We don’t need Fiona in jail. She’d lose her green card. Get sent back to Ireland. And we don’t want that, do we?”

“No,” Polly agreed. “Fiona is the only one who can drink me under the table. I like that about her.”

Fiona laughed. Kit was relieved to hear the sound. It’d been a while, which was tragic, since Fiona had a wicked sense of humor.

“You and Chase just need some time to yourselves,” Kit said, finding it hard to believe that it was only two years ago that Chase, a San Francisco investment banker, spotted Fiona in a bar in the Marina district, and fell for black-haired, blue-eyed Fiona on the spot. There had been an immediate connection between the two and things moved quickly between them after that. “But I know it’s hard when there are always kids around.”

“Which is why we’re going away this weekend,” Fiona answered. “I’m trying to hold on to that. Otherwise I think I’d go mad.”

Polly frowned, confused. “Is it already Martin Luther King weekend?”

“It is,” Kit said, sitting back as the cocktail waitress delivered a tray of drinks to their table. “And you and I are going to the beach house in Capitola this weekend.”

“That’s awesome.” Polly sighed. “I’d completely forgotten.”

Fiona glanced at the pint of beer set before her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t order another one.”

“Neither did I,” Kit said as another glass of chardonnay appeared at her elbow.

“You didn’t,” the waitress said. “They’re compliments of those guys at the table over there.” She pointed to a small table not far from the front door where two men sat smiling at them.

“Wish they hadn’t done that,” Polly muttered as the waitress walked away. “I don’t want another drink, and I definitely don’t want to talk to any men right now.”

“Me either,” Kit agreed.

“And I’m married,” Fiona chimed in, stealing a peek in the direction of the men at their table. “Even if unhappily.” She scrutinized the two men. “But they’re not bad-looking.”

Kit glanced over her shoulder, sizing up the pair, noting that they both wore blue dress shirts and were drinking beer. “How can you tell? All I can see are the back of their heads.”

Abruptly Polly pushed her untouched cocktail glass away. “Sorry. Not to be a party pooper, but I need to get out of here. You two mind if I call it a night?”

“Not at all,” Kit said, reaching for her wallet. “I’ve got grading to do.”

“And I guess I have to face the music, too,” Fiona added, with a quick glance at her watch.

They paid the bill, gathered their coats and purses, and headed for the front door, but one of the men rose from the table and intercepted them. “Polly?” he said, putting a hand out toward her.

“Jon?” she said, blinking with surprise.

He nodded. “I thought that was you. Wasn’t sure. How are you?”

“Good. Really good.” Polly turned to introduce Kit and Fiona.