More than an hour ago Rita had called to say she was running late and we would have to meet at the Arling House. The room continued to grow smaller as more and more singles mingled around the elegant space. I had planned to stay tucked in the corner, near the door, but the huge bowl of punch across the room offered an instant reprieve to my parched throat. My tiny steps around the perimeter of the room in the ridiculous purple stilettos Rita insisted I buy at a closeout price, already made my legs and feet ache. What did it matter that they were guaranteed to slenderize and elongate my legs? The packed room didn’t allow anyone to view anything below waist level.

What had possessed me to agree to come to a singles party? Did my demeanor and dress shout, ‘desperate,’ like most of the gadabouts in the room? I sipped my first glass of weak punch much too fast for proper etiquette and accepted a refill with an apologetic smile, then moved to the next table laden with an array of finger foods. At twenty dollars a person caviar would have been a nice touch instead of the brackish salmon pate inducing one to gulp more of the flavorless punch.

The dessert table proved to be the most promising. A five-tier decadent chocolate cake took center stage, with mini eclairs, cream puffs and lemon bars dressing the remainder of the table. The moist cake with its rich raspberry filling proved to be exquisite.

“Are you going to finish your Chocolate Raspberry Coma Cake?” I studied the slight, elderly woman layered in three sweaters, an orange turtleneck under a green pullover finished off with a purple cardigan. One step back allowed me to take a quick peek at the rest of her attire. Black pants tucked into knee high red rubber boots completed her combo. Her dishabille attire quite a contrast to the recherche crowd around her. I could imagine my grandmother saying, ‘She sticks out like a black chick in a henhouse full of white leghorns.’

She pressed closer and took my plate. “I have someone I want you to meet.” Before I could protest and spear another bite of cake, her intervention had tossed the remains and she whisked me to the center of the room, into the arms of a man anyone would describe as anything but prince charming. We stood under a crystal chandelier large enough to destroy a small country, yet grand enough to adorn the empyrean realm. I started to shiver, not sure of which I feared more.

“Bless you both.” The elderly woman released the words over her shoulder, carrying the vivacious manner of someone convinced of her own charm, and waltzed toward another victim holding a plate with a remaining bite of the cake.

The man in front of me exposed a radiant smile, gracing his features with confidence and honesty. “Are you Rachel Tanner?”

I swallowed hard knowing my eyes carried a questioning gaze. “Yes.”

“Rita said you would be wearing purple shoes.” He added a dimple to his smile and his praising eyes filled my heart with instant warmth.

“I’m Brad Marshall, Rita’s brother. She said you were shy and you never let her introduce you to any men so she asked our grandmother to do the honors.”