Then he got out of there, before Mrs. O tried to marry him off.

“WHO WAS THAT?” Gretchen said, actually licking her lips. Posey rolled her eyes. Gret should just smear him with sour cream and lick him off. It’d be more subtle.

“That’s Liam,” Stacia said. “He’s a widower. More than two years. I think enough time has passed, don’t you?”

“He touched me,” Kate said, her voice a little dazed.

“A widower, huh? Nice,” Gretchen said. She tilted herself back a little so that her cl**vage heaved itself upward, the kind of trick Posey couldn’t have done without a couple of double-D implants and a gun to the back of her head.

“Gret, Mom, sorry we can’t stay, but Kate and I have plans,” she said. “Kate? Our plans?”

“Posey! What? We’ve hardly had time to catch up!” Gretchen fake protested.

“Well, we’re having dinner at my parents’ house on Sunday,” Posey said.

Gret pouted. “Don’t you want to hear about what the producers of Top Chef told me last week? I shouldn’t say anything, but I think they’re scoping me out as the new host of… Oops. Better not say anything till the contract’s signed.”

“I thought you were back to help Mom and Dad,” Posey said.

“Mmm-hmm. For a while, anyway.” She flashed another smile, practically blinding Posey with her glow-in-the-dark white teeth.

“Hi.” Kate stepped forward. “I’m Kate, Posey’s friend. We’ve met before, back in high school. I’m a big fan.”

Posey choked, and Kate gave her a guilty look.

“Oh, yes, of course! And thank you! You’re too nice!” Gretchen cooed.

“Kate?” Posey said. “The time?”

“Where are you two going?” Gretchen asked.

“Um…a class,” Posey said.

“A singles thing,” Kate added, and Posey closed her eyes. Her friend was pathologically honest.

“A singles thing?” Stacia asked, her mouth falling open in dismay. “Why not meet someone the old-fashioned way?”

“On a bender? Or in jail?” Posey asked, earning a glare from her mom.

“I’m just going to keep Posey company,” Kate stated. She picked up a piece of raw onion and ate it. “I’m not really looking.”

“A singles thing? What kind?” Gretchen asked. “I have to admit, I’m intrigued. I’ve never done anything like that. Then again, I meet a lot of people.” She smiled. “Well. You two have fun. Good luck meeting Mr. Right! Do they do background checks at these things? You have to wonder who signs up. Oh, my gosh, that sounded so snooty! I didn’t mean you, Posey.”

“You should come, Gret,” Posey said pointedly. “You’re not seeing anyone these days, are you?”

“As a matter of fact,” Gretchen said, smiling coyly, “I don’t want to name names, but I think we all know a certain blond Brit with a potty mouth, a chain of restaurants and a TV show…but I better not say any more, because he’s actually quite shy. And sweet! You wouldn’t believe it.”

“You’re dating Gordon Ramsay?” Kate barked.

“You didn’t hear that from me,” Gretchen said.

“Isn’t he married?” Posey asked.

“What about Emeril?” Kate said. “Do you know him? Is he short? He seems short.”

“Know him? He’s my mentor,” Gretchen said. “Not as short as you might think. He has a certain earthy charm, don’t you think?”

“Yes!” Kate exclaimed. “I do! When he says ‘Bam,’ I swear, my knees go weak.”

Posey grabbed Kate by the arm. “See you later,” she said. “Bye, Mom. Bye, Gret. Tell Gordon we said hello.” Dragging Kate behind her, she pushed open the back door. “You’re a big fan now? I thought you were my friend!”

“Well, you know how it is,” Kate stammered. “You meet a celebrity, you become an ass. I mean, I haven’t seen her since she lived with you guys in high school, you know? But I’ve watched her since that show started. I got caught up in the moment. Sue me.”

“I should beat you, that’s what I should do.”

“As if,” Kate said, slapping Posey on the back so hard she staggered. “Come on, now. On to meet your future husband. Though if you could find a way to dry-hump Liam’s leg, I’ll bet it’d be the best sex you’ve had in years.”

