?” she asked with a pleasant smile. Apparently she didn’t remember. I tugged on the earring.

“No,” Lorenzo answered, not politely. Katie cocked an eyebrow at me and made her escape.

“So, anyway, as I was saying, this professor just didn’t grasp my theory about the species’ mating habits, even though I knew, and everyone else knew, that I was really onto something. I mean, with tidal patterns that consistent, you’d expect that the head of the migratory crustacean department would have given even a little thought to the fact that…”

His voice droned on. And on. And on. The next time I suffered a bout of insomnia, I would recall this conversation word for word, and I’d be out in seconds flat. Taking a few sips of my drink, I could clearly understand why my fellow Cape Codders had passed this guy over. I glanced at the bar, where Joe was tucking into a burger. He waved a little, and I smiled back. Now there was a man. A good, unassuming, hardworking, honest man who must be tricked into thinking I was having a wonderful time with this idiot in front of me.

Pretending Lorenzo had said something funny, I burst out laughing, shaking my head as if I couldn’t believe what he’d just said. Lorenzo stopped talking, confused.

“That’s too much,” I exclaimed.

“What?”

“That they, uh, didn’t get your theory?” I guessed.

“Right. Actually, I was telling you about my third-year in the doctorate program.”

“Oh, I know,” I said, grasping. “It’s just that, before, you know. They didn’t understand.”

“Uh-huh.”

Again, Katie came to the rescue. “How is everything tonight?” she asked. A loaded question. Speaking of loaded, I took another slug of my vodka drink, which was becoming more and more delicious as my tongue grew more and more anesthetized.

“Everything is wonderful,” I answered, opening my eyes a fraction too wide. She smiled in understanding. Hopefully, she’d been eavesdropping as she’d served the tables around us. I’d have been disappointed if she wasn’t.

“Actually, my swordfish was a little tough,” Lorenzo stated. “Are you sure it was really swordfish? Because I’ve eaten at places that try to pass off shark as swordfish.”

Katie’s expression became granite. This was taboo. Visitors to the Cape should never disparage our fish. Fishing is the heart and soul of the Cape, and out-of-towners were not allowed to question our fish’s authenticity. I took another gulp of my drink.

“I’m quite sure it’s swordfish,” Katie said in a voice as cold as the Atlantic in February. “Would you like to speak with our chef?”

Them was fighting words. Uh-oh. If the chef came out here, then everyone in the entire restaurant would know what I knew: Lorenzo Bellefiore, Ph.D., was an idiot.

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” I interjected hastily. “No. Lorenzo, the cheesecake here is wonderful. Want to try a piece?”

“Fine,” Lorenzo muttered, still staring sullenly at Katie. “And coffee. But if you don’t have real cream, forget it. I hate when restaurants charge you two dollars for a cup of coffee and then give you skim milk to put in it.”

“It’s cream,” Katie gritted out, slapping our plates onto a tray with a clatter. “Would you like to inspect the cow?” She stomped off. God, I was so sorry I had to put her through this. Hopefully, we could have a laugh later on. Maybe she would forgive me. Maybe if I took Mike and Corey for an overnight…or a month.

Lorenzo and I were alone again. Although I now knew that I never wanted to see Lorenzo of the Crabs again, I also sensed that we were being watched. By Joe. With a sigh, I leaned forward and fake smiled. “So, Lorenzo, do you have brothers or sisters?” I asked.

“Yes,” he answered, still looking pissy. “Two brothers and two sisters.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” I said, though, based on his expression, it was not. Toying with my fork, I laughed again, hoping it looked as if we were having fun. “I have a sister.”

“Really.”

And speaking of my sister, in came her ex-husband! In his uniform, no less! How handsome he looked, how alpha and official! Oh, yes—I remembered now. Sam had to check on me. I took another slug of vodka and tonic, watching Katie greet Sam and gesture my way. Sam came over to the table.

“Hello, Officer,” I said, turning my head to look up at him. Whee! The room spun and my vision blurred.

“Hello,” Sam answered. He looked at Lorenzo in his cop way, assessing, judging, intimidating. “Is that car with the Florida plates yours?” he demanded, very bad-cop. Unfortunately, his question epitomized the Cape Cod accent that Lorenzo found so amusing, coming out as Is that cah with the Flarrider plates yaws? And Lorenzo, the asshole, smirked.

