She leaned toward him, making chicken clucking noises.

The chair rocked as he leaned back to laugh. He slammed his hands on the table. “Is this a dare?”

“Just seeing if you’re worthy of my attention.”

“Throwing down the gauntlet.”

She stood. “Guess so.”

“You have no idea how awful this will sound.” He stood and took her hand as they walked to the karaoke stage.

“See, that’s the thing with bar karaoke, the worse it sounds the better it is.”

“Then this will be the best of the night.”

Kate flipped through the songbook. When they started with Meatloaf’s “Paradise by the Dashboard Light,” the bar was packed. By the time they got around to “Brown Eyed Girl” by Van Morrison, the place had almost cleared out.

It was closer to morning than night when they left the bar. “Can I call you or something?” Rowan asked.

“I live in South Carolina. That’s really…far away.”

He grinned. “Not for a phone call.”

“No, not for that.” Kate wrote down her number, then left without touching Rowan Irving.

They’d been dating four years now; their mutual love of the outdoors, rivers, and an ever-changing landscape were the solid base for all that came after. If Kate had ever made a list—which she hadn’t—Rowan would fill the imagined boxes of a perfect mate. She wanted those facts to move from her head the mere twelve inches toward her heart and settle in with deep love, something past admiration and comfort.

He was from Philadelphia, and when their long distance dating became more annoying than romantic, he’d moved to Bluffton. He’d said it was for the job offer—landscape architect for one of the most prestigious firms in the Low Country—but they both knew that it was love that brought him to South Carolina and love that kept him there. They hadn’t moved in together or even talked of engagement, but Kate understood a commitment was close, and fear was tucked inside the beautiful possibilities.

The evening with the Irving and Vaughn parents went better than she’d hoped, except for the moment when Mr. Irving, in his ascot and pressed pinstripe suit, asked why Kate was Katie to her parents, but Kate to everyone else.

“Oh, she decided to shed her old self,” Stuart, Kate’s dad, said, with a dismissive wave.

“Why would she shed her old self?” Mrs. Irving asked, twisting a napkin in her hand.

Kate laughed, a false sound. “Oh, there was no shedding involved. One day I thought Katie was too cutesy. That’s it.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Irving lifted her hand to twirl her pearls, and attempted to smile, but Kate saw the underwriting: liar.