Merry Ex-Mas
Merry Ex-Mas
Sheila Roberts
Watch as Christmas brings all kinds of surprises to Icicle Falls!Cass Wilkes was looking forward to her daughter Danielle’s Christmas wedding—until Dani announced that she wants her father, Cass’s ex, to walk her down the aisle. Seriously? Even worse, it seems that he, his trophy wife and their yappy little dog will be staying with Cass…Her friend Charlene Albach arrives at their weekly chick-flick night in shock. She’s just seen the ghost of Christmas past: her ex-husband, Richard, who left a year ago when he ran off with the hostess from her restaurant. Now the hostess is history and he wants to kiss and make up.Hide the mistletoe! And bring out the hot buttered rum, because the holidays aren’t easy for Ella O’Brien, either. Ella, newly divorced, is still sharing the house with her ex while they wait for the place to sell. The love is gone. Or is it?Welcome to Icicle Falls, the town that will warm your heart.'Sheila Roberts makes me laugh. I read her books & come away hopeful and happy.' - bestselling romance author Debbie Macomber
Christmas in Icicle Falls...
Between Yuletide traditions, winter sports and mistletoe hanging everywhere, Christmas is the best time of year in Icicle Falls, Washington. But this year it’s not so merry—for three of its residents, anyway.
Cass Wilkes, owner of the Gingerbread Haus bakery, was looking forward to her daughter, Danielle’s, wedding...until Dani announced that she wants her father, Cass’s ex, to walk her down the aisle. Seriously? And, since every B and B is full, it looks like he, his trophy wife and their yappy little dog will be staying with Cass.
Her friend Charlene Albach arrives at their weekly chick-flick night in shock. She’s just seen the ghost of Christmas past: her ex-husband, Richard, who left her a year ago, running off with the hostess from her restaurant, Zelda’s, to start a new life (and restaurant) in Seattle. Now the hostess is history and he wants to kiss and make up. Hide the mistletoe!
And bring out the hot buttered rum, because the holidays aren’t so easy for Ella O’Brien, either. Ella, who’s newly divorced, is still sharing the house with her ex while they wait for the place to sell, and they are still fighting over all the things they fought over when they were married. The love is gone. Isn’t it?
But Christmas has a way of working its magic. One of these women is about to rediscover love, another is going to remember what’s important in life and the third will find a new dream in the new year. Merry Ex-mas, ladies!
Praise for Sheila Roberts and Her Christmas Novels
“Roberts’ witty and effervescently funny holiday novel will warm hearts. Realistic characters populate the pages of this captivating story, which is a great escape from the holiday hustle and bustle.”
—RT Book Reviews (Top Pick) on On Strike for Christmas
“Hilarious…a fun and festive debut.”
—Library Journal on On Strike for Christmas
“Roberts’ charming holiday-themed contemporary story set in the Seattle area offers hope, comfort, and a second chance for those who believe, and a nudge to change the minds of those who don’t.”
—Booklist on The Snow Globe
“Within minutes of cracking open the book, my mood was lifted…The warm, glowing feeling it gave me lasted for days.”
—First for Women on The Snow Globe
“This lighthearted and charming read will appeal to fans of Kristin Hannah’s magical, light romances and readers who enjoyed Roberts’s previous holiday offerings.”
—Library Journal on The Snow Globe (Starred Review)
“Roberts’s well-intentioned story serves as a light, pleasant reminder about the importance of balancing family, friends, love, and career.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Snow Globe
“Another warm holiday yarn from the author of The Snow Globe.”
—Library Journal on The Nine Lives of Christmas
“Witty characterizations, slapstick mishaps, and plenty of holiday cheer.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Nine Lives of Christmas
“If you love Christmas, cats and happy endings, Sheila Roberts’ The Nine Lives of Christmas is the ticket to great holiday reading pleasure!”
