“Eve might have mentioned it.”

I forced a smile. “Sorry about that. She means well. But she insists I need to get back into the dating world even though it’s only been eighteen months.”

“Would I be overstepping if I asked how long things weren’t great before the divorce? For me it was at least five years. So when we finally split up, it had been a long time since either of us was happy, and we were both ready to move on.”

“I suppose you’re right. We were separated for two years before the divorce, and things hadn’t been great in a while.” My phone buzzed in my hand, and I looked down.

“Do you want to take that? I can go grab us some drinks. How about a refill for that margarita?”

“I’d love that. Thank you, Adam.”

Returning to my phone, there were three successive texts from Donovan, a minute apart.

Donovan: Got nothing, huh?

Donovan: Admit it. You think I’m hot.

Donovan: Got a buddy who’s on NYFD. I can borrow his uniform if you go out with me.

Valentina: Sorry. I was talking with someone.

Donovan: Man or woman?

Valentina: Why do you ask?

Donovan: Because if it’s a man, I want to know if you think he’s hot, too.

Valentina: You’re pretty full of yourself, aren’t you?

Donovan: Me? You’re the one having hot and sweaty fireman dreams about me.

Valentina: I never said…

My texting was interrupted by another from him. He had fast fingers.

Donovan: Admit it.

Valentina: Why is it so important to you?

Donovan: Because I like you. And if you’re fantasizing about me, there’s a better chance I can talk you into going out with me.

I really wished he were a bit older—even just a few years and into his early thirties would be more appropriate.

Valentina: I like you, too, Donovan. I don’t want to lead you on. I’ve enjoyed this time chatting with you…I really have. But you’re just too young for me.

Donovan: I’m actually not that young. I did some serious thinking about this yesterday. The average life expectancy of a man is 68.5 and for a woman it’s 73.5. That means you’re probably going to live five years longer than me. Therefore, I have a 5 handicap.

Valentina: A handicap?

Donovan: Yeah. Like in golf. I get to add five years to my age. So we’re really only seven years apart, and you can certainly get past that.

I chuckled and shook my head.

Valentina: Nice try. But your logic is flawed. We measure life by how long we’ve been here. Therefore, you receive no handicap.

Donovan: It’s time you changed that outlook, Val. Age shouldn’t be counted by the time we’ve been alive. It should be counted by the years we have left. Look forward, not back.

It was just a funny exchange. I didn’t think it was meant to be profound or anything of the sort. Yet his words hit me. I had been looking back, for a long time now. Donovan was right.

I gulped back the rest of the margarita in my glass and stared at my phone for a long moment. The party was going on all around me, yet everything was suddenly quiet.

I was single.

I hadn’t been happy in a long time.

My son was a grown man and no longer needed me.

Pretty soon, I’d be making a major career change.

Why was I constantly looking back at my failed marriage?

Valentina: I might have daydreamed a little about how you would look in a fireman’s uniform. And…

I took a deep breath.

Valentina: If you still want to go out on a date, let’s do it.

Donovan: You just feel bad for me because I’m going to die five years earlier, don’t you?

I laughed out loud. It felt good. Like taking in a deep breath on the first day of spring.

Valentina: I just had an epiphany. I’m looking forward now. And forgetting all my self-imposed rules of the past.

Donovan: Now you’re talking. When do I get to see you in person?

Adam was heading back my way with a filled margarita glass.

Valentina: Can we talk tomorrow? I’ve been rude to the gentleman who just fetched me a drink.

Donovan: Gentleman?

Valentina: Yes…Adam.

My face brightened at yet another forward-thinking thought. Only this one, I probably shouldn’t have shared with Donovan. I was just so damn excited, though.

Valentina: Maybe I’ll go out with Adam, too! Chat tomorrow! Have a good night.

After that, I tucked my phone into my pocket and gave Adam my full attention. The world was suddenly brighter.

Chapter 4

* * *

Valentina

“What the hell do I wear for a date? I haven’t been on one in twenty years.”

I frantically tore through my closet. Everything I owned suddenly seemed to scream soccer mom. I pulled out a new outfit I’d worn a few weeks ago and held it up against me, showing it to Eve.

“Is he taking you to a funeral?”

I actually had bought it for a funeral. Oh my God. I had nothing to wear.

I tossed the hangers on the floor of my closet and joined Eve on the bed. Covering my face with my hands, I grumbled, “I can’t do this. I can’t go.”

“You have a closet full of clothes and a kick-ass figure. There’s something in there you can wear. Besides, all you really need is nice underwear. That’s all he’ll care about.”

My eyes widened. “He’s going to see my underwear tonight? On the first date?”

Eve took pity on me, letting me off the hook easier than she normally did when she screwed with me. “Relax. I’m joking.”

I reached for a tissue on my end table. “Achoo!” My other hand covered my rapidly beating heart. “Thank God. Honestly, I have no idea what he’s expecting. What I’m expecting. What the hell I’m even doing.”

“You’re taking your life back. It’s your turn, Val. That’s what you’re doing. And it’s about damn time.” Eve got up from the bed and walked into the closet. “And if you want to show this young hottie your underwear tonight on the first date, you do that. You do whatever makes you happy. It’s time you put your own needs first.”

“But what does he expect to happen?”

“If he expects anything to happen, he’s an asshole and not worth your time.”

“Maybe it’s too soon.”

Eve popped her head out from my walk-in closet and spoke to me sternly, not unlike how I might’ve warned my son at times. “You’re going.”

My shoulders slumped. “Yes, Mom.”

“And don’t sneeze on the poor guy!”

Oh God. What if I do sneeze on him? I hadn’t thought of that. Ever since I was a little girl, I sneezed when I got nervous. It had been in check for years—probably because my mundane life didn’t have anything going on in it to get excited or nervous about—but lately I’d noticed it happening again.

Eve had disappeared into the closet, but she came back out. “And stop worrying about sneezing on him now!”

She knew me so well.

It took another forty-five minutes for us to agree on what I should wear, and in the end, almost the entire contents of my closet were in a heap on my bed. I had on a red skirt, cute, strappy, high-heeled sandals that I’d bought but never had occasion to wear, and a form-fitting black top that showed off a hint of my cleavage.

“You don’t think this top is too tight?”

“You look sexy, yet classy.”

I reached for a sweater, even though it was a warm evening. Eve swiped it from my hand. “You don’t need a sweater. You just want to cover up.”

She was absolutely right. I sighed, pushing out a nervous breath. “Fine.” We left the bedroom a disaster and walked to the kitchen.

“What time is he picking you up?”

“He’s not. I’m meeting him.”

“He didn’t offer to pick you up? Wait, let me guess. He did. But you told him you would rather meet him somewhere instead.”

“It’s safer that way.”

“And you can’t chicken out if you give him your address.”

That, too.

“I’m not chickening out.”

Eve opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. Uncapping it, she pondered something before speaking. “Why don’t I drive you and pick you up? I can wait outside and make sure he isn’t a serial killer or anything.”

“You just want to make sure I go and check him out in person.”

She guzzled half her water. “Where did you say you were meeting him? Tom and I were talking about going out to eat. Maybe I will come spy on you, tell you if he’s worthy of seeing your panties on the first date.”

***

I arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early, and yet I was still sitting in my car fifteen minutes after the time I was supposed to meet Donovan. I’d never had a panic attack, but I was pretty certain that’s what was happening. My palms were sweaty, my heart was racing, and I had the uncontrollable urge to flee to the safety of my home—although there was no way I could possibly drive in this condition.