Allie straightened her shoulders and inhaled. “Why don’t you pick something more difficult? One. He’s older.” She pulled down her index finger. “Two. He’s sorta your boss. He’s not supposed to fool around with the employees.” She pulled down her ring finger, leaving her middle finger upright. “Three. He’s married.” She hissed the word. “‘Married’ tips the scale.”

“I know, but there’s this special something.”

A man came by, a tall man with curly hair and a carved look to his face, grabbed Rosie’s hand, and pulled her to the dance floor. Allie and I followed them out to dance.

Later, I grabbed Rosie for a dance and said, “Who’s the guy? He’s cute. And no ring.”

Rosie raised one eyebrow, a gesture I myself had mastered after seeing Vivian Leigh in Gone With the Wind. She actually did date him for a while, but without the glow that even thinking about Kevin created. And I watched in amazement as Kevin got divorced and Rosie patiently, sweetly, and sexily picked up the pieces and helped him reassemble them. She managed to tiptoe through potential land mines and emerge unscathed, untarnished, married, and prosperous.

Now, they’re ensconced in the life they built. Her business and social skills blossomed when they opened a new practice and she began running it for him. She certainly isn’t going to leave him alone to fantasize about ever younger women with even more perfect bodies without her watchful eye.

There is only one rub. We were having a glass of wine at a Friday happy hour. I was worrying about being involved with a younger man.

“So. At least you don’t have the baby issue,” she commented.

I sipped my wine.

“I mean. You both already have children.”

“Yeah. We get to figure out how each set of kids will accept the other. And fit our time around his kids’ needs.”

“But that’s doable. I would love to have a baby. But Kevin has BTDT. Doesn’t want to do it again. He says now’s the time for him to do his life.” She laced her fingers together and placed them on the table. Her nails were French manicured and medium length. She raised her arm. A waiter slid by as she pointed to her empty glass. He nodded and added it to his tray.

“Yeah.” I laughed a chuckle of sympathy.

“Sure. He always did what he was supposed to do. Everything for appearance. The law school, the marriage, the hard work to develop his reputation, the PTA and charity events … all that. Why he left was so he could do his thing.” The waiter set a glass of ruby wine in front of her. She held the stem with two fingers and swirled the liquid. Then she shrugged. “So. I was, now am, part of his thing.” She sipped the wine. “What about me? What about what I want?”