“Yes, two. I have a reservation. Bradley Tinsdale,” Bradley said to the hostess as I stood by him, holding his hand, looking into the restaurant called The Eaves that I knew was very nice because I could see it. But also because Josie and Alyssa had both squealed over it when I told them Bradley was taking me there (well, Josie hadn’t actually squealed, but her excitement was clearly evident).

At that moment, it made me nervous because Bradley was taking me somewhere very nice, each date the escalation of nice was rising, as with each date the make out session at my door got more heated (okay, so there was only one other time, still that time was more heated).

I didn’t know if he was hoping to coax me into bed by buying me increasingly more expensive meals (which wasn’t happening) or if with each date he liked me more and was trying harder to impress me.

Neither was good since I was ending things with him that night (prior to any make out session happening, obviously).

This was what was consuming my thoughts when I heard the hostess say, “Please, follow me,” and felt Bradley tug my hand.

I followed him wishing I hadn’t used my most awesome outfit on this.

It was my first little black dress since Conrad divorced me. Simple. Skintight. Hem well above the knee (but not skanky). V at back and front, both deep, front exposing cleavage, back exposing skin all the way down to my black, lacy bra strap (which I hoped would be attractive should the V dip lower).

The dress was an Alyssa pick and it might be simple, but it was spectacular (incidentally, the lacy black bra was also an Alyssa pick, it was not simple and the jury was out on if it was skanky because it, and its matching panties, were sexy).

My legs were bare but I’d used this oil/lotion stuff on them that Robin had bought me for Christmas the year before that I’d never had a reason to use. But I found the results were divine as it gave a sheen to my skin that seemed natural, was absolutely not, but it was utterly fabulous.

On my feet I had black pointed-toed, slingbacks with pencil-thin heels, these covered in lace so the rim of the shoe was scalloped delicately…and amazingly.

I’d also spent a huge amount of time on my hair, arranging it in a messy side bun that took ages to pull off but I thought looked great.

Why I’d gone gung-ho, I didn’t know. The outfit didn’t say, “I’m ending it.” It said something else entirely.

Except perhaps that night, I was using my clothes as armor.