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  She was smearing lotion on her legs when the phone rang. She de-greased on the towel her hair wrapped in and picked up.

  "Hello?" She wasn't sure why she was nervous—the old Tess taking control.

  "Tess, hello. This is Lindsay Edwards, neé Adams. How are you?"

  Who the hell says neé? "Good, thank you. And you?"

  "Just fabulous. Blessed beyond belief." Lindsay's overtly bright tone made her eyes roll. "You're probably curious as to why I reached out to you...our 20th reunion is coming up in a few months, and I know you weren't in our class, but I need your help, if you're available."

  "What did you have in mind?"

  "Our reunion committee would like to do some interviews with a few of our alumni. We thought with you being local and a journalist, that you would be the perfect person to conduct these interviews."

  Sure, she had all the time in the world to interview random alumni, none of which were in her class. So, why did she find herself saying, "Oh, sure, I'd love to help"?

  "Oh, great. We'd so appreciate it. We actually have four people selected, and each will be featured in a monthly newsletter we're sending the few months leading up to the reunion. We want to generate interest so we have a good turn out. I heard twenty people showed up last year. I refuse to let my class suffer the same abysmal turn out. I'll be in touch!"

  "Bye," Tess said, to a dial tone.

  Tess was kind of flattered to be asked, and that they considered her a journalist. Most people called her a writer or a columnist. Both labels were fine. She was proud of her career no matter what some people, ahem, assholes, thought about her subject matter. It wasn't all poodle couture. She'd done articles about the food kitchen on 5th and the impact it had on the homeless. There was the one she did about the attacks on women running on the Katy Trail. She believed feel good pieces were as important as hard hitting ones.

  She wondered who she'd be interviewing. The thought intrigued her, but Tess couldn't have cared less about reunions, Lindsay's or otherwise. Although, the thought of going to hers in a few years was tempting, if only for the opportunity to shove her hot bod, well balanced sense of self, and overall bad-assery into her high school classmates and boyfriend's face. The mere thought of him made her face flush with anger.

  Damon O'Donnell. Pitcher on the varsity baseball team, taker of most of her self-esteem and all of her virginity. She could just picture it like a nightmare—shoved into her too-small cheerleading uniform, curls quasi-contained in a rubber band, leaning against his locker hanging onto his every word. He was popular and good looking. Every girl wanted him. Why he chose to date her boggled her mind back then, and everyone else's.

  Smart, funny, and fluffy weren't exactly top three to most high school boys—least of all a boy like Damon.

  "Awe, come on, Chubbles. If I wanted to date the hot girls in this school I would...but I want you." He'd said she was loyal and kind. It made her feel like a Golden Retriever more than a girlfriend. Her confidence both blossomed and crumbled under his attention and backhanded compliments. They weren't intentional—he wasn't smart enough for premeditated psychological warfare.

  She'd been able to regain a shred of dignity when she dumped him after graduation...but there was so little left after finding out he'd slept with half the cheerleading squad, not only at their school, but at several others. If that wasn't enough, she also found out Damon told anyone who asked that he was only dating her because she did all of his homework. All was a bit of an exaggeration. She'd helped him study for his midterms and revised two papers. In a sad way, it had made sense to her then. She'd always doubted she was good enough for him. Tess's grown up self wanted to go back in time and shake the shit out of her teenage self. Chubbles indeed. She hadn't been half as chubby as she felt she was. Body image tends to dance the line between reality and perception.

  Years later he'd sent her an email apologizing for how he'd treated her and that he wished he'd held on to a great girl like her. He admitted that he'd told everyone the homework farce because everyone was giving him such a hard time. That he had, in fact, cared for her. This news offered Tess little comfort, she'd given him her little teenage heart and her virginity...and he was too much of a pussy to stand up to his friends. She said as much in her reply, but she also said she'd forgiven him long ago and that it helped shape the person she was.

  It should have taught her which guys to avoid for the rest of eternity.

  She wished it had been true, but in reality, it had taken many years and several bad relationships after Damon to get her shit together. Forgiveness had come even slower. Tess wasn't about to let him know how much he shaped her view on the male species. She'd regained most of her trust in men over the years, but she was always cautious. Sometimes it made her bolt, but most of the time she was able to tuck those latent insecurities away along with the pounds she'd lost since then. There were good guys out there, she'd dated several. The elusive "one" had yet to reveal himself, but she'd never find him binging on Netflix in her jammies.

  "Well, Donovan Green, you're up."

  CHAPTER SIX

  Tess glared at the pile of discarded garments on her bed and floor. She was pissed at herself for not putting more thought into her date outfit ahead of time. She naively thought that if she acted nonchalant about her wardrobe choice, it would permeate into her attitude about the upcoming meeting with Donovan Green, hottie widower she was supposed to meet in T-minus forty-five minutes.

  "Damn it!" One shirt made her cleavage too pronounced, one made them look small. One pair of pants made her ass look huge. One dress was too sexy, the other wasn't sexy enough. Her hair was done and her makeup looked great, but that wouldn't detract from the fact she was "this close" to showing up in her beloved yellow terry-cloth robe.

