“Oh. Sorry. I’ll . . . let me know if you need anything.”

Sarah ate some, and offered some to Josh. He took a few spears. She asked if he’d bought any more furniture. He told her yes and detailed his new appliances.

But aside from medical shows about rare health conditions, the conversation didn’t exactly flow.

The server wrapped up Sarah’s leftovers, and they ordered coffee and a crème brûlée to share.

“Oof. This was a great meal,” Sarah said a little while later. “I’m gonna have to run it off tomorrow. You want to go together?”

“No, I have something to do,” he lied. “I’m, um, fixing something at Donna’s.” Now he would have to go to Donna’s and find something to fix, because he hated lying.

“You know, that reminds me of something. When Lauren and I were little—”

“And how is the dessert?” asked the waitress with a big smile, sliding the check on the table. “Did we like the crème brûlée?”

“Jesus!” Sarah barked. “Can you leave us alone for, like, ten consecutive minutes? This is his first date since his wife died! Stop interrupting!”

Everyone went quiet, and the waitress looked stricken. Literally, as if Sarah had just punched her. “Oh, my God,” she said. “I’m so sorry! Obviously, I didn’t . . .” Her face crumpled, and she started to cry. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. She held her hand up to cover her mouth. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cry. Or interrupt. We’re supposed to check on you a lot. It’s policy.” Her voice shook. “I’m sorry for crying. It’s just . . . I’m very emotional lately. My dog died two days ago.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Sarah said, tossing down her spoon. “Are you comparing his wife dying to your dog?”

“No, no, I’m not, I just—”

“Duffy?” Josh asked.

The server looked up as if surprised he remembered, then nodded.

“I’m really sorry,” he said.

“No, it’s not . . . God, listen to me. Your wife died, and I’m telling you about a seventeen-year-old dog. I’m an idiot. Have a good night. I’m really sorry.” The last few words just squeaked out of her.

She left, and Josh looked at Sarah.

“That was memorable,” she said. Then she shook her head. “I’m sorry if I made a scene. I’m just . . . I don’t know. Nervous.”

“Why don’t we get out of here?” Josh suggested. He paid the bill in cash, leaving a hefty tip for Duffy’s grieving owner, who was being lectured by the manager.

They went outside. The sky was still light, and it was a perfect summer evening. “Let’s go down to the river,” Sarah suggested, and they did. She took his arm. It didn’t feel bad.