Until There Was You (5 page)

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.”

Well, bless his heart! He was
cute
. “This is my first time,” she acknowledged.

“What do you do for work, Posey?” he asked.

“I own an architectural salvage operation.”

“Cool!” he said. “I love old things.”

The night was getting better and better. He crossed his arms. Nice arms, she noted. Nice everything, actually. A little stir of attraction tickled her stomach. She sliced her plum tomatoes obediently as Jon waxed rhapsodic about sauce. “And what do you do, Gus?”

“I’m an actor.”

“Really!”

“That’s right.” He grinned proudly.

“Full time?”

“Full time.”

“Wow.” Posey couldn’t say that she met a lot of actors…a few community theater buffs here and there, but paid actors? “So, you get enough work up here? I mean, we’re hardly New York or L.A.”

“Actually, yes.” He smiled and sliced, rather adept with a knife. “I get plenty of work. I’ve made a pretty good living at this for years now.”

Should she recognize him? Was he someone famous? “Have you been in anything I might’ve seen?” she asked.

“Maybe,” he said. “What do you like to watch?’

Now was probably not the time to mention that last night, she’d watched
Phantom of the Opera
for the ninth time…might make her seem a little on the fetishist side. “Um…I like just about everything.”

“Have you ever seen
Heat Rising?
” he asked.

She thought for a minute. “I don’t think so. What was that, an action flick?”

He winked. “It sure was.”

“Is that the one where the submarine is stolen by the pirates?”

Gus smiled. “Getting colder. It was…” He paused dramatically. “An adult entertainment film.”

Posey blinked. “Say again?”

He lowered his voice to a whisper and gave her a very adorable grin. “I’m a porn star.”

She gave a hearty laugh. “Yeah. Me, too.
Posey Does Portsmouth.
Have you seen it?”

He stood up straighter, and the smile left his face. “Posey, I act in adult films. That’s my job.”

Holy Elvis Presley. He was serious. “I thought… I didn’t think you were…” She glanced at Jon, but he was helping the Taylor Lautner fan, who was using her knife like a hatchet. “So. Wow. That’s…interesting.”

“It is, isn’t it? And it’s not nearly as sleazy as it sounds,” Gus went on. “I mean, do I get more than my share of tail? Sure. But I’m looking to really connect, know what I mean? Fall in love.
Make
love. Which is so different from acting, where some know-nothing director is telling me what to do. And it can be hard, you know? Some of the scripts we get are absolute crap. There’s no story, you know? I mean, what are these characters looking for, right? Other than a good lay?”

Posey nodded. Tried to picture bringing this guy home to her parents’ house, where pictures of Pope Benedict, son of the Fatherland, hung in three of the six rooms.
He’s a porn star, Ma. A porn star.
Nope. Wasn’t gonna happen.

“I should probably be honest here,” Posey said, trying to take a note from Wayne. “I…I think your job would probably rule you out in terms of dating. I’m sorry.”

“Who asked you, huh?” he snapped. “Man! You’re so prejudiced! So I screw people for a living! So do lawyers! Would you go out with a lawyer?”

“Um…probably,” Posey said.

Gus tossed down his knife and folded his arms in full sulk. Her brother-in-law gave her a questioning look, then clapped his hands once more. “Gentlemen, take a stroll to your left, won’t you?”

“Holy crap! Posey Osterhagen, right? Shit! Long time no see!”

Posey felt every muscle in her body stiffen. “Rick. Yep, it’s been a while.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Same thing you are, Rick. Why don’t we just skip each other? No need to waste time, right?”

“Smell the basil, gang,” Jon was crooning. “Isn’t that glorious? Now you know why you paid so much to take this class. This basil was flown in from Cyprus, okay? Heaven!”

“I don’t want to skip,” Rick said. “Dude, relax, okay? It’s just a cooking class.”

True enough. But by all that was holy, she didn’t want to spend a nanosecond with Rick Balin.

Rick was a native of Bellsford, too, and like Posey, he’d moved back after college. But they hadn’t spoken since high school, though of course she’d seen him here and there, at the bank or a town meeting. Rick “managed” one of his parents’ marinas, which, according to the gossip at Rosebud’s Bar and Grille, meant that he came into the office, downloaded porn (hey, maybe he’d recognize Gus), then left around three to start cocktail hour.

“So, how are you?” Risk asked. “It’s been a while, right?”

She gave a tight nod. The only saving grace was how horrible he looked, even worse up close. The years had taken a toll—the years, and several thousand bottles of beer, she guessed, based on his large belly and florid face. Even so, Rick Balin still oozed that rich-boy smugness (that, and alcohol fumes) as he lackadaisically chopped basil.

For a second, it was as if they were back in high school and Rick was leaning against her locker, blocking her from opening it. Back then, Rick Balin had lived the cliché of trust fund brat: he was beautiful, he was spoiled and he was cruel.

He’d also been her prom date.

“So, you’re still single, Posey?” Rick asked.

“Mmm-hmm,” she answered.

“Me, too. Divorced. Twice, if you can believe it.”

“Oh, I can.”

“So, maybe we can hook up sometime.”

“No, thanks.”

He shrugged and gave her a once-over. “Still scrawny,” he said. His eyes, which Posey had once thought beautiful, settled on her breasts. “Then again, anything more than a mouthful’s a waste.”