I expect the house to be silent when I get in, and for Tegan to be already in bed. Instead, she’s waiting for me behind the entrance door, barely leaving me enough room to step into the hall before she barrels into me.

“Was that Luke?” she asks, hopping from foot to foot with her hands joined in front of her chest. “Were you kissing him?”

“What are you doing still up?”

“Don’t change the subject! You were totally kissing Luke. But how? Weren’t you supposed to be on a blind date?

“I was, honey, only the agency paired me with Lucas.”

“Really?” She claps. “How wonderful! So, you like Luke now? Didn’t you hate him?”

I kick off my heels and massage my ankles. “I never said I hated him.”

“Oh, Mom, it doesn’t matter.” Tegan wraps her arms around my waist. “I’m just glad it’s Luke.”

“Yeah,” I say, hugging her back.

“Luke would be the best stepfather,” she says idly, a faraway look in her eyes.

I keep holding my daughter, wondering which one of us is developing the biggest expectations about this relationship. I’m afraid we might be two goners. And I should be cautious before I let my feelings roam wild… but, for once, I don’t want to be cautious. I want to enjoy a moment of happiness and hope for the best, like any other single woman would after the most fantastic first date in history.

Twenty-eight

Lucas

To meet Vivian every morning for breakfast, I have to push my running sessions to the evenings and add an extra mile to burn off all those donuts.

But even with all the saturated fats, I’ve never felt better.

By Friday, both Max and I have completely settled into this new routine. He initially resented me the lack of our morning jog, but once he understood we were simply shifting it to the evenings and not canceling altogether, he got on board.

Speaking of dogs, as I step into the elevator over lunch break on Friday, the redhead I spotted so long ago entering the offices of Inceptor Magazine is back. She follows me into the elevator, pulling along the cutest Labrador-ish puppy on a sparkly red leash.

The lady looks a lot less posh than she did just a few weeks ago. Correction: she’s still fashionable, only in a sportier way rather than glamorous.

But the puppy is the real showstopper. I can’t help myself; I squat down and pat the dog, asking, “Who is this beauty?”

“Her name’s Chevron,” the redhead gushes. “I found her at a gas station the other day, and now I’ve adopted her. Co-adopted, rather, with my boss. Isn’t that crazy?”