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I brought a bottle of wine. "Colin, I got busy and didn't have time to cook. Why don't we order take-out? Chinese?"

"Sure."

"While we're waiting, I made a pitcher of margaritas. We'll call it an international dinner. Chinese food and Mexican alcohol," she laughed.

"And Italian wine," I checked the label, and joined her in laughter.

It was an enjoyable evening, and as I left, she said, Colin, do you know what a trifecta is?"

"No, why?"

"You think about it. We can discuss it the next time we see each other."

I didn't think about it. I knew what it meant in horse racing, but I had no idea what Mrs. Jorgensen meant and I wasn't sure how, why or when we'd see each other.

Two weeks later, Ms. Beauchamp called me. "Colin, how about dinner Friday night? I'll make a reservation at the Chowder House for 6:30."

"Okay. I'll pick you up." The Chowder House was famed throughout New England for its seafood. It sat overlooking the ocean north of Boston, not far from my apartment and Ms. Beauchamp's home.

For a fancy restaurant, I wore a tie and jacket and she wore a stylish dress. People might have thought we were mother and son or aunt and nephew or perhaps even grandmother and grandson. I didn't think anything of it.

Dinner was wonderful. The food fabulous; the conversation interesting. Niki and Jan were married. Jan still lived in London.

I'd gone to med school, but after two years left. It's complicated, but let's just say, I would not have made a good doctor. However, I was recruited by a company which supplied hospitals with much of their fancy equipment from MRI machines to heart monitors, etc. I thought of myself as a failure, but the reality was that with my annual bonus, I made more money than some doctors.

After dinner, "Colin, before you picked me up, I made another pitcher of margaritas. How about a nightcap? It's a beautiful night for a drink on the porch."

At her home, she asked me to pour the margaritas while she changed into something more comfortable. I'd had dates say almost the exact same thing and we'd end up in bed, but this was Ms. Grace Beauchamp, a grandmother.

When she came out on the porch, she almost looked like a different woman. She'd let her hair down; well below her shoulders and in the moonlight, the negligee she was wearing was almost transparent. Yes, I could just see the outline of her breasts. It was apparent she was braless.

She took the margarita from me. "Colin, did you think about what I said about a trifecta?"

I referenced horse racing.

"Well, yes, it is a horse racing term, but I was thinking that you've had two of the Jorgensen girls, the third is yours if you want it." She put one arm around my neck and kissed me on the mouth.

Stunned, shocked. I couldn't believe what she just said. I was sure I hadn't heard what I thought I heard. What convinced me that I'd in fact heard her correctly was when that kiss lingered and fifty-eight-year-old, grandmother, Ms. Beauchamp, stuck her tongue in my mouth.

It took me a moment. I pulled away. "Are you suggesting what I think

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