Flirting with Fifty

“I don’t know what I feel,” Paige answered honestly. “Part of me is annoyed that Dr. Nair squeezed me into filling in for Esther. I suppose another part of me is flattered. Everyone seems so pleased for me, as if I’ve just won the lottery.”

“So, tell me about Jack. I’ve looked him up a couple of times. Went to Hulu and watched an episode of his series. Is he as good-looking in real life as he is on TV?”

Her insides felt squirmy. She hesitated for a second. “Yes.”

“Wow. Scale of one to ten?”

“Elizabeth.”

“Come on. Humor me. A seven? An eight? Nine?”

“Nine point seven.”

“Wow. From you that’s . . . pretty much a ten.”

“A ten is a ten. In fact, he’s probably more of a nine point two. Maybe just a nine.”

“I think we’re going to go with your first assessment. Those first impressions are important.”

“So says the one that still watches The Bachelor.”

“I like the sense of possibility.”

“Just don’t tell me you like the dialogue.”

Elizabeth laughed. “No. And it’s fairly scripted, but it’s better than shows that open with a violent murder.”

Paige knew that was a jab at her. “Listen, you might love your Brontës and Jane Austen, but you’re not going to manufacture a romance for me.”

“No, of course not. And your Jack probably has a serious significant other. But that doesn’t mean we can’t appreciate his manly attributes.”

“He’s not my Jack.” Paige winced inwardly because he kind of was. Once upon a time. Briefly.

“How did tonight’s party go at Dr. Keller’s?”

Paige pictured the evening, remembering the strands of white lights in the trees and the glimmering water of the pool and the jazz trio—students from Orange’s music department—playing in the background, and then Taffy leaping into the pool, water drenching those standing near the edge.

She snorted. “The Kellers’ Labradoodle made a surprise appearance at the party. Chaos ensued. It was hilarious, not that I’ll ever say that to Dr. Keller.”

“Oh dear. Knowing Dr. Keller, he must have been mortified.”

“He was. Especially when Taffy shook out her coat on the VIPs.” Paige remembered how Jack had saved the day. Tarzan and the Labradoodle. “Fortunately, Jack King was able to get the dog back in the house. Party saved. He was definitely the hero of the night.”

“Why do you sound so grumpy about it? That’s a good thing.”

“It is.” Paige hesitated, wishing she could confide in Elizabeth about her one night with Jack many years ago, but Elizabeth was a little too amped about Jack, romanticizing him a little too much. “I just can’t help wondering what Jack’s fatal flaw is.”

“He might not have one. You know, Paige, you can’t hate all men just because your ex was an ass.”

Paige had spent twenty years being married to a man who seemed to think he was her boss, and she had no desire to ever end up in that situation again. She didn’t need a man telling her what to do, or where to be, or what time to be home. She didn’t want to ask for permission to meet friends, see a movie, or take a barre class. She was turning fifty at the end of September, and she was done asking. Done getting permission for anything. Done compromising. And relationships were just one compromise after another. “I don’t hate men. I just don’t need to spend a lot of one-on-one time with any of them.”

“You’ll change your mind one day. You’re too young to be single for the rest of your life.”

“Nope. I’m in menopause. Have no hormones left. It’s not going to happen.”

“You have plenty of hormones left. You just haven’t met the right one.”

“There’s no right one.”

“What about David Muir?” Elizabeth asked sweetly.

Paige sighed. It was so unfair that Elizabeth had gone straight to news anchor David Muir. “David Muir is not going to ask me out.”

“He might.”

“No, he won’t. One, he doesn’t know me. Two, he’s in a relationship—”

“How do you know?”

“It’s obvious. He’s not on the market.”

“We don’t know that, and you might one day meet him and he could ask you out.”

“Elizabeth, you’re worse than my kids.”

“They want you to date, too?”

“No. They don’t care. They just want me happy—”

“I want you happy.”

“Your idea of happy is my idea of hell. Fighting for the remote, doing his laundry, picking up after him—”

“Not all men are slobs. I seriously doubt David Muir is a slob. In fact, I bet he’s very organized and tidy, just like you. You wouldn’t have to share the remote, either. You’d both like the same shows.”

Paige laughed, because she couldn’t help it. “Fine, if David Muir asked me out, I’d consider it. But since I can safely say he’s not going to, I can also safely assure you that I will never date again.”

“At least we’ve established something important. You’re not dead.”

“Just close.”

“Stop it. You’re beautiful. And smart, and loving, and loyal—”

“And happy single.”

“Do you really want to be alone for the rest of your life?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”