“Jesus, Noah. That sucks.” My throat tightened up as I recalled how devastated he’d been after his dad’s death. He needed support, not judgment. How could she have treated him that way? My eyes filled. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well . . .” He focused on the wooden table’s scarred surface. “The final straw came right after that.”

“What was it?”

He took a sip of his beer before answering. “I made an offhand comment about Asher coming to live with me one day. I mean, my mom isn’t getting any younger. And I want her to be able to travel, like she and my dad always planned. She’s spent her entire life taking care of everyone.”

“Sure.”

“And I’m his brother. His twin. It should be me taking care of him. I want it to be me.”

I smiled, even though that lump was still stuck in my throat. “Of course you do.”

“Well, she didn’t see it that way. She said we weren’t doing him any favors by babying him, and that if I was serious about having him live at my house one day, she wasn’t sure she could stay with me.”

“She gave you an ultimatum?”

“Yeah.” He frowned. “She didn’t phrase it like that, but it was clear I had to choose. And I did.”

“You broke up with her?”

“Yep. And I’ve never once been sorry.”

I nodded slowly. “That’s . . . that’s good. But I feel bad you went through that.”

“Don’t. It taught me some valuable lessons.”

“Like what?”

“Like what I’m capable of and not capable of.”

I tilted my head to one side. “What aren’t you capable of?”

“Never mind. Forget I said anything.” His expression said REGRET.

“No.” I kicked him gently beneath the table. “Tell me.”

He grunted in frustration. “Okay, but then we’re moving on to something else.”

“Deal. Now what aren’t you capable of?”

“Maybe capable isn’t the right word.” He paused to finish his beer. “Maybe it’s more like I learned what I’m not interested in.”

“Which is . . .”

“A relationship. At least, a long-term relationship.”

“So like, a girlfriend or wife?”

“Right.”

“Because . . .”

“Because it’s too hard. There are too many expectations. I’d always be letting her down because of . . .” He struggled for words. “Because of promises I’ve made to other people. Because of the circumstances of my life and family. Because of the kind of man I want to be.”

“You don’t think you could be a good man to a wife and your family?”

He wiped his hands on his napkin. “It wouldn’t be fair. There’s Asher, for one. Where I end up, he does too, and I get it. No woman wants that kind of package deal. She wants a husband who doesn’t already have that kind of built-in responsibility to someone else. And being married to a cop isn’t easy, either. There are times when I’d have to put others’ needs ahead of hers. That’s just the nature of my job. I can remember my parents fighting all the time about that stuff—don’t get me wrong, they loved each other and made the marriage work—but it was fucking hard.”

“Was it?”

“Hell yes. My dad wasn’t always there when he said he would be. Dinners got cold. My mom had to discipline us on her own. He missed games and concerts and my sister’s ballet recitals—although he lucked out there, if you ask me.”

I laughed and sipped my beer, hoping he’d keep talking. It was like old times, only in person instead of on the phone. I felt sixteen again.

“Anyway, I just made the decision that I do better on my own. And it’s not like I’m lonely.” There was a touch of defensiveness in his tone.

“No?”

“No. I’ve got family around all the time. I’ve got friends. I’ve got my dog. I work twelve hour shifts—sometimes more—and I love what I do.”

“That’s awesome. So no regrets about leaving the Army?”

“Fuck no.” He shook his head. “I’m glad I did it, I think every able-bodied man should serve his country, but eight years and three combat tours was enough.”

“What about every able-bodied woman?” I prodded.

He sighed loudly. “I’m old-fashioned, okay? But if a woman wants to serve, she should.”

Satisfied with his answer, I nodded. “I agree. And I’m happy to hear you love being a cop. But I don’t think you should completely rule out marriage and kids down the road. What if you meet your soul mate?”

He rolled his eyes and mumbled some words I couldn’t decipher, although I caught his drift loud and clear.

“What? It could happen. You might answer a 911 call someday and have to rescue some beautiful woman’s kitten from a tree. Then she’ll be so grateful to you, she’ll hand over her heart forever and ever. The end. Happily ever after.”

He cocked his brow. “I’d settle for a blowjob.”

I laughed, kicking him under the table again. “Fine, I give up. Come on, let’s pay the bill and go get some ice cream at First Mate down by the harbor. I’m dying for a waffle cone.”

I tried to give Noah some cash for dinner, but he wouldn’t take it. He also insisted on paying for my single scoop of Superman ice cream, even though he didn’t get anything for himself.

“You don’t eat sweets?” I said, licking around the top of a giant mound of red, blue, and yellow ice cream.

“Sometimes, but ice cream isn’t really my thing. Want to walk out on the pier?”

“Sure.” It was a nice early fall night and the sun was just about to set, although the breeze was picking up a bit. “I should have brought a sweater.”

“Are you cold? Wait here.” Noah jogged over to his SUV and grabbed something from the back seat. When he came back, he handed me a gray zip-up hoodie that said ARMY on the front. “It’s mostly clean. I had it on this morning before my run, but left it in the car because today was so warm.”

“Good enough for me. Thanks. Can you hold this?” I handed him my cone and pulled on the sweatshirt. It was huge on me, but definitely cozy. It smelled nice too.

“Looks good on you,” he said, giving me back my ice cream.

“Thanks. This reminds me of the time you came to see me in DC when you were in the Army.”

He frowned. “Was I wearing it?”

“No, you were in uniform. But we walked around the city and I got cold, so you bought me an I-heart-DC sweatshirt and a hot chocolate.” It was also the day I’d thought he might finally kiss me, but he hadn’t.

“Oh yeah. I remember.” He grinned. “You spilled the hot chocolate on the sweatshirt.”

“I did. And I had to walk around wearing a stain for the rest of the day.”

As we walked, we caught each other up a little more on our families, reminisced about teenage memories, laughed at inside jokes. At the end of the pier was a bench, and we sat down. The wind was stronger out here, and I was glad for his sweatshirt. Finished with my ice cream by then, I pulled the elastic from my wrist and tugged my hair into a ponytail. When I was done, I brought my heels up to the bench and wrapped my arms around my legs.