Thirty-five and Single

The idea of moping at home tomorrow isn’t appealing.

“What’s the thing you’re going to?” I ask.

“Just a cookout. Lots of food and people hanging out.”

“And we’d be going as just friends.”

I’ve stopped on the quiet sidewalk, having reached my street.

“Friends. Promise.”

It sounds like fun. I don’t have a lot of friends outside of Joel and my sisters. Why not?

“Okay then. What should I wear?”

“It’s casual. Wear whatever you’d feel comfortable in.”

We set a time and I feel lighter than I have for days. Not just because of Craig. More because I’ve accepted my feelings for Joel.

Now I just have to tell him.

Chapter Eighteen

When Craig picks me up the next day in what I would learn is an Aston Martin, I’m too distracted to notice because I haven’t been able to connect with Joel.

The one time I’d reached him, he’d said he was busy and would call me back. I haven’t heard from him yet and it sucks. My mind is all over the place wondering where his head is.

“You look beautiful,” Craig says, drawing me out of my thoughts.

I feel the blush on my face. It’s just plain hard to take a compliment, especially coming from someone like him. He’s gorgeous. He’s just not Joel.

“Thank you. You look good yourself.”

“My friends are going to be jealous until they find out you’re not mine.”

I laugh. “Are you flirting with me?”

“I don’t know. Is it working?”

“You’re trouble,” I say, giggling.

He licks his lips. “I definitely can be. Just say the word.”

I shake my head and stare out at the landscape. Houses, more like mansions, peek through the trees.

“Where are we?” I ask.

I’d been too deep in my head and hadn’t paid attention to where we were going.

“Great Falls.”

“Maryland or Virginia side?” I ask, amazed by the homes I can see in the distance.

“Virginia,” he says, turning through an open gate onto a long driveway lined with cars that cost more than the annual rent of my apartment.

“Wow,” I whisper, as what looks like a modern take on a castle comes into view.

We round a circular drive near the front and come to a stop near a pair of guys dressed in crisp white shirts, black vests, and black pants.

My car door is opened for me and a hand extended to help me out. I haven’t seen any other guests, yet I already feel woefully underdressed.

I watch as a convertible BMW parks behind us. A pair of teens get out of the car and drop the keys in one of the guy’s hands without stopping. Craig comes over and takes my hand.

“Kids,” he mutters.

Lucky kids, I think.

“I don’t think I’m dressed appropriately,” I say.

Those kids look like they stepped out of the pages of one of the fashion magazines Dr. T. stocks in his waiting room.

He smiles down at me and lifts my hand to place a kiss there. “You’re gorgeous. You have nothing to worry about.”

His grin is sparkling and I can imagine all the women who’ve fallen at his feet. I might have been one of those women if I wasn’t already in love with someone else.

Love.

I almost trip when the truth hits me. I’m in love with Joel. I can’t even pinpoint when it happened.

He’s become so much a part of my world, I hadn’t realized just how much I needed him until he’d gone.

Craig leads me through the front door even though the teens had taken a path around the side of the house.

“Wait, is this your house?” I ask, staring up at a spectacular chandelier in a foyer with a double curving staircase.

“Not exactly. Not yet at least.”

I’m not sure what he means, but his hand on my back urges me forward. He guides me past a grand piano room, a formal living room, dining room, and a family room until we reach the back of the house. The kitchen is so expansive, I’m tongue-tied and haven’t been able to ask him about the owners of this place.

“Would you like something to eat or drink?” he offers.

We aren’t alone in the kitchen. It’s filled with staff in their black and white uniforms.

“Something to drink would be nice.”

My mouth is dry. I’ve never been in such opulence and I’m more than a little intimidated. His idea of a cookout is far different than mine.

He hands me a glass of white wine and I immediately drink half. I stop myself, afraid I might make a spectacle of myself.

“Come on. I have a few people I want you to meet,” he says.

He leads me out the French doors onto a deck. We take the stairs down to a patio filled with people sitting or standing under a long pergola.

Craig is stopped multiple times and there is no way I will remember everyone’s name I’m introduced to.

But I will remember one.

“Mom,” Craig says, enveloping a striking woman with graying hair.