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“My parents met in college,” she said. “They knew right awaythat they were meant for each other. I always thought it would be like that forme.”

“I didn’t know it was like that for anyone,” Violetmurmured.

“I was holding out for perfect. Instead I got Aaron.”

“Maybe it’s time to try fun instead.”

“I’ve never thought of dating as fun,” Jenna admitted. “I guessI was doing it wrong.”

“You’re doing it again,” Violet said.

“Doing... Oh, right.” The put-down thing.

What was with her? When had she become that kind ofperson—always seeing the worst in herself?

“Okay,” she said, straightening. “Rebound guy. You swear it’sfun?”

“It can be. Give it some thought and when you’re ready, I’llhook you up with Mr. Blow Your Socks Off.” Violet grinned. “Unless you haveother things you want him to blow on.”

Jenna felt herself blush. She sipped her margarita. “It’s beena long time,” she admitted in a whisper.

“Then we’ll get going on that.”

“Business first, sex second.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to reverse those?” Violetteased.

“I have rent to make.”

“Fair enough. But when you want the sock thing, just let meknow and I’ll find you someone completely inappropriate.”

Jenna laughed. “I’d like that. It doesn’t sound like me at alland I’m starting to think that might be a good thing.”

* * *

Violet pushed her cart through the grocery store. Itwasn’t where she usually shopped, but after running a couple of errands inAustin, she’d impulsively pulled into the parking lot of the upscaleestablishment. Maybe hanging out with Jenna was rubbing off on her.

With that in mind, she ignored the frozen food aisle and walkedpurposefully toward the produce. The area was huge and well-lit, with rows offruits and vegetables neatly arranged. She saw more types of lettuce than she’dever seen in one place. Tomatoes were yellow and nearly purple, as well asred.

She quickly collected salad fixings, grabbed a gourmet saladdressing from the refrigerated shelves, then headed for the fresh pasta section.Tonight she was going to cook herself a real dinner. A real easy dinner, butstill, it was progress.

As she maneuvered her cart, she noticed how nicely everyone wasdressed. Men in suits. Women in expensive-looking jackets, with tailored skirtsand great shoes. She saw a flash of red sole and stared, wondering if someonereally was wearing Christian Louboutin shoes in a grocery store.

Trying to see the side of the shoe to decide if she liked thestyle, she wasn’t looking where she was going and came to a shuddering stop asher cart collided with someone else’s.

She glanced up. “Sorry. I wasn’t looking.”

The cart’s handler—a tall, suit-wearing guy—smiled at her. “Icould tell. What was more interesting than—” he looked to his left and picked upa bottle “—imported olives?”

She smiled. “Shoes. A female cliché, if there ever wasone.”

“Shoes, huh? Your thing?”

“I’m more a looker than a buyer. Sorry about the cartattack.”

She started to go around him, but he maneuvered himself infront of her and gave her a smile.

“Wait. I have a question about these olives,” he said.

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