Leaning against a railing that had been set up near the docks, Taylor cleared his throat and took Denise’s hand.

“Edenton was one of the earliest settled ports in the South, and even though the town was nothing more than an outpost, trading ships used to stop here, either to sell their wares or to replenish their supplies. Can you see those railings on top of the houses over there?”

He motioned to some of the historic homes along the harbor, and Denise nodded.

“In colonial days, shipping was dangerous, and wives would stand on those balconies, waiting for their husbands’ ships to enter the harbor. So many husbands died, however, that they became known as widows’ walks. But here in Edenton, the ships would never come directly into port. Instead, they used to stop out there in the middle of the harbor, no matter how long the voyage had been, and women standing on the widows’ walks would strain their eyes, searching for their husbands as the ship came to a stop.”

“Why did they stop out there?”

“There used to be a tree, a giant cypress tree, standing all by itself. That’s one of the ways that ships knew they’d reached Edenton, especially if they’d never been here before. It was the only tree like it anywhere along the East Coast. Usually cypress trees grow close to the banks-within a few feet or so-but this one was at least two hundred yards from shore. It was like a monument because it seemed so out of place. Well, somehow it became a custom for ships to stop at the tree whenever they entered the harbor. They’d get in a small boat, row over to the tree, and put a bottle of rum in the trunk of the tree, thankful that they’d made it back to port safely. And whenever a ship left the harbor, the crew would stop at the tree and members of the crew would drink a dram of the rum in the hopes of a safe and prosperous voyage. That’s why they call it the dram tree.”

“Really?”

“Sure. The town is ripe with legends of ships that neglected to stop for their ‘dram’ of rum that were subsequently lost at sea. It was considered bad luck, and only the foolish ignored the custom. Sailors disregarded it at their own peril.”

“What if there wasn’t any rum there when a ship was on its way out? Would they turn the ship around?”

“As legend has it, it never happened.” He looked over the water, his tone changing slightly. “I remember my dad telling me that story when I was a kid. He took me out there, too, to the very spot where the tree had been and told me all about it.”

Denise smiled. “Do you have any other stories about Edenton?”

“A few.”

“Any ghost stories?”

“Of course. Every old town in North Carolina has ghost stories. On Halloween, my father would sit me and my friends down after we’d gone trick-or-treating and tell us the story of Brownrigg Mill. It’s about a witch, and it’s got everything needed to terrify children. Superstitious townsfolk, evil spells, mysterious deaths, even a three-legged cat. By the time my dad was done, we’d be too scared to sleep. He could spin a yarn with the best of them.”

She thought about life in a small town, the ancient stories, and how different it all was from her own experiences in Atlanta.

“That must have been neat.”

“It was. If you’d like, I could do the same for Kyle.”

“I doubt if he’d understand what you’re saying.”

“Maybe I’ll tell him the one about the haunted monster truck of Chowan County.”

“There’s no such thing.”

“I know. But I could always make one up.”

Denise squeezed his hand again. “How come you never had kids?” she asked.

“I’m not the right sex.”

“You know what I mean,” she said, nudging him. “You’d be a good father.”

“I don’t know. I just haven’t.”

“Did you ever want to?”

“Sometimes.”

“Well, you should.”

“You sound like my mother now.”

“You know what they say. Brilliant minds think alike.”

“If you do say so yourself.”

“Exactly.”

As they left the harbor and started toward downtown again, Denise was struck by how much her world had changed recently; and all of it, she realized, could be traced to the man beside her. Yet never once, despite all he’d done for her, had he pressured her for anything in return, something she might not be ready for. She was the one who’d kissed him first, and it was she who’d kissed him the second time. Even when he’d stayed late at her house after their day at the beach, he’d left when he sensed that it was time to go.

Most men wouldn’t have done that, she knew. Most men seized the initiative as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Lord knew that was what had happened with Kyle’s father. But Taylor was different. He was content to get to know her first, she mused, to listen to her problems, to hang crooked cabinet doors and make homemade ice cream on the porch. In every way he had presented himself as a gentleman.

But because he’d never pushed her, she found herself wanting him with an intensity that surprised her. She wondered what it would feel like when he finally took her in his arms or what it would be like to have him touch her body, his fingers tracing over her skin. Thinking about it made something tighten inside, and she squeezed his hand reflexively.

As they neared the truck, they passed a storefront whose glass door had been propped open. Stenciled on it was “Trina’s Bar.” Aside from Fontana, it was the only place open downtown; when she peeked in, Denise saw three couples talking quietly over small circular tables. In the corner was a jukebox playing a country song, the nasal baritone of the singer quieting as the final lyrics wound down. There was a short silence until the next song rotated through: “Unchained Melody.” Denise stopped in her tracks when she recognized it, pulling on Taylor’s hand.

“I love this song,” she said.

“Would you like to go inside?”

She debated as the melody swirled around her.

“We could dance if you’d like,” he added.

“No. I’d feel funny with all those people watching,” she said after a beat. “And there’s not really enough room, anyway.”

The street was devoid of traffic, the sidewalks deserted. A single light, set high on a pole, flickered slightly, illuminating the corner. Beneath the strains of the music from the bar drifted the sound of intimate conversations. Denise took a tentative step, away from the open door. The music was still evident behind them, playing softly, when Taylor suddenly stopped. She looked up at him curiously.

Without a word, he slipped one arm around her back, pulling her closer to him. With an endearing smile, he raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it, then lowered it into position. Suddenly realizing what was happening, but still not believing it, Denise took an awkward step before beginning to follow his lead.

For a moment, both were slightly embarrassed. But the music played steadily in the background, dispelling the awkwardness, and after a couple of turns Denise closed her eyes and leaned into him. Taylor’s arm drifted up her back, and she could hear his breathing as they rotated in slow circles, swaying gently with the music. Suddenly it didn’t matter whether anyone was watching. Except for his touch and the feel of his warm body against hers, nothing mattered at all, and they danced and danced, holding each other close beneath a flickering streetlight in the tiny town of Edenton.