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“I guess she did.” Theresa’s canted her head as if considering. “She gave me so much more than music though. Mrs. Foster provided a safe place where I knew I’d always be welcome. I guess she was my surrogate grandmother.” A wistful expression lit her features.
They headed back to the kitchen, and Theresa picked up her glass of wine. “Mrs. Foster cared about me, and I ….” A slight frown crossed her features. “I never met any of my real grandparents. I don’t know anything about my family’s origins or history. Maybe I didn’t have any grandparents by the time I was born. It’s not something I ever thought to ask my dad about, and he never spoke of any relatives that I can recall. I assumed Dad was estranged from them, or that his extended family lived far away.”
“You said you had to sneak to Mrs. Foster’s house?”
“Yes. It’s a long story and none of it very happy.” She finished her wine. “Not something I want to get into right now. My childhood was not what you’d call idyllic.”
He’d been right to suspect she’d been hurt prior to her marriage. Theresa hadn’t mentioned her mother, either, and that piqued his curiosity. Caleb took her empty wineglass and set it in the sink with his.
“We should get going. I made reservations at this little seafood bistro with a great ocean view. The beach is right in front, so we can take our walk from there.”
“Do you think I need these?” she asked, picking up her floppy hat and sunglasses.
“Bring them with, and I’ll keep an eye out for the newshounds.” He led her out to his car and looked around for any sign of cameras poking out of bushes or around corners. He didn’t see any.
“All clear.”
Floppy hat, purse, and sunglasses in hand, Theresa followed him to his car. They settled into his truck for the short drive to The Coastal, one of his favorite places to eat.
“This place serves fresh mussels in a garlic white wine sauce that is amazing,” he said as he parked in a spot on the road near the restaurant rather than in the lot.
“I’ve never had mussels before, but I’m willing to give them a try.”
“You haven’t? Well, you’re in for a treat.”
He led her into the cozy little bistro with its over-the-top fishing motif. The walls were adorned with antique style wooden steering wheels, shells, fishing nets, thick, corded rope, and even a harpoon or two. Another thing he liked about this place was that the staff had been trained well. They treated everyone as valued guests, but never made a big deal when someone like Theresa Rhodes walked through the door. He appreciated their discretion.
“Good evening, Mr. McGee. Your table is ready,” the hostess greeted him and led them to the table by the window he’d requested.
“What a view.” Theresa propped her elbows on the table, rested her chin on her folded hands, and gazed toward the ocean.
“Shall we have another glass of wine?” he asked. She looked so relaxed, and her smiles were instant, easy. She truly was a beautiful woman, and David Rhodes truly was an idiot. He should have adored Theresa, and instead he belittled and controlled her.
“Another glass would be lovely.” She sighed. “This is so nice, Caleb. Thanks for suggesting we get together.”
“My pleasure. Do you want to try the mussels?” he asked.
“Absolutely.”
Their conversation flowed easily through every course, nothing deep, just everyday stuff. Dinner flew by, and he couldn’t remember a time when he’d enjoyed a woman’s company this much since Amy. Caleb cleared his throat, a nervous habit. He placed his napkin on the table as their server set the bill down and cleared their dishes away. Theresa drew her purse to her lap and started digging.
“I’ll get tonight’s dinner, and the next time we share a meal, you can pick up the tab. It’s simpler that way,” he said, taking his wallet from his back pocket.
“All right. Thanks.” She graced him with a smile.
His heart skipped a beat. “Are you ready for that stroll by the ocean?”
“I am.”
When they reached the sand, Theresa placed her hand on his shoulder to balance herself and slipped off her sandals. “Caleb, do you mind if I bring up something personal?”
He tensed, knowing full well what was coming. “No. I don’t mind.”
“I can’t imagine how difficult it was for you to lose your family. Like you, I want us to be friends. If you don’t want to, I understand, but if you ever need to talk about what happened, I’m willing to offer a sympathetic ear.”
“It shouldn’t be difficult after all this time, but it is.” He stuffed his hands into his front pockets as they began to walk. “It’s been three years. Slightly more than three, actually.”
“I don’t believe grief has an expiration date,” she said, her tone soft.
