He listens, really listens, the way Cassie does when she’s learning a new word. When it’s his turn, he admits to days when painting feels like a punishment, when the prospect of an empty canvas makes him want to sleep for a week. He confesses to falling in love with the coast when he was a child, how he used to dream of becoming a marine biologist before discovering his talent for art.
Between courses, I excuse myself to the restroom, where I stare at my reflection in the harsh fluorescent light. The wine has brought a flush to my cheeks, and my hair has collapsed from its earlier effort. I smooth it, dab at the smudged eyeliner, and practice a smile that doesn’t look forced. When I return, Nathan is watching the ocean, his fingers drumming a slow, absent rhythm on the tabletop.
“I could get used to this view,” he says when I sit. He’s not looking at the water anymore. He’s looking at me.
I blush, grateful for the restaurant’s low lighting. He shifts in his seat, and our knees touch beneath the table.
The restaurant begins to empty, the tourists trickling back to their rental houses and the regulars retreating to the bar. The hush of voices fades, leaving only the murmur of the waves and the soft clink of dishes from the kitchen. The candles on each table burn lower, and the light in the room shifts from golden to something softer, more forgiving.
We order dessert. Key lime pie, tart enough to make the corners of my mouth ache, and split it, each bite a negotiation of forkfuls and glances. I find myself wanting to linger, to stretch the moment into something infinite.
Nathan leans in, his arms folded on the table. “Can I ask you something personal?”
I nod, the fork paused midway to my lips.
“Were you nervous about tonight?”
I almost laugh. “I spent an hour deciding whether to wear mascara. I changed my dress three times. I even considered calling to cancel, just to get out of my own head.”
“Me too. Not the mascara, obviously. But the rest of it.” He raises his bottle, catching my eye. "To surviving the dreaded first date."
I clink my glass against his. "And to not being as dreadful as we feared.”
The candlelight dances in his eyes as he smiles, genuine and unguarded, and something in my chest unclenches. We sit, letting the laughter die down, letting the world around us recede into the background. Eventually, he asks about my family, and rather than evade the question, I embark on a journey of the past.
“My family isn’t exactly…standard,” I tell him as I scrape the last of the lime filling from the plate.
“Is anyone’s?”
“Mine is less so, maybe.” I exhale, surprised by how much I want to tell him. “I was adopted. Henry and Mary AnneMontgomery. They raised me from when I was about three months old. I never met my biological parents. Didn’t know anything about them, actually, until I came here to interview Sara.”
He listens with his whole body, arms folded, leaning slightly forward.
“My mother… My biological mother… Her name was Rosalie, and she lived right here in Kitty Hawk. In fact, she worked here, in this very restaurant. She was best friends with Sara and another woman named Judy. She died shortly after I was born, so I never had a chance to know her.”
Nathan’s hands still on the table, fingertips touching. “What about your father? Where was he?”
“His name was Hank. He was killed in Vietnam, just a few weeks before I was born.” Nathan’s gaze is steady, his expression unreadable, but he makes no move to interrupt. The memory of my father, as told by Sara and Judy, is a hazy collage of stories and pictures. They painted him as a kind man with an easy laugh, a lover of beaches and dogs, a man who would have been a loving father.
“It must have been quite a shock, discovering all of that.”
Something about his tone, his willingness to sit with me in this moment of exposure, steadies me. I nod, swallowing around the lump in my throat. "It was. Even more so because Sara and Judy, they've welcomed me into their lives. They've given me a whole new perspective on…well, everything. And despite the circumstances, it’s brought me closer to them, you know? Before, it was just empty spaces in a family tree. Now… Now there are roots and branches, filled with stories and history."
"And how does that change things for you?" he asks, his words tracing the outline of my vulnerability.
"It's bittersweet," I admit, tucking a loose hair behind my ear as I watch the flickering candle cast shadows across our table."Learning about them, it's like having a piece of them with me. But it's also a reminder of what I've lost, what could have been."
After a momentary pause, he reaches across the table to gently squeeze my hand. “You’re incredibly brave, Diane. That’s a lot to carry, for anyone.”
“It is,” I say. “But it also isn’t. My real family is the one I grew up with. They’re the ones who raised me, loved me, taught me how to be the person I am today. And Rosalie and Hank….” My voice trembles, my hand slipping out of Nathan’s to run through my hair. “They’re like…distant stars, I guess. They’ve always been there, even when I couldn’t see them.”
He studies me for a few long seconds, then says, “Sara was right, you are a rain catcher.”
“What?”
“A rain catcher. She told me that’s what she calls you. Says you have this ability to take life’s storms and turn them into something beautiful. Something meaningful.”
I blink, surprised and oddly moved. “She said that?”