Betrayal

looked around behind her into her apartment. 'It doesn't look like you've got much of a party going here anyway.'

'No.' She sighed.

Sensing that she was weakening, he asked, 'Have you eaten?'

'No.'

'You can pick the place,' he said. 'Anywhere you want, sky's the limit.'

Sighing again, she broke a weak smile and nodded. 'That's a nice offer. Eating by myself isn't my favorite, either, and I've been doing a lot of that.' She met his eyes, then looked away, wrestling with the decision.

'I don't want to have another fight about this war or about Evan.'

'I don't want to fight either. I just want to put myself on the outside of some good food and drink.'

'That does sound good.' She gave it another second or two, then stepped back a bit, holding the door open for him. 'You want to come in and sit down a minute, I'll go put on some clothes.'

She picked an understated and very good Italian place on Laurel Street in San Carlos, maybe a mile from her apartment, a car ride short enough to preclude much in the way of conversation. Nolan, usually voluble in any situation, found himself somewhat tongue-tied from the minute she walked out of her hallway in low heels and the classic simple black spaghetti-strap dress. She wore a gold necklace that held a single black pearl, and matching earrings. She'd put her hair up, revealing a graceful neck, showcasing the face in relief.

Neither the bathing suit she'd been wearing when he'd met her nor the tank top, tennis shoes, and running shorts when she'd opened the door tonight had prepared him for the sophistication that she now exhibited. Before, of course, she'd been pretty enough to attract him-good-looking California-girl cheerleader-but now something in her style bespoke a worldliness and maturity that, frankly, intimidated him. Nolan's style, and his plan for that matter, had been to tease her about her political leanings and beliefs, wear her down, get her laughing and eventually tipsy, bed her, and report back to Evan that he was lucky she hadn't read his letters or written back-she wasn't worth the trouble.

Now, ten minutes of silence on the drive over pretty much shattered that plan. Try as he might, and as much as he might have wanted, he wasn't going to be able to take her that lightly. It wasn't just the bare fact of her substantial beauty, but a seriousness, a gravitas, that he couldn't remember ever having encountered before in the women he'd known.

Handing his keys to the valet in front of the restaurant, Nolan noticed that Tara remained seated, her hands clasped in her lap. A test? Would he be a chivalrous gentleman if he opened the door, or would that make him a chauvinist pig? He hadn't worried about a social nicety like that in ten years, and now suddenly he badly wanted to make the right decision, to look good in her eyes. But his only option was to be who he was, and his parents had raised him to have old-fashioned manners, so he came around and got her door for her. She rewarded him with a small smile in which, inordinately pleased, he read approval.

The tuxedoed maitre d' knew who she was, at least by looks. He greeted her familiarly, kissed her hand, nodded at Nolan with respect and perhaps a soupcon of envy, and led them to a private banquette in the back. Lighting in the place was dim, with pinpoint lights onto the tables to facilitate reading the menu. Tara ordered an Italian-sounding white wine he'd never heard of and he asked for a Beefeater martini up.

The waiter left. Tara sipped her water. 'I said I didn't want to fight, but we're allowed to talk if you want. If we don't, it might get to be a long night.'

'I've been trying to avoid sensitive subjects.'

'Okay, but you haven't said two words since my apartment.'

'That's because everything I thought of seemed risky.'

'Like what?'

Nolan hesitated, came out with it. 'Like how lovely you look. See? I've offended you already.'

'I'm not offended.'

'I think you are. You frowned.'

'I did?'

'Definitely.'

'I didn't mean to frown. I'm not offended. It wasn't an offended frown. I'm even flattered. Thank you.' She scratched at the napkin next to her plate. 'I'm just not very comfortable with compliments, I suppose. Plus, I'm a little nervous. This might have been a mistake.'

'What?'

'You and me. Going out for dinner. It just sounded so good to go out and…' Sighing, she killed a moment with another sip of water. 'I don't want to give you the wrong impression.'

'About what?'

'About if this is a date. Like a boy/girl date.'

'Okay, I'll try not to get the wrong impression. What would be the right one?'

'That it's just dinner. Two people out at a restaurant together.'

He smiled across at her. 'As opposed to what? A romantic dinner?'

'I guess. I wasn't thinking this was going to be a romantic dinner. That's probably why I frowned.'

'Back to that, huh? You frowned because I said you were lovely, which means I'm romantically interested.'

'Something like that, I suppose.'

The waiter arrived with their drinks, and Nolan waited until he'd moved out of earshot, then sipped at his martini and picked up where they'd left off. 'Okay,' he said, 'I promise I'm trying not to be romantically interested. You're the girlfriend of a pal of mine, so that would be awkward, except you said that you're done with him.'

'I think.'

'Ah. A change in the story.'

'No, not really. I just wasn't thinking that I was going to go out with anybody else so soon. I mean on a date.'

'I've got an idea. How about we don't call this a date or anything else? Just let it be what it is. Do you have to decide that right away?'

'Maybe not. I just don't want to send you any mixed signals. I'm not really with Evan anymore, but I'm…'

'You still care about him.'

She raised her shoulders. 'I don't know. Not answering his letters is a decision. Not having feelings about him isn't something you just decide. I can't say I'm there yet. And now here we are, you and me. You asked me out and I said yes. I don't know why I did that.'

'You were hungry?'

'We could have gone to McDonald's. I didn't have to get dressed up. This feels…different.'

'Than McDonald's? I'd hope so.' Nolan leaned in across the table, caught and held her gaze. 'Look, Tara, it's not that complicated. I don't know you, and the only two things I know about you are, one, that we probably disagree about the military, which we're not allowed to talk about. And two, you're very pretty. That's just an observation, and risky because you might think I was coming on to you, which would put this more in the line of a date, I admit. So let's get that off the table right now.' He straightened back up. 'This is not a date. I'm way too old, and what are you, twenty-two?'

'Try twenty-six.'

'Well, I'm thirty-eight, that's too much right there. I could be your father.'

Around a small smile, she sipped wine. 'Only if you were a very precocious eleven-year-old.'

'I was,' he said, and held out his stem glass. 'Here's to precocious children.'

She stopped, her glass halfway to his. 'I don't know if I can drink to that. I teach eleven-year-olds. If they were any more precocious, we'd need bars on the windows.'

Nolan kept his glass where it was. 'All right,' he said, 'here's to peace, then. Is peace okay to drink to?'

She clinked his glass. 'Peace is good,' she said. 'Peace would be very good.'