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“Carter,” I called.

He turned slowly. I couldn’t see much in the dark, but he sure was hot in his baggy work pants.

“Yes.”

“Huh?” he asked.

“Yes. Yes, let’s go for a drink.”

“Oh.” He nodded slowly. “Cool. Next Wednesday night?”

“Yeah. That would be great.” I watched him walk up to his house and close his front door. His porch light flicked on.

I walked up to my house and went inside. I flicked on my porch light, too.

‘Course, it didn’t work.

Hey, girl!” Shelle said, flying into the hip Distrikt wine bar like a slightly breathless mess. She grinned at me with her adorable gap-toothed smile and threw me a hug.

“What can I get you?” I asked her.

“Um. Beer. I feel like a beer.” She settled onto her stool and turned to face me while I waved the bartender over.

“This is a wine bar, Shelle.”

“Right. Right. Wine. White wine,” she said, batting her eyes at the bartender. “You pick for me, okay?” she asked him.

She captivated everyone, and this guy was no exception. He pulled several bottles from the cooler, an indication he was going to let her do a little tasting.

He hadn’t offered to do that for me.

“So, how’s the business?” I asked her.

She took a deep breath and rolled her eyes. “Growing. Like crazy! I think I’ll have to hire some helpers.” She turned to sample the wines the bartender had poured.

“Oh, this one is good. I’ll have the sauv blanc,” she told him, and he dutifully poured her a huge glass.

“I got my license and am now a certified dog walker!”

Who knew there was a certification for walking dogs?

“So what does that mean?” I asked. “I guess it’s better for the business?”

“Absolutely. First, I get a little break on my insurance.”

“You have to have insurance for walking dogs?”

“No. You don’t have to. But I’m making it one of my competitive advantages.”

She’d always had a certain level of ambition.

“That’s so awesome, sweetie. I’m really happy for you.”

“What about you? Heard from Lance? The asshole. I never liked him, you know,” she said. “Mmmm, this wine is really good. Wanna taste?”

Why do people never tell you they don’t like your boyfriends until after you break up?

“He packed up his shit. He’s gone. Including his portion of the mortgage payment. Which I cannot cover.” Shit, that familiar lump in my throat was back.

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