Four months ago, they'd made a vow to give up on men entirely and find happiness in the company of their dogs. Ironically, that's just when Josie met Rick. They were married three months later.

Ginger watched Roxie struggling with Lilith, a muddy-brown mutt who growled at every man and male dog to come her way. For months now, Roxie had been trying to socialize the rescue dog. So far, no luck.

Have you made an appointment with that dog behaviorist yet? Ginger asked Roxie. It was an innocent question, asked out of true interest for the well-being of Roxie and her dog, but her friend looked nervous.

Why do you ask? Roxie's eyes narrowed. What are you getting at?

Bea rolled her eyes at Ginger.

Well, Ginger said cautiously, I just know Rick introduced you to the guy at the wedding. Rick had just hired him as part of Celestial Pet's dog-training program, right?

Roxie nodded. Mmm-hmm.

Okay, so spill it, Bea said, laughing. You're already dating the guy?

What? Roxie looked horrified. Of course not. I'm not dating anyone. Dating is not part of my business plan.

Bea shrugged. So have you started Lilith in his classes, or what?

Everyone glanced down at the snarling Lilith, tugging desperately at the leash to get at a nearby dog, frothing at her muzzle the way she sometimes did.

Guess not, Bea said.

Roxie did a little back-and-forth thing with her neck, then turned her attention to Ginger. And how about you? Did you get your portrait taken by that Rico Suave dude yet?

Bea chuckled, but Ginger didn't. It was happening againthe tingling, the weak legs, the flush of her chest, the smoldering low in her bellyall because the man was mentioned in passing. His actual name hadn't even been uttered! Ginger needed to get a hold of herself. The sad truth was that he'd never called to cash in his rain check and probably never would. It had been over two weeks since she'd laid eyes on himand he'd laid his tongue on herbut her physical reaction to him seemed to be intensifying instead of waning. She didn't understand it.

You okay? Bea asked.

Ginger nodded. Just another hot flash.

Both Roxie and Bea groaned loudly. Would you stop with that garbage already? Bea asked. Seriously, Ginger, you're not going through menopause! Get it through your head!

She nodded. In a soft voice she said, Larry told me I needed a face-lift.

Roxie closed her eyes as if she were in pain. Bea puffed up her cheeks with air.

I know. I know. He's a jerk, and he just tells me that to make me doubt myself. Ginger looked at her friends, hoping they would know she meant what she said.

Ginger, you're damn lucky to have jettisoned that idiot, Bea said. He spent nearly twenty years dragging you down. You deserve so much more.

Roxie touched Ginger's hand. You are one of the loveliest women I've ever known, and I'm not bullshitting you. Ginger, you are a truly beautiful woman.

She nodded quickly, trying to hold back the tears.

Bea said, Just please'please 'don't tell me you're going to use this as an excuse to make another Botox appointment.

Ginger wiped her cheek. Don't be silly.

Thank God, Roxie said.

I canceled it yesterday.

Ginger knew the whole thing was laughable. Since she'd found out that Larry had been cavorting with wrinkle-free girls, Ginger had been obsessed about her appearanceevery fine line, every blotch, every pore. Her friends had watched as Ginger suddenly sprouted symptoms of menopause for which her doctors said there was no medical cause. They'd seen her make dozens of Botox appointments all over town, only to chicken out. Once, Ginger picked up a women's magazine in the plastic surgeon's waiting room and found an article that said research showed a possible link between Botox and brain tumors. She put the magazine down and walked out.

Her mother didn't help the situation. Teresa Barr, the former B-movie starlet, had become a cosmetic-surgery addict, and was hell-bent on getting Ginger hooked. Thank God she lived in Los Angeles and was afraid to fly. That meant she could only do her pushing on the phone.

So there Ginger was, well aware of what had rocked her self-confidence, but unable to find her balance. Unlike many other divorcees, her greatest challenge hadn't been loneliness or finances or that feeling of social limbo so many women talked about. Her challenge was being able to accept herself as she was. She had a hard time truly believing, deep down, that she was still vibrant and attractive, and that there was still a possibility for happiness, for love.

So she'd told herself and anyone who'd listen that she'd given up.

Ginger looked at the exasperation on her friends' faces and knew she'd tested their patience with all her nonsense. Frankly, she was sick of herself.

You been talking to your mother again? Bea asked.

No.

She doesn't need her mothershe's got Larry, Roxie said.

Ginger tossed back her hair and leveled her gaze. Look, I swear to you I won't let Larry hurt me ever again. I know he's just lashing out because I got the house, alimony, and HeatherLynn. Oh! Which reminds me!

She placed her sweet little bichon down in the grass, hoping she'd join Martina and the poodles. The dog looked tempted, hesitated, but eventually toddled out into the off-leash area.

Ginger made her announcement, filled with pride for her brave little princess. The other night, when Larry came to the house, HeatherLynn jumped up and bit him in the crotch!

She got the response she'd hoped for, including a few fist-pumping whoop-whoops from Bea. Roxie laughed until she doubled over. When she caught her breath, she asked if she could feature HeatherLynn on her Web site.

Ginger laughed and smiled, enjoying the moment to its fullest, not even caring how her emotion might accentuate her crow's-feet and frown lines. She was doing a fine job filling in for Josie, she decided. And it made her happy.

Piers was late, which was the norm, and Lucio had been alone in his friend's apartment many times before. But on that particular day he felt just slightly awkward. The reason was the change in decor.

The one-bedroom apartment was filled with photos that hadn't been there just a few weeks before. The breathtaking landscapes for which Piers was known were exactly where they'd always been, plastered on every wall in the place. It was the addition of the photographs of Sylvie that surprised Lucio. They were hung on the walls, propped on the fireplace mantel, placed in frames, and arranged upon the side tables and the divider between the kitchen and living room. None of the photos had been on display in the weeks Lucio had called Piers's sofa his home. Obviously, Piers had put them away when Lucio moved in, and brought them back out the moment he was gone.

Lucio sighed. Despite Piers's assurances to the contrary, it seemed his friend had never completely let go of the past. Piers hadn't wanted Lucio to see all these photos of Sylvie, probably because he hadn't wanted their prickly history brought front and center.

Lucio walked toward the small room divider covered with frames. He barely glanced at the full-color wedding portrait he'd taken of Piers Skaarsgard and Sylvie Westcott all those years ago. It was the smaller photo next to it that fascinated him. It was a snapshot of the three of them, smiling in front of the tube station in Piccadilly Circus. They all looked so young. Unscathed. Filled with passion and plans.

A handwritten notation at the bottom right corner said, London, 1992. The handwriting was Sylvie's. And, as Lucio well knew, the passion that burned in Sylvie's eyes that day had burned for him. All her plans had included Lucio.