  "Damn it!" Tess kicked the pile at her feet and picked up her phone. She was about use her phone a friend lifeline. Since this was her dear friend Rebel's demented idea she would be on the receiving end of Tess's frantic call.

  "Let me guess...you're naked in the middle of your room right now," Rebel said, without saying hello.

  "I'm not naked...I'm in my bathrobe."

  "What's the current state of your wardrobe crisis?"

  "Defcon 5."

  "That bad?"

  "Yes! I don't know what to wear. I want to look sexy, but not slutty. Put together, but not like I tried too hard...you know, the basics."

  "Mmmhmm, I get it. You're meeting at L'Avant, right?" The fact Rebel knew the location of her date didn't surprise Tess.

  "Yes...and in thirty minutes! It will take me fifteen just to get there."

  "Okay, okay. Go into your closet...are you there?"

  "Yes."

  "Close your eyes and take a deep breath."

  "What?"

  "Just do it."

  "Okay, okay. Closing my eyes now." She took a deep breath.

  "Good, good. Now turn to the dress section of your closet and if it's not on the floor, pull out your short emerald, strapless."

  She took it from the hanger, pulling the dry cleaning tag. "Isn't this a bit dressy?"

  "By itself and with heels, yes, but with a jean jacket and flats, no."

  "You sure?"

  "Yes, I love you in that dress. It brings out the green in your eyes."

  "My eyes are brown, Reb."

  "Your eyes are brown with a flecks of green...otherwise known as hazel."

  "They look brown to me, but I'll take your word for it. Thanks, lady. You're my fairy godmother...oh, gotta go."

  "You're welcome. Good luck and call me after." They exchanged c-ya's and Tess finished getting dressed.

  Rebel was right, it looked perfect. Dressy, but not too. Sexy, but not too. She slipped on her gold flats and matching jewelry. Looking in the mirror, she approved. She tried not to focus on the disaster area that was her bedroom. The urge to tidy up before she left was very strong, but she had to fight the OCD within or she'd be late. First impressions were important t
o her. She made it a point never to be late. She didn't want to come off flaky, or that she took two hours in the middle of the contents of her closet, fretting over her wardrobe selection. The rest of her place was neat and organized. It was small, but elegant with it's honey colored wood floors, French blue walls, and thick crown molding. And it was all hers. She'd bought the place with her own downpayment and her own credit history. Her mother and sister couldn't see how she could live in less than a thousand square feet, but Tess couldn't see why she needed more. Again causing her to question the origins of her parentage.

  On the drive over she listened to soft music, the kind that would calm her nerves. She gave herself a mental pat on the back for doing this, for fighting the nerves, since she'd felt this date might be against her best judgement. But she knew better than anyone that doubt and fear often masquerade as best judgment. She let fear talk her out of all kinds of things and Tess could always justify it in some way, form, or fashion. Her new year's resolution had been to live outside her comfort zone. The last three resolutions, if she were keeping track. She was four months into the year and she was already making strides. Like the other day when her mom asked her to go to a fundraiser with her. The old comfort zone Tess would have gone, as to not upset her mother. The new, pushing the envelope Tess faked an illness and declined. Baby steps.

  Tess wasn't exactly timid when it came to men, she was confident and funny on the outside, but on the inside she always felt like an impostor. Like she could never completely be herself. The quirky, eating peanut butter from the jar while wearing only her underwear, self. She'd never felt like she could show her weird bits...not that she was embarrassed, but rather no man had yet earned the right to see the hidden contents of her personality. She knew it was a single girl cliché, but it worked for her. There were a lot of duds and dicks in the dating pool. Tess only let her freak flag fly for the VIPs in her life.

  She pulled in to a narrow spot outside the small French bistro—her stomach in knots. Typical for her on a first date. She flipped down the visor, running a finger across her brows and then around her full lips. Her hair looked wild in the deliberate way that was en vogue at present, the color lighter than usual. She hadn't inherited her mother's spun gold tresses...of course not. No instead, she had ended up with an amalgam of dull brown and dirty blonde. When she was young it would become golden brown with the sun and pool water, but as she got older the light golden brown she preferred was all thanks to her hair stylist, Tilly Rafael.

  Her phone dinged.

  Stop stalling and go inside.

  Tess let out a soft snort. Rebel knew her a little too well. She didn't give her friend the satisfaction of confirming her accuracy, but heeded her advice and stepped out into the parking lot. The air was pleasant, crisp with winter's reluctance to hand over the reins to spring. Lights from the skyline glowed in the near distance. She'd seen it a million times, but she still paused to take it all in just the same. Donovan wasn't hard to miss. Her Facebook stalking of him the week before had nothing to do with her ability to pick him out of the sea of small tables, since no other table was occupied by a single man looking at the door expectantly. He was just as attractive in person. His hair had light curls, the soft wave kind, not corkscrew. Tess found herself smiling at him as she crossed the rustic wood floor. He stood as she approached, giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek.

  "Tess?" His voice was deeper than it had been on the phone. They'd had a brief conversation to confirm tonight's plans.

