The Best of Me by Nicholas Sparks

college and she lives in Salter Path, but even though we talk, I haven’t actually seen her in years. I don’t want to deal with my mother’s prying questions, so I just lie to her.”
    Dawson swirled his tea, thinking about what she’d said, watching as the drink finally went still again. “As I was driving here, I couldn’t help thinking about my father, and how for him it was always about control. I’m not saying your mom is anything like him, but maybe it’s just her way of trying to keep you from making a mistake.”
    “Are you saying it was a mistake to visit Tuck?”
    “Not for Tuck,” he said. “But for you? It depends on what you hoped to find here, and only you can answer that.”
    She felt a flash of defensiveness, but before she could respond the feeling gave way as she recognized the pattern they’d shared so long ago. One would say something that challenged the other,often leading to an argument, and she realized how much she’d missed that. Not because they fought, but because of the trust it implied and the forgiveness that inevitably followed. Because, in the end, they’d always forgiven each other.
    Part of her suspected that he’d been testing her, but she let the comment pass. Instead, surprising herself, she leaned forward over the table, the next words coming almost automatically.
    “What are you doing for dinner tonight?”
    “I don’t have any plans. Why?”
    “There are some steaks in the fridge if you want to eat here.”
    “What about your mom?”
    “I’ll call and tell her that I got a late start.”
    “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
    “No,” she said. “I’m not sure about anything right now.”
    He scratched a thumb against the glass, saying nothing as he studied her. “Okay.” He nodded. “Steaks it is. Assuming they’re not spoiled.”
    “They were delivered Monday,” she said, remembering what Tuck had told her. “The grill’s out back if you want to get it started.”
    A moment later he was out the door; his presence, however, continued to linger, even as she fished her cell phone from her purse.

5

    W hen the coals were ready, Dawson went back inside to retrieve the steaks from Amanda, who’d already buttered and seasoned them. Pushing open the door, he saw her staring into the cupboard while absently holding a can of pork and beans.
    “What’s going on?”
    “I was trying to find some things to go with the steak, but other than this,” she said, holding up the can, “there’s not much.”
    “What are our choices?” he asked as he washed his hands at the kitchen sink.
    “Aside from the beans, he has grits, a bottle of spaghetti sauce, pancake flour, a half-empty box of penne pasta, and Cheerios. In the fridge, he has butter and condiments. Oh, and the sweet tea, of course.”
    He shook off the excess water. “Cheerios is a possibility.”
    “I think I’ll go with the pasta,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And shouldn’t you be outside grilling the steaks?”
    “I suppose,” he answered, and she had to suppress a smile. From the corner of her eye, she watched him pick up the platter and leave, the door behind him closing with a gentle click.
    The sky was a deep, velvety purple and the stars were already ablaze. Beyond Dawson’s figure, the creek was a black ribbon andthe treetops were beginning to glow silver with the slowly rising moon.
    She filled a pan with water, tossed in a little salt, and turned on the burner; from the fridge she retrieved the butter. When the water boiled, she added the pasta and spent the next few minutes searching for the strainer before finally locating it in the back of the cabinet near the stove.
    When the pasta was ready, she drained it and put it back into the pan, along with butter, garlic powder, and a dash of salt and pepper. Quickly, she heated up the can of beans, finishing just as Dawson came back in carrying the platter.
    “It smells great,” he said, not bothering to hide his