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“You’re such a charmer,” I said, smirking.

“I was glad to hear from you. The last time I saw you, you ran out of my apartment. What happened that day?” he asked.

“I got scared.”

“Well, I can’t stop thinking about you. We would’ve had amazing sex. I would’ve had fun taking those silk panties off you.” He said this as the waiter put down our drinks on the table. I was flustered and noticed the waiter grinning. I realized with my peek-a-boo blouse and my need to get drunk, he probably thought I was a slut. Then again, if I was paying for the crime, I might as well go all in. I took a long, slow sip of my mojito. The scent of mint and alcohol and the tartness of the lime juice made me braver. This was so much better than the one I made at home.

I took a breath. “Jim found out about us and moved out.”

“Really? Well, now there’s nothing in our way.”

I had been telling myself that I was separated over and over the last few days, but I didn’t think I had really understood what that meant until now. Hearing him say that out loud threw me off-balance.

I needed a moment, so I excused myself and picked up my purse and went to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror and dabbed a little more concealer under my eyes and lightly rubbed it in with my pointer fingers. Then I used a Q-tip to wipe off a little mascara that had run. After I was satisfied, I put my hands under the waterspout, but nothing happened. Like a wild woman, I started waving them around until a trickle of cool water dribbled out. Two seconds later, the water stopped. When I waved my hands under the spout again, I noticed a woman and her four-year-old daughter had come out of a stall and was watching me.

“Mommy, can I play in the water like that lady?” the little girl asked.

I smiled at the woman and dried my hands. As I walked back to the table, my mind was racing in all directions, and I forgot where we were sitting. I looked around until Michael waved me over.

“You okay?” Michael asked when I sat down.

“There was a long line,” I said. I reached down to pick my napkin up off the floor.

When I sat back up, he was ogling me. “I hope I’m not making you nervous,” he said.

“Maybe a little. I haven’t done this before.”

“I know, and I’m flattered that you wanted your first time to be with me.” He took my hand and lightly kissed it. His warm lips made every muscle from my hand to my shoulder quiver.

“It’s not my first time … I mean, I’ve had sex before. …” I said, blushing. “I mean it’s my first time for this … whatever this is. …” I wondered if I was getting dementia. Then I realized it was just my hormones that were turning me into a babbling idiot.

“Well, now that Jim’s gone, we can have fun, and you don’t have to feel guilty.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Maybe not, but if we didn’t see where this takes us, I think you’d regret it. You wouldn’t want to wake up in ten years and wonder what it would’ve been like for us to have sex. I know I wouldn’t.”

I’d been thinking about it for months. I loved Jim, but he wasn’t attracted to me anymore. This man was making it clear that he was, and I didn’t want to live the rest of my life without sex. I was still young, and I deserved more than once-in-a-while intimacy.

The restaurant had gotten very crowded, mostly with couples. There were two men in their thirties flirting and teasing each other. They were celebrating their first wedding anniversary. I remembered when Jim and I celebrated our first wedding anniversary at La Cucina. We were young and giddy, and everything he said that night made me laugh. He had thought I was adorable, and I could tell he wanted to rip my clothes off. It made me sad that we weren’t those two people anymore.

To my right were an elderly man and his wife holding hands across the table. They weren’t saying a word, just looking into each other’s eyes. What did people think of Michael and me? Did they think we looked good together? Could they tell I was a lot older than him?

Michael asked me a question, but the music and the murmur of voices made it hard to hear him. I leaned in closer, and when his eyes darted down, I knew he had gotten a glimpse of my breasts. I didn’t know why I felt the need to adjust my shirt. It was just a preview of what he’d be getting later.

“Are you ready to order, or would you like to hear our specials?” the waiter asked, interrupting Michael’s gaze.

“I’ll have the lamb chops with the potatoes au gratin,” I said.

“I’ll have the same, but I’d like my lamb chops completely pink inside.”

The waiter headed off. “Can you believe that French accent?” Michael said. “I could do a better one than that.” He mimicked the waiter.

“You make an adorable Frenchman,” I said.

“Merci beaucoup, ma chérie.”

“I’ve always wanted to learn French.”