I sent that and looked through my windshield, staring at a kid in a Wayfarer’s apron hosing down the wine stain.

That just happened.

A hysterical giggle burst out of me but it was short-lived as I swallowed it down.

I couldn’t believe that just happened.

First and foremost, what was the deal with Mickey and Boston Stone?

Whatever it was, he was not going to use me to work it out.

Sadly, I had stubbornly and definitely stupidly agreed to go out with a man who, with one look, I knew I wanted nothing to do with.

Well, there was nothing for it now.

And at least I’d get to wear a new outfit that it was unlikely I would wear anytime soon for the men were not beating down my door.

Except Mr. Dennison, who clearly had a crush on me. But since he was eighty-eight and confined to a nursing home without access to a motor vehicle, I didn’t think we’d be able to get anything going.

On that thought, having things to do, I decided it best to move on and do them.

So I started my car, carefully backed out of my space and into the street, and did just that.

* * * * *

“I had a lovely time,” I shared with Boston Stone on my front step, looking up at him and hoping he didn’t try to kiss me.

It was the next night.

The night before, I’d had dinner with Josie, Jake and their kids (and Sofie and Connor were adorable together—young love, seemingly the real kind, something I’d never seen before but it was amazing).

I did not share any of my Mickey-Stone-and-me stupidity with Josie because there was no need. I knew she was close to Mickey, I had a feeling that Jake was even closer and I didn’t want to be talking about him behind his back with this friends.

It would all be over the next night anyway.

So I’d had a lovely night with the Spear family and then gone home.

I’d gotten up and went to Dove House. I flirted with Mr. Dennison, listened to Mrs. Naigle telling me about her twelve great-grandbabies, found a pair of missing dentures in the cushion of an armchair in the lounge, assisted a staffer with a profoundly unpleasant situation that was the result of way too much prune juice, and avoided Mrs. McMurphy threatening to tell President Roosevelt about me.

Then I’d gone out with Boston Stone.

I’d been right. He was a man I wanted nothing to do with.

He was also boring.

Further, he was rich and he took every opportunity, including purchasing a four hundred dollar bottle of champagne for us to drink at dinner, to make certain I was aware of that.

This was even more boring.