She nodded and checked on her lasagna. Cold in the center, fried at the edges. “You have no idea how nice it was to meet ladies my mom’s age, who didn’t judge or didn’t tell me to sit up straighter.” Victoria jabbed at her dinner with a plastic fork before shoving it back into the oven.

“But it’s antithetical to your previously planned affair, which is now in its second week?”

“Exactly,” Victoria said, slamming the door. “I have another week to figure things out and I hate feeling like this.”

“Like what exactly?” Paula asked as she leaned against the counter.

Victoria let out an exasperated sigh. “‘Does he like me? Are we going steady?’ Honestly, I feel like a teenager.”

Paula gave a throaty chuckle over her coffee and rolled her eyes. “I think he does like you and you are going steady. I also think once your week is up, you’ll still be going steady.”

“Maybe? Anyway, tell me about your love life. I’ve been holding you and Reggi hostage with my woes.”

“I’m glad you asked,” Paula said with a grin. “I’ve got a date with a member of the Farmingdale Fire Brigade on Thursday.”

“Ooh, do tell...” Victoria waggled her eyebrows. “What’s his name and how did you meet?”

Paula’s eyes fell shut as she sighed. “His name is Tomas Piña and our meet-cute was at The Coffee Hound. We were reaching for the same low-cal sweetener and there were sparks.”

Paula’s romance writing is basically her real life. “Nice.” She nodded with approval. “Is he going to be able to extinguish your fire?”

“I’m waiting to see what that hose can do.”

Victoria let out a guffaw. “Okay, now,” she said through her laughter. “So, that was brilliant.”

“That’s what I get paid for,” she said, inspecting her nails with her raised brow. “Actually, I gotta get to class and get paid for this job too.”

“Today’s lesson?”

“Visual rhetoric,” Paula said, pointing to her “This is What a Feminist Looks Like” T-shirt. “We’re covering political statement and fashion.”

“Sounds mighty progressive,” said a familiar voice near the doorway. Kenneth Williams was crashing their little break room party with his smug grin.

Victoria suppressed a groan and turned back to the microwave. She would rather eat cold lasagna than spend another second with her boss. “Hello, Kenneth,” she muttered.

Paula, however, was completely unfazed by the interruption. “Progressive or just a basic reality?” she asked, blowing the steam from her coffee.

Kenneth retrieved a carton of creamer from the refrigerator. “So long as your students grasp the basic understanding of writing,” he said in an airy voice. “I’m getting concerned about the amount of kids who come to my class, unable to string together a sentence.”