Page 63 of Bossy Hero

A knock at my bedroom door startles me, and I let out a tiny yelp. My hand flies to my chest.

“Ma, it’s just me.”

Of courseit’s only Leo. No one else is here but my eldest son, come to see me off on my first date in eons.

“Sorry, Leo. You can come in.”

My nerves are shot. Perhaps I should have a glass of wine before the date. Or a bottle.

Yeah. A bottle sounds good. In fact, I’ll cancel this foolish date, have a bottle of wine, and throw some popcorn in the microwave. My typical dinner on the couch sounds like a much nicer way to spend the evening than pretending to be someone I’m not.

My son’s giant body fills up the entire doorway. His face sours when he gets his first glimpse of me. Although he tries to hide it behind a plastic smile, I saw it.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Nah.” His voice cracks. “Not at all. You look?—”

I hold up my index finger and flay him with my mom glare. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence, young man. I won’t tolerate being lied to in my own home.”

“Can I talk to you in the front yard then? Otherwise, I’d rather not answer.”

A belly laugh erupts from me, and my nervous tension flees.

Chuckling quietly, Leo barges into my closet and slides hangers from side to side, searching for something less matronly. Despite looking through every article of clothing in there ten times already, I join him in the futile quest.

He removes a basic black dress, holding it between us. “How about this?”

I wrinkle my nose and wobble my head from side to side. “That’s my important meeting dress. Plus, it’s sleeveless, and the blazer is at the dry cleaners. I spilledwiiin-coffee on it.”

He rolls his eyes, shoving the dress gently against my chest. “Wine coffee? Is that a new variety? Stick with white. Less likely to stain.”

“Busted.” I don’t take the dress, backing out of the closet under protest. “Fine. It was a merlot.”

I like wine, okay? Sometimes I like it a little too much.

After all I’ve suffered in my life, I’ve earned a few sloppy nights. Don’t judge me. At least I do it at home, where I’m safe and sound.

The next time I drink red, I won’t do it on the couch, especially when my blazer is tossed over the sofa cushions. I’ve learned my lesson. Red in the kitchen. White in the living room.

My son follows me out, still holding the dress. “You can wear it sleeveless. This is nice. Simple. Classic.”

To entice me, he holds the hanger under his chin, letting the knee-length dress drape down over his six and a half foot enormous frame. It barely reaches the bottom of his torso. It’d be a tank top if he wore it. He looks ridiculous.

“It looks great with your beard and tattoos.” I make the OK sign with my index finger and thumb curling into a circle. “You should wear it. I’ll stick with the curtain dress.”

He bats his lashes at me, injecting a playful shimmy into his shoulders. To sell his shtick, he gives me a twirl. The black chiffon fabric whooshes out in a fluttering wave.

Itisa pretty dress. I’ve always felt attractive when I wear it.

But it’s for work. Every woman has that one outfit they feel powerful in. This is mine. It came with the blazer, but I’ve never worn it on its own. It’d be strange to wear it on a date and would give the wrong message. Slinky black dress doesn’t say divorced woman in her fifties.

However, in looking at my son prancing around with it, I suppose it’s better than the curtain-like frock I’m currently in.

“Maybe I’ll wear it if you won’t,” Leo teases, clicking his tongue. “What’s your date’s name? I’ll go in your place. Text him and say I’ll be the one with a rose behind my ear.”

“Give me that. You’re a silly mess.”

I snatch the dress from him, ignoring his not-so-subtle attempt to get my date’s name out of me. For the third time. I won’t be telling him. Not a chance.

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