—Literarily Speaking
Merry Ex-Mas
Sheila Roberts
www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)
For my pal Kathy
Acknowledgments
I had so much fun writing this book! Of course, it’s easy to have fun when you work with great people. Huge thanks to my agent, Paige Wheeler, and my editor, Paula Eykelhof. I’m grateful to both of you for your guidance and input. A big thanks to Janet, owner of Blinx on Bainbridge Island, WA, for giving me a glimpse into the busy life of a shop owner, to my friend Susan Sandeno, wedding cake expert, for sharing some of your cake decorating secrets with me, and to Robert Rabe, super chef, for answering my many questions about running a restaurant. A big yeehaw and thank-you to Ed Kerr and all his pals for helping me produce Jake’s song, “Merry Christmas, Mama.” And to all my friends who are mothers-in-law… None of you were the inspiration for the mother-in-law in this book! Finally, thanks as always to the brain trust: Susan Wiggs, Kate Breslin, Anjali Banerjee and Elsa Watson. You all rock and I hope Santa brings each of you a sleigh load of chocolate.
Dear Reader,
I’ve got to say, I love Christmas. Love everything about it—the decorations, the goodies, the presents, the Christmas Eve service, even the crazy busyness. I especially love getting a chance to gather with my family to celebrate. Believe me, my family knows how to celebrate. We are fun, fun, fun!
But I realize that for many of us the holidays can sometimes be more stressful than fun, especially when dealing with difficult family members. And when you start adding former spouses to the mix it can make you want to say more than, “Ho, ho, ho.”
I’m hoping Cass Wilkes, her friends and their exes will give you a laugh and maybe even some hope. I sure enjoyed writing about them, especially Ella and her ex-husband, Jake.
I must confess, Jake stole my heart. He even wound up with his own country music video, “Merry Christmas, Mama,” which I hope you’ll all check out on YouTube. He was kind enough to give me a role in it. Of course, he conveniently neglected to tell me about the rude indignities I’d suffer. Oh, well, that’s show biz. Not content with a music video, he’s got his own webpage, www.songsbyjake.com (http://www.songsbyjake.com), where you can read more of his thoughts, see pictures and hear some of his music.
Meanwhile, I hope you’ll enjoy the ride as Cass, Ella, Charley and their friends get ready for a crazy Christmas filled with everything from jingle bells to wedding bells.
You can find me on Facebook and Twitter, and please stop by my website, www.sheilasplace.com (http://www.sheilasplace.com).
Sheila
Contents
Chapter 1 (#u09d48180-c8a7-5b2d-944a-d139873e9cc2)
Chapter 2 (#u000747b3-027b-5d5e-9543-4696c0867f28)
Chapter 3 (#u8b8bb1dd-1faf-597d-9dd2-31723b2fc1a3)
Chapter 4 (#u8bde84a9-b5ea-55bd-9452-1bd6addba1c1)
Chapter 5 (#u53910d59-f606-5a9e-bdcc-0abd5e42f073)
Chapter 6 (#u0970f685-41c5-5b37-b393-7e6e95533678)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)
Recipes (#litres_trial_promo)
1
Once in a while, if a woman is really lucky, the perfect day she envisioned turns out to be just that. This was going to be one of those days, Cass Wilkes thought as she set the platter of carved turkey on her dining table.
She surveyed her handiwork with a smile. Everything was Martha Stewart–lovely from the china and crystal to the Thanksgiving centerpiece she’d bought at Lupine Floral, and her old Victorian home was filled with the aroma of herbs and spices. The dining room window framed a greeting-card-worthy winter scene—her front lawn with its trees and shrubs draped in frosty white and the snowcapped mountains looming beyond.
The snow had done what all good snow should do; it had stopped in plenty of time for road crews to clear the way for travelers. Unlike Thanksgiving last year, the town of Icicle Falls was humming with visitors looking for a holiday getaway. Great for business, especially when you owned a bakery. This weekend, gingerbread boys and girls would march out the door of Gingerbread Haus in droves and money would march right into Cass’s bank account—a good thing since she suspected she was going to have a wedding to pay for in a year or so.
A whoop of male excitement came from the living room, followed by cheers. The football game on TV was nearing its end and obviously the favored team had scored a touchdown.
