It had been a while. A while since Harlan had put on this much makeup. Since she’d worn her little black dress. It was very little. Too little? It was too late to second guess. More importantly it had been a very long time since she’d been out with a man. It was common knowledge among her friends how dismal her love life had been since the divorce and probably why Krissy had forced her to go on a blind date.

“Who goes out this late?” Harlan asked, her phone wedged precariously between her ear and shoulder as she fished her lipstick out of her tiny black clutch. She missed her giant oversized mom bag, filled with snacks and little toys. If she ever skidded off the road in a snow storm, that bag and all its contents could keep her alive for a week. The tiny clutch was barely functional.

“This is not a dinner date,” Krissy snickered. “You are looking to knock the cobwebs off your lady bits. You’re sitting in a club, not a white tablecloth restaurant. Just relax, pick a ridiculously strong drink, and flirt your ass off.”

“I don’t flirt,” Harlan groaned. “I pack lunches. I scare monsters out of closets. I don’t even know how people do it anymore. Is it some kind of app I should download on my phone and use?”

“Stop,” Krissy scolded loudly. Harlan pulled the phone from her ear. “Get out of your own head. You have a body I would kill for and eyes guys can’t stop talking about. We went to college together. I know you’ve got this in you. Flip your hair around seductively. Suck the tiny straw in your drink a little too long while you bat your lashes.”

“Fine,” she gave in, checking her watch. “But where is he? You said he’d be here at ten. It’s twenty past. I need to know more about him.”

“He’s a musician,” Krissy explained, but Harlan heard something unsettling in her voice. “I don’t really know much more about him. He’s my boss’s cousin. But she assured me he’s a catch.”

“I hate this,” Harlan groaned, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering violently. “I want to go home.”

“You need some lovin’,” Krissy reminded her. “You deserve some sweaty, hair-pulling, name-screaming fun. I’m your overnight babysitter. The house is secured with those hot guys your brother hired to protect you. I’ve got the girls all settled. You just do you. Well, do him too.”

“I’m not committing to that. There’s a good chance you’ll see me pull in the driveway in an hour with a pint of ice cream.”

“I’ll lock you out.” Krissy laughed. “I’m hanging up.”

“Bye,” Harlan sighed. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

“Get some, girl.”

Harlan tucked her phone away and ordered a drink as Krissy had suggested. She’d had her share of wine after her daughters went to bed, but she hadn’t had a strong martini in ages.

This musician was nearly half an hour late now. She could practically picture his eyes glazed over with lack of sleep and his intentionally messy hair as he begged for forgiveness. She’d dated a drummer in high school who had this easy charm about him that made every lie he told seem believable. She had no doubt this guy would be the same.

If Krissy was there, she’d be reminding her those details didn’t matter. This was not a night to forge a long-lasting relationship. Harlan had already done that. Married by twenty, she wished someone had told her if she couldn’t legally drink at her wedding she might want to consider waiting. But out of something messy and complicated came the simplest most wonderful thing she’d ever experienced. Motherhood.

“Mrs. Kalling?” a surprised voice asked as the man bumped awkwardly against her back, nearly spilling her drink. His pungent cologne overtook her like a strike to her nose.

“Benny?” Harlan asked, shocked by the familiar but out-of-place face before her. His acne had cleared, his hair was clean and cut short, but he was still the baby-faced boy down the street who used to sell her candy bars for school fundraisers. The neighbor’s kid who trick-or-treated at her house. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m meeting a blind date,” he smiled, flashing a dimpled cheek and cheerful expression. “A woman named Harlan.”

“No,” she said, her stomach flipping to the point she considered vomiting as an exit strategy. “There must be some kind of mistake. I’m supposed to meet a musician. His name is Ben.”

“I’m your musician. Piano, remember?” He smiled again, as though the coincidence was comical. “I don’t go by Benny anymore. I guess I never knew your first name was Harlan.” Ben inched closer to her as if this wasn’t at all unsettling to him. Which of course meant he was insane.