  "Well, I hope you don't kiss any girl's cheek who approaches your table," she teased. He laughed softly and pulled out her chair. This guy had manners, how refreshing.

  "I have a confession to make. I looked you up on the internet," he admitted, managing to look contrite and manly at the same time. "I'm sorry, but when Regina said you had a good personality, I panicked."

  Tess laughed. "That's okay. I guess you were satisfied with your snooping, since here we sit."

  "Yes, I was. And at the risk of sounding canned, may I say, you look even better in person."

  Tess laughed again. "Yes, you may say so. And if we're confessing things, then it's only fair to say you're as handsome as Rebel described." She decided to keep her own sleuthing to herself, but the fact that he'd been nervous about the date as well put her at ease. They continued the small talk for several minutes before even picking up a menu.

  "What's good here?" Donovan asked.

  "Well, my personal favorite is the bouillabaisse, but the duck is wonderful as well." When he'd asked her where they should meet she picked this place because of the subtly refined menu and casual atmosphere. The wine list was extensive and reasonably priced.

  They looked at the menu and Donovan asked her to pick the wine.

  "I don't know much about French wine, or wine in general, really. I'm a craft beer kind of guy."

  "That's okay. You can have a beer and I'll get a glass."

  "No, I like wine. Just don't know much about it. Becca always ordered..." He cleared his throat, catching himself. "I know I like red better than white."

  Tess smiled and agreed to pick. She chose a bottle of the kind she usually had there. She usually got it by the glass, so she was relived to see this particular bottle was in the middle of the pack price wise. She was going to pay half anyway. She always did on the first date. It only seemed fair. The waiter returned and she ordered the wine. Donovan then ordered their entrees, butchering the pronunciation.

  "Wow, you ordered that wine like a pro. Do you speak French?"

  "Un pue," Tess answered, shyly. "Well, more than a little, I guess."

  "Impressive. I barely have a grasp on the English language, let alone a second."

  "I'm not fluent by any means, but I can hold my own. My mother's mom was French. We spent many summers in Paris and Provence."

  "I took Spanish for three years in high school and all I can say is, 'where's the bathroom' and 'can I have two cokes.' I know a few curse words, but I'm pretty sure I didn't pick those up from my Spanish teacher." He had a nice smile. The fact that his left front tooth was slightly crooked didn't detract, it only made it more endearing.

  Tess laughed. "Well, if you're going to ask for cokes, being able to find the bathroom is very important."

  The conversation flowed at a steady pace. There were a few 'need to fill the silence 'moments, but not enough to be uncomfortable. He owned a small health market uptown. Health and clean living had been a passion he and his wife had shared. They ran it together. She never said his wife or her name again, but he did use the word we a lot. He was very interested in Tess's job at the magazine. Rebel had apparently gone on and on about her writing talent.

  "She said what?"

  "She said, and I quote, that your writing gives shape to the one dimensional. End quote."

  "Rebel is prone to exaggeration in honor of drastic affect, so take what she says with a grain of salt. She's giving me way too much credit, I assure you. But I guess that's what friends do, right?"

  "Yes, the goods ones, anyway. Better to surround yourself with friends who support you, not bust your balls...well, you don't have balls obviously, but you know what I mean."

  "Oh, no. I thought Rebel told you? I always like to be upfront with these things." Tess shook her head in dismay.

  "Tell me what?" His eyebrows crunched.

  "That I do in fact have balls. I used to go by Tim, but now thanks to my doctors I can go by Tess. The balls are the last to go."

  His face was priceless. Tess let him twist in the wind for about ten seconds.

  "Donovan, I'm kidding." She patted his hand briefly. "I'm all woman, promise."

  "Shit, you scared me there for a minute. You seemed so serious."

  "I'm sorry, it's a gift. I have a dark sarcastic streak."

  "So, no balls?"

  "Nope, all vagina...I can officially say, that's the first time I've said vagina on a first date." She took a long drink of wine to cover her face. Filter would
be great.

  He laughed. She sighed with relief...he had a sense of humor. Some guys were turned off by her off color, filter light sense of humor.

  Donovan lifted his glass. "Here's to your vagina."

  Tess lifted hers as well. "And to your balls."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  "So how was the date?" Willa asked, handing Tess a mug of coffee.

  Tess grabbed her steaming cup of goodness with enthusiasm. "Oh, that's good...thanks, babe...the date was nice."

  "Nice? As in code for lame?"

  "No, nice, in this case, is for nice. He's a good guy, handsome, decent sense of humor. He might be a bit on the granola side, so not sure how that will go. I won't stand for any junk food shaming. When I have PMS, kale ain't gonna cut it, am I right?"

  "Oh, I know. I wouldn't want to be the person who came between you and your waffle fries. So granola, you mean health food nut—organic, vegan, gluten-free, or whatever?"

  "Well, he owns a health food store...the one on Madeline."

  "Oh, I know, the Green Goddess, right? Hmm, the name is kind of feminine to be owned by a guy, but I guess modern men are supposed to be in touch with their feminine sides."

  "I don't know about that, but it is a feminine name...I think his wife named the store."