“Okay, that’s everything from the kitchen,” said Dot Morrison, Cass’s mentor and former boss, as she placed a serving bowl heaped with stuffing, along with another full of mashed potatoes, on the table. Normally Dot would have been celebrating with her daughter, but Tilda was on patrol, keeping Icicle Falls safe from…who knew? Their town wasn’t exactly a hotbed of crime.
Dot had dressed for the occasion, wearing jeans and a white sweatshirt decorated with a turkey holding a sign that said “Think Outside the Box. Serve Ham.” Dot, who owned the town’s most popular pancake place, Breakfast Haus, had encouraged Cass to think outside the box years ago, even lent her money to start her bakery. Cass owed her Thanksgiving dinners for life.
“Get those clowns in here,” Dot said. “There’s nothing worse than cold food.”
Cass could suggest a few things—taxes, yeast infections, exes.
Oh, no, she wasn’t going to ruin a perfectly good holiday with even a hint of a thought about her ex-husband. That man, that self-centered, undeserving rat who’d tried to lure the kids away this weekend with a trip to Vail, who…
No, no. No thoughts about Mason. It was Thanksgiving, after all, a time to count her blessings.
Three of those blessings were sitting out there in the living room—her kids Danielle, Willie and Amber. Dani’s boyfriend, Mike, was there, too, tucked beside her in an overstuffed easy chair.
Twenty-year-old Dani was Cass’s oldest and her right-hand woman at the bakery. She’d inherited Cass’s passion for creating in the kitchen, and after a year of community college had opted to work full-time at the bakery. Cass had hoped she’d put in at least another year, but she’d had no interest. “I can learn more from you than I can from any college professor,” she’d told Cass. When it came to baking, well, what could Cass say? Dani was right.
Amber, her youngest, sat curled up on one end of the couch, texting. A few months earlier she’d been adding to Cass’s gray-hair collection, hanging out with the kind of kids no mother wants her child to be with or, worse, become. Thank God (and, possibly, Cass’s pal Samantha Sterling) Amber had changed direction and found some new and improved friends.
Willie, Cass’s high school jock, was sprawled on the floor, holding the favored stuffed toy of high school boys everywhere—a football. The only trouble she had with Willie was keeping him full. The boy was a two-legged locust.
Then there was her younger brother, Drew, who’d come over from Seattle. Recently divorced (was this tendency toward divorce something in their genes?), he’d been more than happy to spend the weekend hanging out with her family. He’d never had kids of his own, so she’d shared. He made a great uncle and a better father figure than her ex.
No, no, no. Not giving him so much as a thought today.
Cass stood in the archway like a lady butler and announced, “Dinner, guys.”
Of course, no one was listening. Another touchdown happened in TV Land. “Yeah!” whooped Mike.
“My team sucks,” Willie muttered, giving his football an irritable bounce.
“My dinner’s going to suck if you don’t get out here and eat it now,” Cass warned.
“The game’s pretty much over, anyway,” Mike said, demonstrating good boyfriend etiquette. He stood, pulling Dani up with him. He was a big boy, a former football star and her son’s new hero. Mike was currently employed at the local hardware store, which, as far as Cass was concerned, was ideal. Once he popped the question, he and Dani would get married and live in Icicle Falls, near family and friends, a win-win for everyone.
“You’re right,” Drew agreed. He shut off the TV and led the parade to the dining room table.
Cass only had to look at a cookie to gain five pounds. Her brother, lucky dog, was tall and reedy, and could eat anything. He was a better dresser, too, always had been. And better-looking. But he couldn’t cook, and when he came to town he was her best customer. He was also her best friend, and she was glad he’d come here for the holiday.
The only ones missing as everyone settled around the table were Cass’s mother and stepfather, who’d become snowbirds and were with his family in Florida. But Mom and Fred planned to come out for Christmas, and if Cass had to choose she’d rather have her mother with them for that holiday.
Drew reached for the turkey and Cass rapped his hand with a serving spoon. “Grace first, you heathen.”
Willie snickered, which earned him the privilege of offering thanks. He barely had “Amen” out of his mouth before he was into the dressing, piling it high on his plate.