“I suppose it’s because you’ve always called me Mrs. Kalling when you were knocking on my door trying to see if I’d let you get your soccer ball out of my yard.” Her eyes were wide and the throbbing vein in her neck was probably a dead giveaway about how she felt. But she wasn’t here to protect his feelings. As a matter of fact, there seemed to be no reason at all why she was still here. “I’m going to go.”

“Why?” Ben asked, catching her elbow as she stood. The firm grip made her back stiffen with annoyance. Ben might have grown taller than the last time she’d seen him but there was no doubt in her mind, a swift elbow to his nose would have him hitting the sticky floor. The glare she shot him seemed to make it clear, and he let her go.

“We were going to have a drink, right? Why shouldn’t we?” The protest in his voice was childish, and she could almost hear one of her daughters begging for five more minutes of television before bed.

“Let’s see,” Harlan announced, flopping back down on the bar stool. “The list of reasons seems pretty clear to me. You don’t see anything inappropriate about this?” She made a gesture between the two of them and cocked an eyebrow, challenging him to ignore the obvious.

“I’m an adult. I’m a sophomore in college,” he declared in a way that nearly made her burst out in laughter, as though he’d just proclaimed some kind of victory. He’d lived all these years, and a date with her was practically his right.

“You’re what? Nineteen?” Harlan didn’t hide the giggle that accompanied her question. She couldn’t. This was the perfect culmination of what her life had been the last year. A nightmare. A walking nightmare down a long hallway that seemed to be leading her right to this moment. Because this had to be rock bottom.

“Yes,” Ben said, clearing his throat and deepening his voice. “I’m not a child.”

“You can’t drink,” she scoffed. “We came out for a drink.”

“I have an ID,” he said in a low voice, his eyes shifting nervously from left to right. “Everyone does now. They’re so easy to make.” He stammered as though he was late for curfew.

“I think I better just go,” Harlan repeated. “This night can’t get any worse.”

“But it can get better.” Ben smiled, the playful light returning to his eyes. The boy was putting in some effort. She’d give him that. A younger woman, one who hadn’t been jaded by broken hearts and broken promises, would find his attempts charming. “Let’s drink and hang out,” he pressed. “You never know where this might go. Just give it a chance.”

There was absolutely nothing appealing about sitting across from a man child and trying to find some common topics to chat about. But her drink was still icy cold. There was also the reality of having to face Krissy this early in the night with the horror story. Instead, Harlan would run out the clock until it was a late enough hour to show up at home and still save face.

“Fine,” she shrugged, grabbing the stem of her drink again and tipping the velvety tongue-tingling liquid back in one swig. “But you aren’t drinking. I’m not aiding and abetting a minor.”

“Seriously?”

She gave him a maternal look that made it clear she was very serious.

Ben sheepishly ordered a soda and plopped down on the stool next to her. “So your husband left, huh? I always wondered why you didn’t take his last name. Men don’t like that.” He poked his pointy chin out in that way only an arrogant person who knew nothing of the world could do. “My mother used to say it was because you were a troublemaker.”

“My mother kept her maiden name and I did the same. Both of us were proven right. The men we picked didn’t deserve to change our names, they didn’t deserve to change anything about us.” She waved at the bartender and another drink appeared in front of her.

“How long’s it been?” His tone was too transparent to be coy or layered with sexy undertones. He was flat out asking her how long she’d been alone, how desperate she was.

“Probably around the same time your acne cleared up,” Harlan said from behind the rim of her drink.

“Are you going to be sniping at me all night?” Ben asked, and a pang of remorse shot through her stomach. This kid didn’t really deserve to be on the receiving end of her fury right now. He’d kindly agreed to a blind date. Without really knowing much about her, without knowing what kind of dud of a date he’d get, he still showed up. Maybe that made him admirable. Or maybe he thought it would be an easy score.

