Page 2 of One and Only

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Rocco, and it looks like we’re in for a fun evening.”

Someone had warned her coworker.

I sighed, reaching into my purse for another fifty. “Rocco, you have no idea.”

“What can I start you off with?”

“Fresh waters after every guest, please,” I said with a tiny smile. “And a chardonnay.”

He exhaled a laugh. “You got it, boss.”

I’d taken a small sip of my ice water, trying to decide whether it was rude to eat half the basket of bread before my first appointment arrived when my phone screen lit up with my sister’s name.

“Sorry, Poppy, don’t have the time right now,” I muttered and hit ignore.

I let out a slow breath, tucking my hair behind my ears while I waited. My hand reached out to straighten the perfectly straight silverware, but I pulled it back and set my clenched hands in my lap.

I could do this.

I had really good reasons and great gut instincts.

The hostess approached. “Here you go,” she said to gentleman number one. Her face gave nothing away.

Pasting a polite smile on my face, I turned to face my first … contestant? Option? I wasn’t quite sure what to call them yet.

“Greer,” he said, snatching my hand for an enthusiastic handshake. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you.”

It was a testament to my sheer force of will that I didn’t lose my smile.

He was at least forty years older than his profile picture.

“Mike?” I asked slowly, my eyes darting to his thinning white hair and the reading glasses tucked into his plaid shirt.

He took his seat, pulling the glasses out and settling them on his nose as he studied the menu. “Well, this looks wonderful.”

Oh gawd, what did I get myself into?

“I only have time for one drink,” I reminded him.

“Of course, dear,” he said. “My granddaughter told me that drinks are the way us singles do things now.”

I took a healthy swallow of my chardonnay.

Contestant two was not much of an improvement. His age bracket was nearer mine, and he smiled nicely. He was an inch or two taller than me in my heels, and I let out a quiet sigh of relief as he took a seat. It was just as I registered the nice, dimpled smile, the broad shoulders underneath his tailored shirt that I also saw the wedding ring.

“You’re married?” I asked him. That was conveniently absent from his online profile.

He grinned. “We’re … adventurous,” he said silkily. “And you are just our type.”

I cleared my throat and flagged down Rocco.

Contestant three was friendly. Funny. Only one year younger than me, and his hand was ring-free.

But the top of his head hardly cleared my tits, and there was nouniversein which my family would buy into that.

When he left, I walked to the bathroom and slumped against the wall by the restroom. Rocco met me in the hallway with a basket of bread.

My general demeanor must have screamed exhausted and cranky and full of second-guessing thoughts.

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