Happily Ever After by Susan May Warren

half a century. She gritted her teeth and refused to turn at the
     scrape of feet on the sidewalk. The last thing she wanted was for Mr. Drifter Michaels to see the flush in her cheeks.
    “Would you like to go out for pizza?”
    Mona’s pulse rate plummeted at the voice. She rocked back on her heels, wiped a hair from her face, and dredged up a smile.
     A well-dressed, slick-looking Brian Whitney marched across the grass, grinning. She tried not to compare him to the memory
     of a rumpled and dirt-streaked Joe. So the guy didn’t have a lopsided smile—at least Brian didn’t smell like hard work and
     sport a three-day growth of beard. She batted that delicious image away as well.
    “You’re back!” she exclaimed, hoping he didn’t notice the enacted enthusiasm. She rose to greet him.
    He shrugged. “It was just a quick trip for business.”
    “The Deep Haven Zoning Commission doing some work in Duluth?”
    His smile vanished. “Research.”
    A breeze blew across the lake, raising gooseflesh on her arms. “Liza’s out back,” she said, filling the silence.
    Brian nodded, then examined her garden. “What are you planting?”
    “Peonies, dahlias, gladiolas. I’m putting in a hedge row of marigolds over there.” She gestured to a spot of furrowed land
     edging the fence.
    “Hope they bloom in four weeks,” he commented wryly.
    She frowned. “They will.”
    “Sure. Well, I know I said I’d take you out someplace nice, but I thought we could pop over to Pierre’s Pizza for supper.
     I’ll do the fancy dinner next week.”
    Mona tugged off her work gloves. “Pizza sounds great.” She gave him a stern look. “But we go dutch.”
    “Right. We’ll see.”
    Mona pointed a finger at him. “Dutch. I’ll get Liza.”She jogged around the house.
    The sound of humming emanated from Liza’s pottery shed. Mona leaned against the doorjamb, watching her best friend stacking
     unbaked pottery on her newly constructed shelves. Liza had a shipment of her finished, painted, and baked pottery due to arrive
     any day from her workshop in Minneapolis. But Mona knew Liza was itching to dive into a chunk of clay. It was a stress reliever
     as well as an occupation.
    “Brian Whitney is here. He wants us to go out for pizza with him.”
    Liza turned, a teasing glint shimmering in her black eyes. “Are you sure he wants to take us both?” She had slicked her hair
     back into a bubblegum pink scrunchy and wore a fringed rhinestone-studded sweatshirt over black leggings.
    “I’m sure—” Mona wrinkled her nose—“but we’re not going anywhere until you change into something a little less . . . conspicuous.”
    Liza produced a mock-offended pose. “What, you don’t like my new bangles?” She tilted her head and leaned her ear toward Mona.
     Mona peered at the earrings, then bit her lip to suppress her laughter. Only Liza could pull off a pair of hoops with rainbow
     trout dangling from them.
    “I’m just trying to blend with the locals.”
    “By wearing fish?” Mona trembled with glee.
    Liza beamed. “Listen, I’ll save you from a night alone with Brian Whitney, but only if I can wear the trout.”
    Mona gave a start. “What do you mean, ‘save me’?
    How do you know I don’t want to have Brian all to myself?”
    Liza pushed her out of the shed, then locked the door. “Because I know he’s not your first choice of available men.”
    Shock nearly sent Mona sprawling. “What?”
    Liza turned, linked her arm with Mona’s, and led her toward the house. “You know exactly what I mean. You’d much rather build
     porches or swat roaches with our local handyman.”
    Mona went numb. “That is not true. Joe is nothing more than a drifter, an intruder in my life. The sooner he fixes this place
     up and moseys on his way, the better.”
    “You don’t know your dream man when you see him, honey.”
    “My dream man is certainly not a know-it-all jack-of-all- trades. My dream man has aspirations, dreams.