Normally she’d remind him that other people might actually want some, too, but not today. Thanksgiving was for feasting and she’d made plenty. Besides, she was going to have an extra serving herself.
For a while conversation consisted of comments like “Pass the rolls” and “Where’d the olives end up?” As plates and then stomachs filled, new topics arose: whose fantasy football team was going to win, how well Cass and Dani’s new gingerbread necklaces were selling, Dot’s upcoming bunion surgery.
Then it was time for pie. In spite of how crazy-busy Cass had been with work, she’d managed to bake pumpkin, pecan and her brother’s favorite, wild huckleberry. “This will be enough for me,” he joked, grabbing the whole pie.
With dessert came another tradition, one Cass had started when the kids were small.
“Okay,” she said once everyone had been served, “it’s gratitude time. Who wants to go first?”
Gratitude. Sometimes the challenge to be grateful had been as big as the word. Often she’d been a world-class hypocrite, encouraging her children to look on the bright side while she indulged in resentment.
It seemed like she’d spent most of her married life in that particular mental state. She’d resented Mason’s decision to join the navy when they were engaged. They’d barely set up housekeeping when he shipped out the first time. He’d missed his daughter’s birth; Cass’s childbirth partner had been her mother. Better her mother than his, she’d told herself. That was something to be grateful for. And she’d been grateful when he got out of the navy. Not so much when he went back to school and neglected his family for his studies. Not so much when he carved out a career that seemed to keep him gone more than it allowed him to be home. Mason had been determined to find the path to success but that path had little room for his family. She was the one who’d always been there to soothe every heartbreak, puzzle over every math problem, cheer at every ball game. And what had he done?
Gratitude, remember? Okay, she was grateful she wasn’t with him anymore.
“I’m grateful for something,” Dani said. She reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out a diamond ring and slid it on her finger.
“Oh, my gosh, you’re engaged!” cried Amber.
Cass set down her fork and gaped. Of course she’d known this was coming, but she was a little upset that her daughter hadn’t told her before everyone else. “When did this happen?” she asked.
Dani’s brown eyes sparkled with excitement. She looked at Mike and they shared the smile reserved for a couple in possession of newly minted love. “Last night. We wanted to wait and surprise everyone.”
Well, they had.
“Don’t know how surprised anyone is,” Dot said, “but I think you made your mother’s day.”
Of course she had. Why was Cass sitting there like a turkey in a pan? She jumped up and went to hug her daughter and future son-in-law. “This is wonderful. You two are going to be so happy.”
How could they not be? Unlike her mother at that age, Danielle had been wise and thoughtful when selecting a mate. She hadn’t rushed into a relationship with her hormones on fire and her brain dead from smoke inhalation. She’d held out for the right man. They even looked perfect together, Mike with his dark hair and eyes and that big frame, Dani with her lighter coloring and sandy hair and willowy figure. In their wedding garb they’d look fit for the top of a wedding cake.
“This calls for more pie,” Drew said with a grin, and helped himself to another piece.
“I’m going to be a bridesmaid, right?” Amber asked her sister.
“Of course,” Dani said.
“You’d better dig out your Armani,” Cass said to Drew. “Dani’s going to need you to walk her down the aisle.”
Dani’s face lost some of its bride-to-be glow and she bit her lip.
“Hey, I’m cool sitting in the front row with your mom,” Drew said quickly. “I don’t have to be the one.”
Oh, yes, he did. Who else was going to? Oh, no. Surely not…
“Actually, I was hoping Daddy would walk me down the aisle,” Dani said.
The undeserving absent father? The man who’d been M.I.A. for most of Dani’s life? Cass fell back against her chair and stared across the table at her daughter.
Dani’s cheeks bloomed with a guilty flush and she studiously avoided her mother’s gaze.
“Daddy?” Cass echoed. It came out frosted with scorn. Way to be mature and poison your daughter’s happy moment, she scolded herself.
With her sunny disposition and eagerness to please, Danielle was generally easy to get along with, but now her chin jutted out at a pugnacious angle. “I know he’ll want to.”
