Starting over is hard to do on your own...

Jenna is trying to start over after a devastating divorce. Luckily, she has her sister, Jill, by her side. Here's an excerpt with Jenna and Jill ...
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“He was flirting with you!”
Of course, I’d told Jill all about my run-in with the cute cop.
“No, he wasn’t. He was making fun of me.”
“That’s called flirting.”
Our waiter set our drinks down on the table between us. I’d opted for a glass of wine while Jill went with a colorful concoction with a suggestive name I couldn’t recall.
“Can I get you anything else?” he asked, directing his question only to my little sister.
She smiled up at him and, had he been a cartoon character, his heart would have burst right out of his chest and landed in her lap.
“No thanks,” she began, taking in his name tag before finishing, “Brandon. I think we’re good, but I’ll let you know.”
Brandon floated back to the bar and I raised my eyebrows at Jill. She fiddled with her straw and did a double take when she caught my look.
“What?!”
“That poor boy is going to have to walk around with a serving tray over his crotch the rest of the night. The least you could do is put your boobs away.”
She looked down at her low-cut top, which revealed generous amounts of cleavage. Jill always was a giver. “This is a perfectly appropriate outfit. We’re at a bar, not Sunday school. He’ll be fine.” She reapplied her lip gloss and smacked her lips together. “And, besides, this brings me back to my point.”
“You had a point?”
That earned me a scowl. “Flirting. You need to learn to do it, and you need to learn how to recognize it.”
I knew she was right. If my phenomenally awkward attempts with Erik and Kyle were any indication, I sucked at it. And I’d thought the cute officer was belittling me, which was the last thing I needed. I had a lot to learn, apparently. I groaned. “I’ve never had to flirt before.”
It was true. Mike had done all the wooing and flirting, and I’d bought it all, hook, line, and sinker. Before him, I’d been a bumbling teenager where flirting consisted of lip-biting, stuttering, and sloppy tongue kisses behind the gym. I hated to think that was the extent of my knowledge on the subject.
“It’s past time you learned. Chug that wine and we’ll practice.”
I looked at her, appalled. “First of all, you don’t chug wine. Second, you’re not allowed to flirt. You have a boyfriend.”
She waved me off. “Hank doesn’t care. He knows I flirt. I can’t help it,” she claimed, as if flirting were akin to Tourette’s syndrome.
I sipped my wine at a respectable pace while Jill scanned the bar. “Ooh. How about him?” she gestured with her chin toward some vague spot behind me.
I whirled around and did my own scan. “Which one?”
“No!” Jill whisper-yelled through clenched teeth. “Stop doing that! Jenna, have you ever heard of subtlety?”
I realized she was probably right, so I dutifully faced her again. “Sorry.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “Pretend to get something out of your purse, and while you’re turned around, sneak a glance at the guy with the black t-shirt. He’ll be at your two o’clock.”
This was beginning to feel like military reconnaissance, but what did I know?
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Copyright 2018 Sylvie Stewart