Page 11 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

So I brought my brightest employee, Paula, into my office and told her that I’d like her to take over some scheduling tasks. Her face lit up. She already had ideas about who to pair together and software we could use to upgrade the system. Within two hours, she had a draft schedule for the next three weeks for me to approve, with all our current jobs allocated to employees, with notes about what materials would be needed.

I’m still blown away. I feel slightly guilty that I’ve clipped her wings in the four years she’s worked for me. I wonder how many other employees feel that they can’t work to their full potential. Even if only Paula is able to take on that kind of responsibility on a regular basis, it will free up precious hours of my week. I was able to do a full reckoning of the inventory for our next month of work, order what was running low, and even follow up on two inquiries I’d received through my website.

If I’d insisted on doing everything myself because I believed only I could do it perfectly, I’d still be working at the office instead of baking a beautiful pie to apologize to my neighbor.

Laurel was right. I need to loosen the reins.

I head upstairs to shower and change. I choose a fluttery blue sundress and wear my hair down. My feet get strapped into white sandals with a four-inch heel that clasp at the ankle with a thin strap, showing off my pink toes. I stare at myself in the mirror and see a stranger.

I used to love dressing up. Terry once told me that it’s what he loved most about me. He said he liked that I was a real woman and I knew how to keep a man interested. I remember feeling profoundly insulted by those words, but I was too deep in the relationship to realize exactly why. I just painted a false smile on my face and let him kiss me.

Now I know. He never saw me as a person. Never saw the potential I had. I was an accessory to his life, and I got tossed aside when he decided I wasn’t going to serve his purposes any longer.

After the divorce, I built the business I’d been dreaming about for years. I dressed in sensible clothes; I was often working hard in people’s homes, and I had to wear attire I could move and sweat in. I’d spend hours redoing closets and pantries and reorganizing kitchen cabinets and drawers. I’d get dirty while I made people’s homes functional and beautiful.

Now I mostly manage my employees and focus on expanding the business, but I still sometimes have to take on jobs myself when scheduling issues happen. I always dress sensibly, just in case. Maybe dressing in frumpy clothes has been a kind of armor I’ve worn without even realizing what I was doing. I’ve been hiding.

It’s been a long, long time since I felt truly pretty.

I turn in the mirror and look at the backs of my legs. My calves look amazing in these heels. A smile curls my lips. My neighbor might be a little old lady with a passion for gardening, but that doesn’t mean I can’t dress up. Who knows? Maybe she has a hot son—or, gasp, a hot twenty-something-year-old grandson—who would be the perfect candidate for a fling. I could be a cougar, couldn’t I? What’s the use in turning forty if you can’t enjoy it?

Grinning, I shimmy my hips to make my dress swish around my legs. Maybe Laurel is on to something. It’s not really about finding a man; it’s about remembering what it’s like to feel good.

By the time I make it back downstairs, the pie has cooled enough to carry, so I walk it over to my neighbor’s and ring the doorbell. Nerves flutter in my belly as I glance at the tree with its damaged bark. Pie won’t fix the tree, but at least it’s a nice gesture. Adults take responsibility for their mistakes. They apologize, even when it’s hard. Besides, everyone likes pie.

No one answers the door, so I glance at the windows. There’s movement in one of the upper windows, so I press the bell again.

The breeze ruffles the hem of my dress, and I take a deep breath of flower-scented air. The sun is sinking behind the houses, and the colors draped over the sky promise a beautiful sunset. For the first time in years, I take the time to notice it.

This was my wake-up call. Something’s got to change, and it’s not just my underwear choices.

This is the start of a new chapter. I’ll delegate. I’ll relax. Maybe I’ll even have a fling.

Just as the thought makes my lips curl into a hopeful smile, the door opens—and I freeze.

FOUR

REMY

Water drips from the ends of my hair onto my neck and shoulders as I rip the front door open, already annoyed at having to rush out of the shower to answer the door. I just got home from work, and all I want to do is be alone for a couple of hours until I have to pick Danny up from a post-camp playdate.

I pause when I see who’s on my stoop.

My new neighbor’s eyes widen and drop to my chest, then down to the hand holding the towel clasped around my waist.

“I—um—I…” She sucks in a hard breath and looks at my chest again.

I don’t know why I flex my stomach. Probably because a beautiful woman is staring at me like she can’t believe what she’s seeing, and apparently my ego controls the contraction of my muscles. But that beautiful woman crashed into my magnolia tree, and now she’s standing outside my door wearing a pretty little dress and holding a pie in her hands like that’ll make everything better.

It won’t.

Her eyes drop to my stomach, and I can almost feel the rake of her gaze across my abs. Her cheeks grow red. “I’m so sorry.” She whirls around and puts her back to me. “I didn’t mean to… I don’t…”

“Here to borrow a cup of sugar?” I drawl, suddenly unbothered about having to rush to the door wearing nothing but a towel. Her dress swishes around her knees. The straps crisscross in the back, disappearing behind the curtain of her chocolate-brown hair and reappearing at her waist, where the dress dips down to reveal an inch of skin. I stare at the glimpse of her spine, my mouth dry.

This is the woman who crashed into my tree. The woman who could have killed herself—and my magnolia. I try to muster the anger I felt yesterday, but I find myself unable to do it.

I’m tired of anger. Being mad doesn’t help Danny live a better life. It doesn’t bring my sister back or make me married and whole again.

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