been thinking about it on and off all day. With three messages on her answering machine, she knew her mother had been thinking about it as well—a little too much, in Sarah’s opinion. Her mother had rambled on and on, leaving—it seemed to Sarah—no stone unturned. “About tonight, don’t forget to bring a jacket. You don’t want to catch pneumonia. With this chill, it’s possible, you know,” began one, and from there it went on to offer all sorts of interesting advice, from not wearing too much makeup or fancy jewelry “so he won’t get the wrong impression,” to making sure the nylons that Sarah was wearing didn’t have any runs in them (“Nothing looks worse, you know”). The second message began by backtracking to the first and sounded a little more frantic, as if her mother knew she was running out of time to dispense the worldly wisdom she’d accumulated over the years: “When I said jacket, I meant something classy. Something light. I know you might get cold, but you want to look nice. And for God’s sake, whatever you do, don’t wear that big long green one you’re so fond of. It may be warm, but it’s ugly as sin... .” When she heard her mother’s voice on the third message, this time really frantic as she described the importance of reading the newspaper “so you’ll have something to talk about,” Sarah simply hit the delete button without bothering to listen to the rest of it.
She had a date to get ready for.
Through the window an hour later, Sarah saw Miles coming around the corner with a long box under his arm. He paused for a moment, as if he were making sure he was in the right place, then opened the downstairs door and vanished inside. As she heard him climb the stairs, she smoothed the black cocktail dress she’d agonized over while deciding what to wear, then opened the door.
“Hey there . . . am I late?”
Sarah smiled. “No, you’re right on time. I saw you coming up.”
Miles took a deep breath. “You look beautiful,” he said.
“Thank you.” She motioned toward the box. “Is that for me?”
He nodded as he handed her the box. Inside were six yellow roses.
“There’s one for every week you’ve been working with Jonah.”
“That’s sweet,” she said sincerely. “My mom will be impressed.”
“Your mom?”
She smiled. “I’ll tell you about her later. C’mon in while I find something to put these in.”
Miles stepped inside and took a quick glance around her apartment. It was charming—smaller than he thought it would be, but surprisingly homey, and most of the furniture blended well with the place. There was a comfortable-looking couch framed in wood, end tables with an almost fashionable fade to the stain, a nicked-up glider rocker in the corner beneath a lamp that looked a hundred years old—even the patchwork quilt thrown over the back of the chair looked like something from the last century.
In the kitchen, Sarah opened the cupboard above the sink, pushed aside a couple of bowls, and pulled down a small crystal vase, which she filled with water.
“This is a nice place you’ve got,” he said.
Sarah looked up. “Thanks. I like it.”
“Did you decorate it yourself?”
“Pretty much. I brought some things from Baltimore, but once I saw all the antique stores, I decided to replace most of it. There are some great places around here.”
Miles ran his hand along an old rolltop desk near the window, then pushed aside the curtains to peek out. “Do you like living downtown?”
From the drawer, Sarah pulled out a pair of scissors and started angling the bottoms of the stems. “Yeah, but I’ll tell you, the commotion around here keeps me up all night long. All those crowds, those people screaming and fighting, partying until dawn. It’s amazing that I ever get to sleep at all.”
“That quiet, huh?”
She arranged the flowers in the vase, one by one. “This is the first place I’ve ever lived where everybody seems to be in bed by nine o’clock. It’s like a ghost town down here as soon as the sun goes down, but I’ll bet that makes your job pretty easy, huh?”
“To be honest, it doesn’t really affect me. Except for eviction notices, my jurisdiction ends at the town limits. I generally work in the county.”
“Running those speed traps that the South is famous for?” she asked playfully.
Miles shook his head. “No, that’s not me, either. That’s the highway patrol.”