Sam flicked his glance to me. “You left your lights on, buddy. Battery’s dying.” With that, Sam left the table.

“Whoops,” I said, pleased beyond belief. “I’ll give you a jump. Well, your battery, anyway.”

Katie came over with our cheesecake and coffee. She tossed down the little bowl of creamers—light cream—and quickly left. Lorenzo picked up his fork and watched her go.

“Boy,” he said. “That waitress is a real bi—”

“Okay, hotshot,” I interrupted, smacking my hands down on the table and standing up. “Get out.”

“Excuse me?” Lorenzo said snottily. “Are you crazy? I’m not going anywhere.”

“That bitchy waitress,” I ground out, “happens to be my best friend. You’ve been sitting here all night, insulting everyone around you, complaining and whining about how nobody likes you, and I’ll tell you why. Because you’re an ass. Now go. I’ll pay for dinner. It will be worth it just to get rid of you.”

The restaurant had fallen absolutely silent.

“Well, too bad,” Lorenzo said, glancing around at the frozen patrons and leaning back arrogantly in his chair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

What to do but pull out the trump card?

“Officer!” I called. “This man is disturbing my peace.”

That was enough for my brother-in-law. He came over instantly.

“Let’s go, pal,” Sam said, taking Lorenzo’s arm.

“But she—I didn’t—this has to be against the law,” Lorenzo stammered. I enjoyed a thrill of appreciation as Sam, my hero, hauled Crab-Man out of his chair and guided him to the door, which was held open by a smiling Katie. As they left, the customers began applauding.

I looked around, adrenaline zinging through my elbows and knees. My face began to burn. Had I really just…Was everyone really…? There was Joe, clapping along with the rest of them, laughing and nodding.

“Thank you,” I said, wobbling drunkenly. “I’ll be here all week.”

And then I plopped back into my chair, covering my mouth with my hands, laughing as the applause died down. Katie came over, swiping a clean fork from an empty table. She sat down. “Thanks for defending my honor,” she said dryly. “Christ, what a jerk.”

I smiled at her, my throat closing with drunken love. She took a bite of my cheesecake.

“Dinner’s on the house, Millie!” called Chris. More clapping. I waved my thanks. When Sam came back in, there was yet another round of applause. He came over, pulled up a chair and helped himself to Lorenzo’s untouched cheesecake.

“I think I deserve this,” he said, grinning.

“Taste better than donuts?” I asked. “And thank you for saving me, Officer Sam.”

“Got yourself a spine, there, Millie,” he answered. “And you’re welcome.”

And then, yup, you guessed it, Joe Carpenter came over.

“Wow, Millie,” he said, also pulling up a chair. “What did he do?”

“Joe,” I said, pretending to be casual though my heart was soaring, “some guys just need an ass-whipping. Are you one of them?” My toes curled in my shoes as I smiled.

He laughed. “Not me, Millie, not me. Way to go, though. Right, Sam?”

Sam just nodded.

“Joe, I saw your truck at Mrs. Bianco’s house the other day,” I said casually, carefully enunciating. “Are you doing some work for her?” Mrs. Bianco, an ancient little old lady who used two canes to get around, lived around the block from my parents.

“Well,” Joe replied, ducking his head bashfully, “not really. I was just fixing her back stairs. They looked a little wobbly.”

Oh, he was sweet! Fixing a little old crippled lady’s back steps! The warmth in my chest bordered on painful. How I loved Joe Carpenter!

“Okay, see you guys later,” Joe said, rising from our table and glancing back at the bar.

“Good night,” we called after him.

Sam drove me home, as I was in no shape to operate a vehicle more sophisticated than a tricycle. My mom or dad, both early risers, would no doubt take me back to get my car in the morning.

As I unbuckled my seat belt, Sam leaned over and kissed my cheek. “You did good tonight, kiddo,” he said.

“Thanks, Sam.” I squeezed his arm fondly. “Thanks for the bad-cop thing. You’re such a natural.”

Sam laughed. “Sorry he was such a jerk.”

“What are you gonna do?” I climbed out of the cruiser and tripped inside.