We fall silent again. Now it’s James’s turn to try. “I hear you’re a designer.”

“Yep. It’s how I pay my bills.”

“Philip says you’re good. That some of your homes have been featured in national magazines.”

“Regional magazines. Northwest Home and Seattle.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“I’m still hoping to get Architectural Digest someday.”

“It’ll happen.”

Again silence stretches. Then James looks up at me. “This is awkward.”

I nod. “A little.”

“They said you were pretty but—wow. You’re beautiful.”

I look down, feel my cheeks warm. That was the last thing I expected him to say. “Thank you.”

We fall silent again. He looks up at me and grimaces. “I’m striking out here, aren’t I.”

I look at James, note the sweep of medium brown hair, the light blue eyes, the clean lines of his face. I bet he’s Irish. Probably went to Catholic school. Scored brilliantly on his SATs.

“You’re not striking out,” I say gently. “I’m just not exactly a chatterbox tonight.”

He nods, glances around, sees the appetizers being passed. “Hungry?” he asks. “Hunkering for a shrimp kebab?”

“No. You?”

“I might chase one down.”

“Go for it,” I say.

James doesn’t return immediately, and I think I’ve offended him. But he finds me when dinner’s served, and we sit together at one of the round tables on the patio.

All my initial impressions of James are correct—intelligent, pleasant, attractive man. I can’t think of one offensive thing about him, so when he asks for my phone number I give it to him. But not long after that, I slip into Philip and Anne’s bedroom, grab my purse off the bed, and head home. It was a nice barbecue, and James—Jim—was a really nice man, but being there tonight, surrounded by all those familiar couples, made me realize I’m doing good, but I still have a long way to go.

Anne stops by my house the next morning with a plastic container of leftover chicken and ribs. “We had way more food than we needed. I don’t think people even had seconds,” she says, shooting me a dark look as she slides the plastic tubs into my refrigerator. “I know you didn’t. You were out the door in record time.”

“I was tired.”

“Huh!”

“I was, but I had a great time, and I thought your garden looked great. I love the new patio and fountain.”

“You’re just kissing up to me now.”

I laugh and take the pitcher of iced tea from the fridge and pour us each a glass.

Anne sits on one of the bar stools. “So, what did you think of Dr. McKee?”

“He seemed very nice.”

“Just nice? He’s gorgeous.”

“He was attractive, yes, and polite. A nice man.”

She groans. “You keep using the word nice.”

“Well, he was.”