Oh, he always wanted to be there, but he never had been.
Until lately. Now that their children were practically grown. He and his thirty-two-year-old trophy wife, Babette, seemed to think they could have the kids come over to Seattle anytime he swooped in from his business trips and buy their affection with shopping expeditions and Seahawks tickets.
Obviously it was working, and that made Cass want to break the wishbone she’d been saving into a thousand pieces. This wasn’t right. How to get Dani to see that, though?
She cleared her throat. “You know he travels a lot.”
“I know,” Dani said, “but we want a Christmas wedding and he’ll be here for Christmas.”
“Christmas Day?” Willie made a face.
Dani frowned at him. “What, are you afraid Santa won’t come?” To the others she said, “We thought the weekend before.”
“That’s not much time to plan a wedding,” Dot pointed out. “What’s the rush?”
Now Mike was beaming like a man with a big announcement.
“Because Mike got a job as assistant manager at a hardware store in Spokane,” Dani announced for him, “and when he moves for his new job I want to go with him.”
Everyone at the table got busy offering Mike congratulations.
Except Cass, who was in shock. They’d be moving away. Her daughter would be leaving practically the minute after she got married. The vision of Dani raising her family here in Icicle Falls, of someday taking over the bakery, went up in smoke. It was all Cass could do not to cry. She pushed away the plate with her half-finished pumpkin pie and hoped nobody asked her what she was thankful for.
“Anyway, we just want a small wedding,” Mike said. “Nothing fancy.”
Nothing fancy? Dani had always wanted a big church wedding. What happened to that?
“And I know Daddy can come that weekend,” Dani added.
“You already talked to your father?” Before you even shared the news with me? Hurt welled up in Cass, giving her the worst case of heartburn she’d ever had.
“Just to see if he’s going to be around,” Dani said. “I thought maybe everyone could come up and stay for the week.”
“Here?” Cass squeaked.
“Whoo boy,” Drew said under his breath.
“There’s no room,” Cass said firmly. No room at the inn.
Dot shrugged. “You could probably put them up at Olivia’s.”
Thank you, Dot. Remind me never to invite you over for Thanksgiving dinner again.
“Dani, you know how crazy it gets this time of year,” Cass said. “I’m sure the B and Bs are booked solid.”
“Olivia still has a couple of rooms,” Dani said.
“You talked to her?” She’d told Olivia, too?
“This morning. I just called to ask if she had any left.”
“Well, then, I guess that settles it,” Cass said stiffly.
“You’ll help me plan it, won’t you?” Dani asked her in a small voice.
Cass was hurt and she was mad, but she wasn’t insane. “Of course I will. And I’ll make the cake.”
“Well, duh.” Amber rolled her eyes.
Dani ignored her sister and smiled happily. “Thanks, Mom.”
Cass sighed. She’d even suck it up and be nice at the wedding. It would be wrong to spoil her daughter’s big day with petty jealousy.
It’s not petty, whispered her evil twin. Cass told her to shut up.
“I know it’s a busy time of year,” Dani said.
“’Tis the season,” Dot cracked.
The season to be jolly. That was going to be hard with her ex-husband strutting around town, pretending to be the world’s best dad. It was going to be hard to greet his bimbo trophy wife with good cheer. And she didn’t even want to think about dealing with her ex-mother- and sister-in-law. If Santa thought this was what Cass wanted for Christmas, he needed to retire.
“This is going to be a pain in the butt for you,” Dot said to her later, after the dishes were done and the kids were playing on the Wii.
Cass leaned against the kitchen counter and stared at the contents of her coffee mug—black, just like her mood.
“But you’ll get through it.”
Of course she would. Exes were a part of life. She’d put on her big-girl panties and cope. After all, it was only a couple of days. Anyway, they’d all be staying at Olivia’s place. She’d hardly have to see them.
Cass managed a reluctant smile and raised her mug. “Well, then, here’s to getting through.”
Dot clinked mugs with her. “Merry Ex-mas, kiddo.”
