“Agreed,” he said while chewing. They popped hush puppies into their mouths and looked out at the tourists laughing and talking as they paraded past.

She stirred her drink, wondering if they were friends enough for her to ask this question. “Blake, I hope I’m not too forward, but why don’t you drink?”

“I’m not an alcoholic, and it’s not a religious thing or anything like that. I’ll have a drink from time to time. It’s no big deal.”

“You don’t like the taste?” she asked, genuinely curious.

His face clouded and he looked at the tea. “It’s not that. I like it fine, I reckon. I don’t like what it does to me,” he answered.

Carson remained silent. The laughter and noise of the bar diminished to a white noise around them as she focused on the man. She leaned forward, not willing to miss a word.

“I used to drink a lot,” Blake said. “You know as well as I that if you get a bunch of good ol’ boys together, they’re going to be up for a good time. And it usually involves alcohol. When I was a teenager, I wasn’t a bad kid, but I was fearless. What kid isn’t when he’s eighteen, driven by his testosterone, and believes he’s immortal?”

“I dated a lot of guys like that,” she replied. “I think Devlin is still like that.”

“Yeah, well, some guys never grow up. Me, I grew up fast when I was eighteen.”

She watched as his long, tanned fingers wrapped around his glass and he stared at the dark tea. And waited.

“It was a rainy week up at Clemson, and while some of the kids grumbled about the rain, my buddy Jake and I grabbed the keys to his Bronco and headed out mudding. We met up with some other guys and had a helluva good time out on some country road. If I was fearless, Jake was überfierce. He loved that damn Bronco.” He lifted the tea to his mouth and took a drink.

“I don’t know if it was because we were drinking or if it was just one of those things, but Jake veered off the road and that Bronco overturned.” Blake paused. “Jake wasn’t wearing his seat belt. He got ejected from the car and pinned by that damned Bronco. I was wearing my seat belt. I was injured pretty bad but I survived. I was in a kind of harness he’d put in; he’d bolted those mounting plates himself. I hung there trapped for what seemed a lifetime, pinned and helpless, listening to Jake’s life ebb out of him.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, unable to even imagine the horror.

He was quiet and stared at his plate. “You never forget something like that. I still wonder why Jake didn’t wear his seat belt that night. I mean, he retrofitted that Bronco for safety.” He shook his head. “I can only figure it was because we were drinking so much. He didn’t use good judgment.” He lifted his head and looked at her. “I just lost my taste for the stuff.”

Carson desperately wanted to reach out and touch him but felt it would be too forward.

“Thank you for sharing that,” she told him.

The night sky was darkening and the light in the bar was attracting suicidal moths. The waitress returned with their dinners, breaking the awkward silence between them.

After they dove in and slaked their hunger, Blake turned the question back to her. “How about you? Did you swear off the stuff, too?”

Carson set down her pork sandwich and picked up a paper napkin to dab at her mouth. “I’m just not drinking now. It’s kind of a bet I had with Harper. We wanted to see if we could stop for a week. Then one week went to two. Now we’re seeing if we can go for the summer.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if I’m going to make it. A beer tonight sure would’ve tasted good with this barbecue.”

“You stop missing it after a while. You lose the taste for it,” Blake said.

Carson added artificial sugar to her unsweetened tea and stirred it with her straw. The ice clinked tantalizingly and she took a sip. It was good. Delicious even. But it wasn’t a beer.

“I hope that’s true. To tell you the truth, right now, a day doesn’t go by when I don’t crave maybe just one beer or a glass of wine.”

She let her fingertip collect the condensation forming on her glass of iced tea while inside, her heart was racing as she wondered how much she should tell him. Her eyes flicked to the bar, where a line of people sat on stools, chatting with glasses in their hands; to the row of potted shrubs outside the porch; to the shellacked table, searching for anywhere to look except at him.

“I know that as long as I have this craving, I haven’t answered the bigger question. Whether or not I can really stop.”

The words sounded so matter-of-fact, but glancing at his face, she saw that he was listening carefully without emotion or judgment.

This encouraged Carson to continue. As the small votive candle flickered between them, she told him about her father, how his drinking had interfered with his life and talent. As her food went cold on the plate, she fleshed out the skeleton, giving him a glimpse into her life caring for her father, how she’d left him at eighteen to fend for herself, only for him to die alone a few years later. She began drinking socially, but in her line of work, people drank socially around the clock. It was only recently that she’d begun wondering if she carried the family gene for alcoholism.

When she was finished, the other tables on the porch were empty. Only the bar was still crowded, and more rowdy, as well.

“Want to take a walk on the beach?” Blake asked.

Carson exhaled heavily and nodded. She had the uncomfortable feeling of having just exposed her underbelly, and the thought of stretching her legs sounded perfect.

They headed toward the beach, walking close. He matched his long-legged pace to her slower one. The moon was bright, and once they broke free from the streetlights and their feet hit the sand, they could see the wide swath of velvety black sky over the ocean and the stars twinkling. Blake surprised her by taking her hand.

Carson was keenly aware of his closeness as they walked side by side. The moon was full and the sky littered with stars. Not too far away, the surf rolled in and out in a sleepy rhythm. She almost laughed, thinking how if this was a job she’d be shooting a commercial for a romantic island weekend, complete with two lovers strolling the beach. Except that they weren’t lovers. This thought rankled. When was he going to make his move? She wanted to feel his arms around her, his lips on hers, to make love with him.