An hour later, Liam’s leg was looking better and better. It had looked pretty good in the restaurant, but here in the basement hallway of Christ Lutheran Church, the leg was taking on legendary appeal.

Note to self, Posey thought. Avoid singles events in church basements. The AA meeting was just about to wrap up (though the Serenity Prayer could be applied to dating: God grant me the courage to date the men who aren’t idiots, the serenity to accept the fact that many men are idiots, and the wisdom to know the difference).

Kate was busy texting her son, laughing softly. Despite their slightly odd relationship, the two were really close, and Posey couldn’t help the flash of envy she felt. Imagine, being the mother of such a good kid as James. Having him respond to your texts and acknowledge you in public. Posey was James’s godmother and so got a little trickle-down of his wonderfulness, but still. She was thirty-three years old. Her boyfriend—for lack of a better word—didn’t want to take things to the next level, and at best, their relationship was on hold. More likely, it was over.

There were numerous murmurs of denial and explanation as the singletons waited for the alcoholics to finish up. I’ve never done anything like this…?. My sister dragged me here…?. It’s not that I don’t meet people on my own, I’m actually researching a book…?. Match.com kicked me off for violating their no-stalking rule…?. That last one had come from the only cute guy here, Kevin Krepsinski, an old classmate who’d recently gotten out of jail for bank fraud. “Hey, Posey,” he said.

“Kevin. Nice to be out?”

“You bet! You still single?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Kevin glanced at her chest, then started talking to the woman next to him, a middle-aged woman whose bosom could shelter a family of four and their Bernese mountain dog. Posey sighed. There was Emily Rudeker, who played on Stubby’s Hardware’s softball team; she nodded hello to Posey and Kate (Stubby’s was Guten Tag’s arch rival, having beaten them every game last season, thanks in large part to Posey’s complete inability to hit the ball). There was Reverend Jerry—this was his church, though, yes, he was single. He smiled broadly at Posey, and she smiled back, unsure if that was a Want to date me? smile or just How’s your soul these days?

The appeal of online dating was becoming more and more attractive by the nanosecond. At least you could do that in your PJs. At least you could screen pictures and not end up standing next to a man roughly forty years your senior who smelled like fish. The truth was, Posey had tried to register on a dating website the night Dante dumped her, but lost patience after question number eighty-two.

She didn’t feel desperate…well, a little. Her birthday was in May. She’d be thirty-four, and that was mid-thirties, which sounded much more advanced. As in, Sorry, it’s advanced. And terminal. And it was, because after mid-thirties came late thirties, then forties, then death.

“If you crack those knuckles one more time, I’m slapping you.” Kate sent her a murderous glare.

Posey put her hands in her pockets. “Sorry.”

The woman on Posey’s other side sighed loudly. “This doesn’t look too promising,” she said. “And I could be home right now, watching Valentine’s Day and fantasizing about Taylor Lautner.” She was around fifty, plump, and encased in a low-cut blouse that sealed her torso in a sausagelike casing. “I know, I know,” the woman continued, not looking at either Posey or Kate. “He’s still a child. But come on. I don’t understand that Bella, do you? I’d like to slap her.”

“Preach it, sister,” another woman agreed, nodding sagely.

“Oh, finally! It’s starting. Thank God, my bunions are killing me.” As the AA members left (a much more cheerful lot than the singletons, Posey couldn’t help noticing), the Taylor Lautner fan looked down at her cleavage, frowned, adjusted her left breast, then glanced at Posey. “Good luck.”

They trudged in. One wall showed a mural of rainbows, flowers, white lambs and the head of John the Baptist on a platter, the words Prepare Ye the Way of the Lord! in a balloon coming from his slackly opened mouth.

“Romantic,” Posey murmured, suppressing a laugh.

Small tables had been set up with cutting boards and knives and a variety of vegetables and herbs at each one. Jon clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, people! Thank you so much for coming! This is Italian Cooking for Singles, and my name is Jon. I’m so happy to see you all here!” He beamed, and Posey watched as several women and one man fell in love. “The rest of our classes will be at the Bellsford Community Center—tonight’s the only night we have to look at poor J the B here. Not appetizing, am I right?”

