Mid Life Love (Mid Life Love #1)(2)

“You look stunning!” Sandra tugged at my strapless black dress. “Can I please borrow your wardrobe?”

“Only if I can borrow your life...”

She rolled her eyes and ignored my pessimism as usual. “Tonight is the night you’ll meet the right guy! I can feel it!”

She always says that...

“Do we really need to go to another one of these things, Sands? I have some marketing research I could—”

“On New Year’s Eve? Are you out of your mind? We’re going out!”

“What’s the point? We’ve been to a ton of these things and it’s always the same...Can’t we just stay in, drink some wine, and go over our resolutions?”

“Claire...” She walked over to my front door and opened it. “We’re going out. Now. You don’t have any work to do and you know it. And it’s your turn to drive so let’s go!”

I stood in the winding buffet line and tossed a few veggie chips onto my plate. I looked up at the banner that hung over the bar and sighed. It read “New Year’s Middle-Aged Singles’ Mixer: Let’s Get Jiggy!”

Aside from the tacky banner, the interior of Pacific Bay Lounge left a lot to be desired: Surfboards served as table tops, old park benches were strewn about, and dingy blue and green streamers hung from the ceiling to simulate “waves.”

Tonight, the lounge was way over-capacity—not a huge surprise since lonely people seemed to flock to these types of events. I was so used to them that I’d become quite the people reader: The guy standing by the window was at least sixty, the blond hair dye he’d been using to look twenty years younger was beginning to fade. The woman who was dancing against the speakers was clearly going through a divorce; she was still wearing her wedding ring and she tossed back a shot every time the DJ yelled “Cheers to all the single ladies!”

I’d been there. Done that.

On the window seats that lined the far wall, shy women were fidgeting with their hair and clothes like nervous high school students. Most of them were being forced to be here and had probably never had a fully-functioning relationship in their lives.

I grabbed two beers from the end of the table and sat on an empty couch, observing one man’s poor attempt to get a shy woman to dance.

“Is this seat taken?” A gorgeous man with grey eyes smiled at me, interrupting my fascinating people watch.

“No. No, it’s not...”

“Great.” He sat down and put his beer on the table. “I’m Lance. What’s your name?”

“Claire. Claire Gracen.”

“That’s a pretty name. What do you do for a living, Claire?”

“I’m a marketing director for a software company. What do you do?”

He tapped the label on his beer. “I own and manage a beer company, Leyland Beers. It’s in Nevada.”

“Very impressive,” I said. “So, what do you—”

“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Ugh, here we go...

“I’m thirty-nine, and yourself?”

“Wow...” He looked me up and down. “I’m forty seven. Do you have any kids?”

I felt myself smiling. “Two daughters. You?”

“No, I don’t have any kids. Life’s way too short for that—no offense. Can I call you sometime?”

Seriously? Is that all it takes these days? Age? Kids? Phone number? Is the art of conversation that DEAD?

“Umm sure...” I forced a smile. “It’s—”

“Wait. How old are your kids? Are they ‘with-the-babysitter-tonight-age’ or are they ‘secretly-stealing-beer-out-of-your-cabinet-while-you’re-gone-age’? I have to be frank with you because I’m not looking for anything serious, and all you women with kids tend to be more—”

“You know what?” I stood up. “I have to go to the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

I pushed through the crowd and made my way to the outside deck, where lots of singles were watching the ripples of the Pacific Ocean swell up and down. I took a deep breath and inhaled the salty wet air—the one thing I had yet to get used to since moving to the West Coast.

I looked over my shoulder and saw Sandra talking to yet another guy, teasingly rubbing his shoulder and biting her lip. She caught me staring and motioned for me to come over. She was mouthing “He has a friend!”

I turned around and rolled my eyes.

“I take it you’re not having a good time?” A husky voice said from beside me.

I didn’t even bother looking at him. I didn’t want to engage in any more pointless conversations or mundane introductions. I just wanted to go home.

I sighed. “I’m thirty nine. My birthday’s in two weeks. I’ve been divorced for four years and I have two teenaged daughters.”

I didn’t hear him say anything else. I turned to my left and saw that he was halfway across the deck.

I took another swig of my beer and shook my head. I knew I wasn’t helping myself by pushing every potential suitor away, but I couldn’t help it. I still couldn’t believe that I was actually single.

My life had been picture perfect years ago—fourteen year marriage to a man who I thought loved me, pretty Pittsburgh neighborhood in the suburbs, amazing career that was almost on the brink of being legendary—but then one day it was over. Just like that. The priceless picture couldn’t be put back together; it couldn’t be saved.