“I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I’m done. I promise. Tell me what you’ve been up to.” She may have been able to rein in her rude comments but it didn’t stop her from having a running dialog of passive-aggressive insults rolling through her brain. As he began to bubble with excitement about the fraternity he’d joined, she pictured his toga and beer funnel. Odds were he was still dragging home a huge bag of laundry for his mother to wash every weekend.

His mother. How in the world would she look Darcy Hemming in the eyes the next time they bumped in to each other at the supermarket?

“Harlan?” a slurred gravelly voice boomed behind her. “I didn’t believe it when I heard it.”

“Rylie?” she gasped, choking on her last sip as she eyed her ex-husband. “What the hell are you doing here?”

His hair was cut entirely different than it had been for all the years they were together. That was all she thought for a moment. He looked like a man trying too hard to seem younger than he was. The cut was too edgy and jagged for his age. Looking foolish, the familiar glaze on his yellowish eyes gave away the fact that he was drunk. Very drunk. There was a scale she used in her head for Rylie’s drinking. When they were younger it was all just fun. They’d both get tipsy. But somewhere along the way, it changed. Drinking wasn’t fun anymore; it was just what he did. It wasn’t Saturday nights; it was Tuesday afternoons. So she’d learned to read his signs clearly. On a scale of one to ten, right now Rylie was an eight. The quick blinking, the sweat gathering on his forehead, the way he licked at his dry lips. He was gone, so very far gone that she wondered how he’d make it home tonight.

“I had people calling me,” Rylie said, flailing his arms animatedly. “I don’t know how much worse you can make all of this. How much more do you need to embarrass me? You’re out with Benny from the house down the street?”

“Keep your voice down,” Harlan demanded. “Who could have possibly called you? No one we know would be here. Have you been following me?”

“Maybe you should get the hell out,” Ben said in his unconvincing deep voice. “She obviously doesn’t want you here.”

“Oh, hell no,” Harlan announced, springing to her feet. “I didn’t think this night could get worse. You two idiots fighting for my honor would top it all. Sit down.”

Ben responded obediently to her stern tone as if she’d just found out he’d broken her window with a stray baseball. Wait . . . that may have actually happened a few years ago.

Redirecting her commands at Rylie, she continued, “You need to go home. Take a cab. Sleep off yet another night of binge drinking and stop following me.” Her clutch was in her hand as she edged away from the bar and stepped back from both of them.

“You’re dating a kid from the neighborhood now? You’re actually that desperate? Didn’t you babysit him at one point?” Rylie’s hands shook as he pointed accusingly at Ben.

“No,” Ben called out, but neither of them was listening to him now. He was the least important person in this room as far as they were concerned.

“You know what?” Harlan asked, tossing her hands up in genuine defeat. “Stay here, enjoy your damn night. Get so drunk you forget your daughter’s birthday again. Get so drunk you bash your head open again on the sink in the bathroom. Because it’s not my problem anymore. I’m out of here.”

“You can’t just go out on the street,” Rylie said, now sounding concerned, though it was still clouded by the slur in his words and the wobble in his step. “It’s a bad area. I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Walk another step closer to me and I’ll crack a bar stool over your head,” she promised, her finger pointing threateningly at his face. “I’m going to the bathroom. Be gone when I come out.”

She pushed her way through the gyrating crowd and headed for the back of the club. She’d hide in the bathroom long enough to know they were gone. Or if Ben wasn’t leaving, at least long enough to know he’d moved on to some other shiny object to distract him. She’d be just a funny story to tell his frat brothers at the end of the night. And if she were lucky, which was not a bet she’d take these days, maybe the news of her date wouldn’t travel the grapevine that led back to her mother. Or worse, Ben’s.

Rylie might be more persistent, but the booze would catch up with him sooner or later and he’d be seeing double, so she could skip out. This must be it, she convinced herself. It can’t get any worse.