Just as I was about to put my phone back into my purse, my other daughter called. “Yes, Ashley?”

“How long was I supposed to keep that bread in the oven?”

“You weren’t supposed to touch that bread at all, Ashley. I said it was for dinner. It was going to go with the spaghetti and—”

“I was hungry! What was I supposed to eat?”

“Leftover chicken salad, sushi—”

“I’m a vegan since last night mom.” She gave me one of her ‘you-just-don’t-understand-me’ groans. “Remember? I can’t eat meat. Can you get me some soy products while you’re out? And I’m totally sorry, but I completely burned that bread...Shouldn’t the oven have made a sound to alert me? And why does every plastic pan I put in the oven burn up? What’s that about?”

Oh my god...

“I’ll see you when I get home, Ashley.” I hung up.

My daughters were not related to me. If I was sixteen years old with a job and a shared car, I wouldn’t be calling my mother about anything. Then again—I scrolled down my phone’s list and called my own mother. “Mom, are you still coming over for dinner tonight?”

“Sure. What time should I be there?”

“Seven o’ clock. And I need you to bring some bread over. I had some ready but Ashley put another plastic pan in the oven.”

“You need to get those girls checked out, Claire. I told you they were born with half a brain.”

“Tell me about it. See you tonight, mom. I’ll—”

“Wait! Robert Millington told me you still haven’t called him. He really wants to take you out. I think he’d be good for you!”

I tried not to groan. Robert was the son of my mom’s best friend. He was two years older than me, but he wasn’t attractive and he was extremely dull—worse-than-watching-paint-dry dull. His idea of great conversation was discussing the differences between American and British politics.

“No thanks, mom. Not interested.”

“Why not? He’s a good guy! He has his own law firm, he’s in great shape—”

“And he’s boring. I’ll pass. See you tonight, mom.” I hung up.

I made my way down the beverage aisle and grabbed a carton of dry milk. I headed for the meat section and grabbed a few pounds of beef—soy beef.

As I walked by, I looked up at the reflective glass that hung over the chicken display. I still had problems recognizing myself on some days. I was still coming to terms with the new and improved me—the woman who actually enjoyed putting on make-up and spending more than twenty minutes on her hair.

You still got it...You still got it...You still—

I pushed my basket straight into a display of cereal boxes.

Great...

Stooping down, I began putting it back together the best way I could. I wanted to fix everything before the snotty manager came over and said his infamous, “Mistakes like this are what drive our prices up.”

“Need some help?” A deep voice said from behind.

“Sure.” I didn’t look up. I kept stacking the red boxes in between the yellow ones, making sure each box was perfectly aligned into the tacky half diamond formation.

As I stacked the last cereal box atop the display, I turned to look at the man who’d helped me out.

OH. MY. GOD...

He had one of those faces that belonged in a Ralph Lauren ad—stark blue eyes that gleamed with the faintest hint of light, a perfectly chiseled jaw line with a light sexy stubble, and full, well-defined lips that looked inviting enough to kiss all day.

He was dressed in dark blue jeans and a black sweat shirt with “San Fran” in white letters. And for some odd reason, he was smiling at me.

He’s probably a student at the law school down the street....If only I could go back in time...Oh well...

“Umm...Thank you for your help.” I turned away and went back to my basket.

“Wait a minute,” he said as he walked over. “I didn’t catch your name.”

How cute...

“Claire.”

“Nice to meet you, Claire. I’m Jonathan.” He reached out to shake my hand. “I know this may seem forward, but I can’t leave the store without knowing if I can I take you out tonight.”

What? Did he just ask me out? For tonight?

“Umm...”

“You can pick the place.” He smiled a perfect white smile and ran a hand through his jet black hair. “And we can meet there if you don’t want me to pick you up.”

Stop looking at his smile and avert your gaze somewhere lower...Not that lower!

“I would but...” I literally couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was the sexiest man I’d ever seen—his face had to have been personally sculpted by the Gods, and I was starting to feel this strange rush of warmth coursing through my veins. “I can’t.”

“Is it because you’re seeing someone else?” His eyes veered to my bare left hand. “Are you married?”

He has to be kidding me...

“No. I’m not married or seeing anyone else. I’m—”

“So would eight o’ clock tonight be fine? Where exactly do you want to meet?” He looked directly into my eyes and I almost collapsed onto the floor.

The look he was giving me should’ve been reserved for a seductive scene in a romance movie and his dreamy smile was lethal...

“Look, I’m completely flattered but you look kind of young.”

He furrowed his eyebrow. “That’s very nice of you to say, but that doesn’t answer my question. Where do you want to—”

“How old are you, Jonathan?”

“Twenty eight.” His beautiful eyes lit up.

Twenty eight?! Why am I still standing here entertaining him? He’s eleven years younger than me! No thanks...

“Well, that’s way too young for me. I have a little cousin that’s more in your age range. She’s currently studying law, but if you want I can call and ask her if—”

“You don’t want to go out with me?”

“No. I’m way too old for you and I’m not a cougar or a cradle robber. I have two daughters and I would feel some type of way if they dated someone who had our age difference.”

“Our age difference?”

“Yes. I’m thirty nine, which means that when you were eight years old and learning how to build fires with the Boy Scouts, I was nineteen and in college. It means that when you were nineteen and trying to figure out what major you wanted to pick, I was thirty trying to build a career in marketing. And just in case you don’t realize how many years there are that separate us, there are eleven. Do you not see the problem with that?”

“Not really.” He grinned. “But I can’t force someone to go out with me, can I? Could I at least give you my number just in case you change your mind?”

“Sure.” I took out my phone and vowed to delete his number later.

“It’s 555-9845...I really hope you change your mind, Claire.” He gave me another one of those seductive glances and walked away.

“What are you waiting for? Call him, Claire! Tonight!”

“Shhhh! I don’t want everyone here in my personal life, Sands!”

“Whatever,” she whispered. “Why can’t you go out with him?”

“He’s twenty eight!”

“Which means he’s practically thirty! What’s the problem? He didn’t ask you to marry him. He simply asked you out and told you to suggest the place.”

“Wouldn’t that make me a cougar though? Eleven years younger than me? Wait, twelve years younger than me once Friday gets here...What would my mom think? What about his mother?”

“Claire, it’s a simple date. At the very least, maybe you two will hit it off, go out a few more times, and then you can finally get some sex! How long has it been again?”

My associates all looked up at me.

“Get back to work!” I waited for them to look away from me and glared at Sandra. “I’ve only been here a few years. Could we try not to have my associates gossiping about me?”

“Sorry.” She followed me into my corner office. “You hate it here anyway...All I’m trying to say is that you haven’t been on a date in a while and—”