Undercapitalized was the operative word. All of her time and energy had been channeled into getting the shop on its feet the past few years. Independence came to her naturally, as an only child, and perhaps also because her mother had died when she was young. She had only a father to harass her over her single state, which he did regularly from retirement in Arizona, a nice distance away. A nice distance away as far as harassment went-Griff mustn’t misunderstand. She loved her father. In fact, ironically, her father was one of the main reasons why she had never thrown herself into the marriage market.

Her parents had been wonderfully happy-a tough act to follow, but Susan couldn’t imagine setting her own sights any lower. And when her mom died, her dad had been wise enough to worry about filling his hours with things that counted to him. He didn’t believe in seeking out relationships from sheer loneliness, or in settling for less than the special love he’d had with his wife. Susan adhered to her father’s own values. She wasn’t panic-stricken if she had to spend an occasional Saturday night alone. No, she wasn’t brooding over someone from the past; there were no scars, no torches still carried. Yes, she’d almost married once in college, but it hadn’t worked out. Her father was getting a wee bit itchy for grandchildren. Well, occasionally she got a wee bit itchy for children herself, but the men in her age bracket seemed to equate maturity with bed immediately following dinner. The issue had become tiring. Maybe next year she’d figure out what was supposed to be such fun about waking up next to a stranger. For now, she passed.

When they’d covered all the reasons why they weren’t interested in getting involved with anyone of the opposite sex in the immediate future, they did the dishes. The wine had diluted in Susan’s system by that time, though a rather crazy, lighthearted feeling of elation remained.