Fitz points at the table, swallowing down the rest of his food. “You can’t beat this.”

I’m scraping down the sides of the cup of clam chowder, and regret not following Fitz’s lead and ordering a bowl of it. I pick up one of the three dozen oysters he ordered and slide it into my mouth. Fitz favors the grilled, which I get, they’re fantastic. But I prefer the fresh with a squeeze of lemon and a hefty dollop of Tabasco.

Wiping my chin with a napkin, I pick up my glass of wine. The crisp chardonnay and food have done wonders to calm my nerves.

“You definitely can’t,” I tell him. “But I’m sure you can get close to this in Boston.”

Fitz lifts his shoulder in a half shrug and points at the water. “No place like home though.”

I put my glass down, bringing my shoulders—already covered in Fitz’s blazer—up to my ears.

“You cold? Should we finish up inside?”

I shake my head. It is a little chilly for the end of May since it’s so cloudy, but the reason I snuggle down isn’t to get warmer. I’m drawn to the scent that laces the jacket Fitz draped over me when we sat down an hour ago. Even though he’s sitting across from me, between his taste lingering on my lips—which I swear, cuts through even the wine and seafood—and his smell rising from his jacket, Fitz feels impossibly close.

And somehow, not close enough.

“I thought about buying this place one time,” Fitz says. “Jim and Peggy were looking for a partner, but seems things turned around.”

The Landing is as much a landmark in Manhasset as Captain’s Cottage. The deck wood has grown more worn in the time I’ve been away, from the sea, the weather, or a little bit of both. I sit and take it in, realizing I’m happy in this restaurant Honey used to take me and Madeline to once a week. We’d sit at the bar, eating oysters, crab legs, and hot, crisp french fries while she had a martini.

“Honey used to take me and Madeline down here every Tuesday when my parents were in DC.”

Fitz finishes the last of the grilled oysters. “Guess I picked the right day to take you then.”

I’d call it a happy coincidence, but I let him have this one.

He tips his head to the side for a beat. “What would she think of all this?”

“Of us?” I laugh, not daring to tell him how Honey used to tease that Fitz and I would marry one day. “Oh, she’d love it. She’d tell me to take my mother to the bank.” I twirl the stem of my glass for a minute before bringing it to my lips.