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Mind reeling, I try to catch up to the reality of the situation. These women didn’t evenblinkwhen I admitted I was wealthy. There was not one ounce of jealousy, only celebration. There’s no one-upmanship, no snide comments, no negativity.
“If you’re not going to start another facial empire,” Candice asks, “what are you going to do?”
I open my mouth, then close it again. Shrugging, I say, “I don’t know. I was so focused on moving on from my divorce and buying a house in Heart’s Cove that I hadn’t thought of what happens after. I figured I’d just live out the rest of my days in peace and quiet.”
Pin—drop.Clink-clink.
“The rest of your days?” Simone finally says, flummoxed.
Jen frowns in the stretching silence. “How old are you?”
“Forty-three.” It takes all my self-control not to squirm under her gaze.
“Women’s life expectancy in the United States is sitting around seventy-nine years,” she tells the group before looking at me again. Her brow crinkles. “That means you’re planning on waiting to die for the next thirty-sixyears? You have almost half your life left to live.”
Fiona nods. “You’ve got a lot of years left, girl.”
I shift uncomfortably and bring my wine glass to my lips. The truth is, I feel old. I felt old ten years ago when my husband stopped touching me. I felt ancient when I found out he was cheating on me with a twenty-one-year-old nubile intern whose breasts had no hint of sag yet. Then I started noticing that when I walked into a room, people paid less attention to me. Slowly, minute by minute, with every new line on my face and year added to my life, I noticed myself becoming invisible.
Buying a mansion on a beautiful coastline, riding my new scooter, and quietly accepting that my life was basically over seemed like a given.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m stillme, and I still feel like I have nothing figured out. In my head, I might as well be twenty-five years old. I care less about what other people think, and I’m more comfortable in my own skin…but how much of that is just accepting that I’m no longer desirable? I’m past my prime. When I look in the mirror, a stranger stares back. It’s like my life passed me by without me even realizing or figuring out what the hell I was supposed to do with it.
Marrying Derrick didn’t work out. The business I poured my heart into is now being run by my former business partner. Everything I thought was important is no longer mine, and I still feel like a naive twenty-something stumbling through life without a clue. What’s left to do except retire with my loneliness and my money, and maybe get a cat?
“I’m over the hill,” I say, trying to make it sound like a joke. “Might as well just accept spinsterhood.”
“Says the woman who got kissed senseless by a sexy cowboy, oh,” Simone quips and looks at her watch, “less than two hours ago?” She claps her hands once, sharply. “Speaking of which, tell us about the kiss.”
“Finally,” Trina says. “I’ve been dying over here waiting for someone to bring it up.”
My face is suddenly hot. “It was a kiss. What else can I say?”
“Tongue? No tongue?”
“Good? Bad?”
“How did he smell?”
“Did he get to second base? I bet he copped a feel. He seems like the kind of guy who’d cop a feel.”
“Did he have a boner?”
That last question sends us all into fits of cackling laughter. I finally slice my hand through the air. “It was fine. It was a kiss.”
Simone arches a brow, challenging. “Fine,” she repeats.
“Yes. Fine.”
She glances at Fiona. “I bet it knocked her socks off.”
“Mm-hmm,” Fiona answers.
I splutter until Trina says, “You never answered the boner question. We all saw the bulge. I can only imagine.” She holds her palms apart, slowly spreading them until we dissolve into giggles. In this moment, I feel the opposite of old. I feel like a teenager at a sleepover. My cheeks hurt, and I realize with a start that I’m no longer panicking about the kiss, or about this town, or about Sebastian being in it. For the first time in many, many years, I might have the beginnings of a true support system. When was the last time I had people to rely on? When was the last time I didn’t have to be in charge?
“The man came here and nearly knocked her door down,” Candice notes. “Obviously the kiss knockedhissocks off.”
“What are you going to do?” The question comes from Jen. Her eyes are clear and perceptive as she holds my gaze, tilting her head.
