Her embarrassment turned to laughter.

“It’s not funny.”

“It’s kinda funny.”

“So if that wasn’t meant for me, who are you sending bathing suit pictures to?”

“Dakota. I’m shopping and she couldn’t come with me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I swear.”

“Well . . . in that case. If you’re shopping for next weekend, and you’re wearing that for me, no your ass doesn’t need more coverage.”

Oh, just kill me now.

“If you’re shopping for another weekend when I won’t be with you, then yes, it needs more coverage.”

She was holding in her laughter so hard she teared up. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Not in this lifetime.”

Her phone buzzed. “Dakota is texting me. She’s going to think I abandoned her.”

“I might have to post this on Instagram.”

She stopped laughing. “Don’t you dare.”

“Buy that one.”

“It’s too small.”

“Instagram is one click away.”

“Okay, okay . . . don’t, Glen.”

“Buy it and I won’t.”

“I’ll get you back for this.”

“Sounds like a promise, Counselor.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting?” she asked.

“Buy it.”

“Good-bye, Glen.”

He hung up.

She didn’t even try to explain what happened to Dakota in a text. By the time she left the dressing room, the employees probably wondered if she’d used the space as a phone booth.

She put both the red and the black bikinis on the counter and offered a coy smile to the teenager at the register.

Mary glanced at her phone and the picture of her standing in the three-way mirror with too much of her butt sticking out and laughed all the way home.

“I met someone.”

Mary’s jaw dropped. “You what?”

“We both volunteer at the homeless shelter. I was serving the potatoes, he was serving the chicken.”

Mary saw stars and dropped into one of her patio chairs, pressing the phone to her ear. “Okay, when you say you met someone . . . you mean you met someone, met someone?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means.”

“I don’t know. You’re going to have to spell it out for me.”

“Sister Mary Frances!”

“She is not here, m’dear. Hasn’t been for nearly ten years.”

“Mary Frances!”

“That’s better.” To say she was shocked would be a vast understatement. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Believe me, I’m just as surprised as you.”

“That isn’t likely.”

“He’s very charming, Mary. You’d like him.”

“You’re dating.” It wasn’t a question.

“We’ve had coffee . . . and pie.”

“Coffee and pie?” She was not hearing this. The woman who all but raised her . . . the nun—who’d all but raised her—was dating.

“He’s a widower. His children are grown, has two adorable grandchildren—”

“Wait! You’re . . . you’re dating.”

“I know it’s a lot to take in.”

“You don’t date . . . you can’t.” Mary wanted to retract the words once she said them out loud.

“Technically, I can.” Sister Mary’s words started to clip.

“I’m sorry. I’m shocked. I’m not saying the right things.”

“Perhaps we should speak another time.”

“No. I’m sorry. Truly.” Mary remembered how hard it had been when Mary Frances left the order. Only one of her sisters kept in touch, the others refused since the Mother Superior had forbidden it. It took nearly five years for the church to recognize she was gone, and even then, Mary Frances mourned what she’d given her life to as if she were a scorned woman divorced from the love of her life. Mary pulled in a breath. “Tell me about your widower. What’s his name?”

Mary Frances paused. “Do you really want to hear this?”

“I do.”

“His name is Burke. He’s originally from South Wales.”

“Does he have an accent?”

Mary Frances sighed . . . like a girlie sigh, and Mary had to hold back her tongue.

“He does! He sounds so astute. And he’s funny. You’ll really enjoy him, Mary.”

Mary gritted her teeth and smiled as she spoke. “How long have you known him?”

“A couple of months now.”

Mary punched a fist in the air. “And you’re just now telling me?” She kept her voice slow and measured.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t approve.”

I don’t!

“That you’d be upset,” she continued.

Mary forced herself to calm down and speak the truth. “I am . . .”

“Is this because of the church?”

“No.” And it wasn’t. She was more self-aware than that. “You’re the closest thing to a mother as I’ve ever had.”

“Oh, Mary . . .”

“I’d imagine any child having some difficulty finding out their parent was dating after a long relationship.”