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They were old friends, after all, and the day had been a long one. They were just a little tired from the long walk down the beach, the picnic in the nest of tall, sand-colored reeds, and easygoing talk of their thoughts, their children, their various likes and dislikes.

They had held hands as they walked, enjoying the closeness that it added to their conversation, and--approaching middle age--the feeling of youth that it brought to them.

Yes, it was hard to keep their long- standing interest in one another out of the conversation, even though they were simply neighbors. They'd known each other casually for quite a few years, talking at neighborhood parties, just flirting in a friendly, teasing way. But at this new stage in their lives those years weren't wasted, it turned out. They did seem to count for something, the way high-school sweehearts, meeting many years later, shared a new intimacy greater than anything they'd had long ago in school. To some extent they could behave as lovers, whether or not they had ever been quite that close. It was something like that with them, he thought. As a man and a woman, they knew they experienced something beyond the day and the walk. He admired her youthful figure, the way the light hit her red-brown hair, the glint of mischief and independence in her eyes. And she, too, knew her own mind: on a day like this she liked feeling protected by him, so much taller than she, and liked his easy smile and refusal to take too somberly what was obviously serious in their lives.

The picnic had been fun, too, as if they were hiding in their private shelter from people and from the onshore breeze. He'd even kissed her hands once while she'd passed him a cup of coffee from the thermos, and they'd put their arms around one another's waists as they stood looking out over the Sound at the distant windsurfers.

He liked the way she sat on the blanket, her blue cotton skirt tucked loosely under her tanned legs while her feet played in the sand. She'd leaned back on her elbows, looking up at the sky and he'd almost kissed her again...but, of course, they were not there as lovers.

He felt that she knew how casually seductive she was, though, and that she sensed his gaze on her, desiring her, and that she would have liked him to take her in his arms and lie next to her on the blanket, kissing her and caressing her body.

But now the day was over and the dusk had begun to set in. They moved briskly back down the almost-deserted beach. There were just a few late walkers out with their dogs, and a few kids here and there waiting for darkness before they'd start a fire with driftwood and then relax in one another's arms, and maybe do a few things their parents wouldn't like them to, if they knew.

The parking lot came up soon enough, and they loaded the baskets and blankets into the trunk of her car.

"Warm it up fast," he said. "It's cold when the sun goes down at this time of year." He patted her knee as she fired up the Volvo. "Good Swedish heater in here anyway, we'll be warm soon." He noticed her shiver slightly.

"Cold, are you?" he asked. "How about stopping off at the bar at the Inn. We could sit by the fire and have a little brandy to take the chill off? Maybe have some supper?"

She liked brandy, its spreading warmth within her, and she liked fires, their flickering light. It was a good idea, even if a little dangerous. They'd desired one another this afternoon. But their relationship wasn't ready for fires, she thought.

"Well," she said, "maybe just one. What time do you have to be back? I don't want to keep you. But I could use a little warming up." She chuckled to herself at the double meaning. Yes, she thought, she would like some warming up...just as she would have on the beach this afternoon. She'd liked stretching out, allowing the light skirt to follow the contours of her legs while her blouse tightened over her breasts. She liked him to want her, and to want him...even as friends.

The Inn was old, and its small bar was dimly lighted. There was even a fire in the fireplace. As they chose the table next to it, the barmaid told them that it was the first one of the season. They touched glasses and savored the brandy.

"You know," she said, "fires are one of my favorite things. But they make me sleepy."

"Me too," he answered, "sleepy, but...happy." They understood one another.