Deb Putnam sat on Jenner’s porch, stomach growling.

Jenner had blown her off twice now, and normally, for her, one strike and a guy was out; she could afford to be picky. Coming to his motel was probably an awful idea, but Deb had been brought up to believe it was worse not to try than to fail.

There was something different about Jenner; she’d recognized it the first time she saw him at the Visitor Center at the Glades. He was standing on the edge of the parking lot, ignoring the tourists swarming the gift shop, just watching the marsh. He didn’t take a single photograph, just looked out over the windswept plain of saw grass, taking it all in. Watching him, Deb had decided that Jenner understood the beauty and purity of the land to which she’d devoted her life.

She grinned as she thought of him describing his trek out to the mahogany hammock in the dark, certain he was being hunted by gators. Her father would’ve liked Jenner. And, she figured, Jenner would’ve liked the old man, too.

The sadness came back quietly. It had been horrible to watch her dad waste away; he never complained, but by the end, he’d clearly welcomed death. She remembered how afterward the silence had descended on her life like a fog, how the emptiness had trickled into the little home they’d shared. Some days, it felt like she’d tracked that emptiness into her new place, as if the old furniture she’d brought with her came with the sadness still attached.

Jenner was new; she was grateful for that. She liked that, for him, her loss was something already in the past. When she’d told him about her dad, he’d offered no kneejerk pity, no rote condolences; he’d just been kind and sincere.

And listened to her talk about snails.

She smiled.

If something happened, it happened. If not, Jenner was a decent guy, and there was no shame in trying for something more.

She looked at Jenner’s weird dog again. It lay with its belly flat on the floor, its pointed snout resting on her foot by the water and food bowls.

The handwriting on the envelope tacked to Jenner’s door was delicate and feminine. Deb was curious but too polite to snoop.

So she’d learned something new: she might have competition. The thought pleased her—an opponent added spice to the game. Let them bring it! Deb liked her chances. She was smart, she was well-read, she was pretty.

And she could cook.

She glanced at her watch: almost eight thirty p.m. She was ravenous—she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, just after six a.m. And there she was, sitting on Jenner’s porch with two thick roast beef sandwiches on homemade bread, a bottle of pinot noir tucked away in her book bag. Showing up with dinner and wine was completely transparent, but Jenner would hardly be astonished to discover she was interested.

Besides, Deb was happy on the porch. The air had cooled with the seeping dark, and the mosquitoes weren’t too bad.

She stood, walked casually to the door. She turned on her cell phone, and peered at the envelope in its glow. The fat, looping J and the billowy letters weren’t just feminine, they were downright girly. Deb smirked.

She shielded her eyes from the glare as high beams flooded the porch. It was an SUV; Jenner drove a rental Accent. The SUV pulled up in front of Jenner’s cabin, and a young couple with matching sunburns and FIU windbreakers climbed out. They said good evening, and went into the cabin next door.

It was closing in on nine p.m.—what if Jenner had been called out?

Her stomach rumbled. With a short sigh, Deb finally gave in. She tore open the wax paper and chomped into a sandwich, wolfing down the rare roast beef, the Swiss cheese, the horseradish mayonnaise.

She had eaten half her sandwich when headlights tipped over the low ridge from the street, and Jenner’s car settled slowly toward the cabin. She hastily jammed the other half back into the wrapping and stuck it back into her bag. She watched Jenner park and climb out. He stretched stiffly, then reached inside for a bag of clothes. He headed toward her; Deb swallowed frantically.

The dog shuffled to the porch step, and Deb followed. From the shadows, she could see Jenner’s face clearly in the pathway light—his surprise at the dog, then his grin as he saw her silhouette moving forward.

But when Deb stepped into the light, his expression turned guarded—the smile stayed, but he was disappointed. He’d thought she was someone else, and, when he saw it was just her, he was disappointed.

He said, “Hey.” He looked exhausted.

“Hey, Jenner.” Deb fought to hide her own dismay. “You look beat.”

“Damn! I knew I should’ve used more concealer under my eyes—they’re one of my problem areas.” He smiled grimly. “It was a rough day.”

“Yeah, well, I know.” She smiled and raised her eyebrows. “I guess you heard about American Crime?”

“Heard about it? Oh, yeah.” He paused. “Tommy Anders just fired me.”

“Oh my gosh—I’m really sorry to hear that.” He looked thoroughly beaten. “Is there anything you can do?”

“Nope. I was basically a temp here, and the guy who hired me is dead. On Monday, pathologists from Miami are taking over until the county finds a replacement. I’ve got a week to finish up my paperwork and get the hell out of Dodge.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well.” Jenner produced an envelope from his pocket and waved it. “On the bright side: I finally got paid.”

“Well, good.” Deb held up her book bag. “Look, I figured you could do with some company tonight, so I brought you a bite to eat. Just sandwiches, but…”

“Deb, you’re amazing! Thank you.” His smile was warm and genuine.

With a puzzled look, he gestured at the dog. “How come you brought him back?”

“Nothing to do with me—he was sitting there, snoring, when I got here. There’s a note.” She nodded toward the door; she couldn’t stop herself. “It’s from a girl, I think.”

Jenner stepped to the door, plucked the envelope, and read in the porch light; his expression didn’t change.

He folded it into his pocket, and turned back to her. “It’s a bit of a dump in there. Want to eat on the porch?”

“That’d be nice.”

He disappeared into the cabin, and she unwrapped the sandwiches on the small table and pulled out the bottle. She called out, “Got a corkscrew, Jenner?”

“There’s wine? You’re an angel!” He appeared at the doorway with a box of mosquito coils. “I’ve got a knife with a corkscrew.”

She sat. “Hey, you want to have a shower or something, go right ahead.”

“Really?” He hesitated, smiling. “If you can hang on, a shower would be fantastic.”

She smiled back. “Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

Smelling the food, the dog waddled up and pressed his paws on her leg. She shooed him away, unwrapped Jenner’s sandwich, then her own half-eaten one.

Deb looked at her half-sandwich and grinned.

Fuck him! She was glad she’d eaten it.