Jon went on to detail the class. Tonight would be basic prep, slicing and dicing, how to sweat garlic to preserve the flavor, what kinds of tomatoes to use for different purposes, why fresh herbs were the core of any great Italian dish, when to tell if pasta is ready. “I’ll tell you, gang,” he said confidentially, “overcooked pasta is a great American tragedy. Now! We’ll partner up for each stage, boy-girl, boy-girl, and rather than do the boring old questions—because we’ve all been there, done that—let’s be creative! Not ‘What do you do for a living,’ but rather, ‘Which tree are you most like?’ or ‘If you got a new puppy, what would you name it?’ Be imaginative! Have fun! You never know…tonight you might meet your future spouse!”

“I’m looking for some maples, possibly a dogwood,” Posey said.

“I heard that, Posey.” Jon grinned at her. “Guys, Posey is my sister-in-law, so everyone has to be nice to her, or I’ll poison you. Okay? Posey, let’s put you with…Wayne, is it?” He waved to the fishy older man, then dropped his voice to a whisper. “This is just to get you started. I have my eye on a cute guy for you, but I don’t want anyone to think I’m playing favorites, which I totally am.” He smiled brilliantly. “Wayne, this is Posey! You kids have fun. Okay, everyone, start slicing the garlic. I’m not a believer in crushing, I want you to peel, then slice, and I want wafer-thin, I want translucence, I want you to inhale the smell of the greatest food ever invented. Cooking is all about love, after all, and who doesn’t love garlic!”

“Is he gay?” Wayne asked.

“Yes,” Posey answered. “Hi. I’m Posey.”

“Hi,” he said. “I’d like to be honest here. I’m looking for a wife, let’s cut right to the chase, and, yes, I’d like someone younger. I’m tired of hearing about knee replacements and hot flashes. How old are you?”

“Oh. Um, I’m thirty-three,” Posey said. “But I’m not—”

“I have to say, you’re not quite as built as I like my women to be, but I could overlook that. I like long walks on the beach, sunsets and a highball or two at the end of the day. And sex, of course. The little blue pill changed my life, you know what I’m saying? My cardiologist says I should be careful, but he’s also the one who wants me on a low-salt diet. But please. Why eat if you can’t have salt? How about you? Do you like sex?”

Posey tilted her head. “I’ll get to work on the garlic, then.”

“Is that a no?”

She narrowed her eyes. “If you were a tree, what tree would you be?” she said.

“I don’t know. Kind of a dumb question, isn’t it? What do you think, want to go out sometime?” Wayne looked at her and smiled.

At the table behind her, she could hear Kate detailing her needs. “I get pretty moody around the tenth of each month. We eat dinner around five—I’m cranky when I’m hungry. Most nights, I’m in bed by nine. I don’t like shellfish. I’m not allergic, I just don’t like it.”

“Okay!” Jon’s voice rang out. “Your garlic is looking beautiful, people! Time for the gentlemen to move to the tables to their left.”

“Nice meeting you, Wayne,” Posey said.

Jon looked over at her and widened his eyes dramatically. Ah. A very handsome man was approaching her. She’d missed him in the lineup outside; in fact, quite a few new people seemed to have drifted in. She took a quick scan—nope. Liam was not among them. Not that she noticed. Or cared. Oh, bieber. Here she went again.

“Hi, I’m Gus. Please tell me you’re not on Team Jacob,” the cute guy said, grinning.

“I’m so over him,” Posey said, smiling back. “Hi, I’m Posey. If you could name a pony, what would you call it?”

“Boy or girl?

“Girl.”

“I’d call her Misty of Chincoteague.”

“A classic.” Posey smiled. “You get a point for that.” So far, so good. Jon called out instructions on how best to slice plum tomatoes, and she and Gus got to work.

“I’m not a huge fan of these singles things, but who is, right?” he said, glancing down at her. “And you’re adorable. I’ll bet you’ve never been to one of these in your life.”