2
It was Black Friday, a big day for retail in Icicle Falls. For Ella O’Brien that made two black days in a row. How different this Thanksgiving had been from the year before.
Not that her mother hadn’t tried to make it special. Mims had hauled Ella over the mountains to Seattle for an overnight in the city, and on turkey day they’d eaten their holiday dinner at a high-priced restaurant. Surrounded by strangers. Well, except for Gregory, Mother’s longtime friend and fellow fashionista, who had a condo on the waterfront.
Ella hadn’t invited the thought that came to her as they were eating, but it had come, anyway, making an unwelcome fourth at the table. This is pathetically different from last Thanksgiving with your in-laws. Correction: former in-laws.
That had been a typical O’Brien celebration, rowdy and exciting, especially for a woman who’d always wanted brothers and sisters. Mims, who had been included, kept a superior distance while grown-ups and children alike had worked up an appetite by running around in the woods playing capture the flag. After dinner her mother-in-law (ex-mother-in-law, darn it) had helped her figure out a tricky knitting pattern.
And later, when it was time for dessert, Mims the fishaterian learned that the slice of mincemeat pie she was enjoying was a hunter’s version with moose meat added to the sweet filling and had to make a dash for the bathroom.
There’d been no bathroom dash this year. And no Jake. That was fine with Ella. Really. Mims was right; she was better off without that skirt-chasing, irresponsible, overgrown child. And her life would be perfect once she didn’t have to see him every day.
But she missed his mother and his sister and brothers. It had been fun to have someone to call Mom.
She’d never called her own mother Mom. Instead, she’d wound up mimicking Mims’s fashion-model friends and calling her Mims. Ella had never gotten the full story on that nickname, beyond that fact that it had something to do with her mother’s fondness for mimosas. Oh, and a tycoon and a yacht. Her mother had never wanted to be Mom, anyway. That was simply too unglam. And Lily Swan brought glamour to everything, including motherhood. So that was how it was growing up and that was normal, and that was what Ella told her friends whenever they asked why she didn’t call her mother Mom.
And when they asked why she didn’t have a daddy, she recited the Swan party line—a girl didn’t really need a daddy. She’d sure wanted one, though, and had watched with longing when she saw other little girls riding on their daddies’ shoulders or getting taken out for ice cream.
When she’d married Jake and gotten a father-in-law it was the world’s best bonus.
Jake’s dad always greeted her with a hug and a “How’s my girl?” He checked the air in her tires and whittled little wood raccoons for her to put on her mantelpiece in the living room. Mims had pronounced them tacky but Ella loved them because every time she looked at them she could see her father-in-law’s big, smiling face.
“We’re so sorry to lose you,” Mom O’Brien had written in a sweet card after Ella and Jake broke the news. She’d been sorry to be lost. Too bad a girl couldn’t shed the husband but keep the family, she thought as she turned the sign hanging on the door of Gilded Lily’s to Closed.
She was tired—working with people all day could be exhausting—but it was a good kind of tired, she decided as she started to add up the day’s receipts. From now until New Year’s Eve the shop would be busy. Gilded Lily’s was the closest thing Icicle Falls had to a Neiman Marcus or a Nordstrom. It was owned by her mother but Ella managed it. She loved pretty clothes and she loved helping her customers find a special dress for that special occasion, whether it was a party or a prom, as well as all the accessories to enhance it. There’d been a lot of enhancing taking place this Black Friday.
Now the business day was over and it was time to go home. Home is where the heart is. There’s no place like home.
Bah, humbug.
She stepped out into the brisk mountain air and locked the door behind her. Winter darkness had settled in for the night and downtown Icicle Falls was a-twinkle. Christmas lights decked out the trees in the park and the potted fir trees nestled against the shops, and red ribbons adorned the old-fashioned lampposts that ran along Center Street.
Every weekend there would be a tree-lighting ceremony, and the skyscraper-size fir in town square would come to life with hundreds of colored lights, making the winter village scene complete. With its mountain setting and Bavarian architecture, Icicle Falls was like an animated postcard, quaint and charming—a perfect setting for a perfect life. Except Ella’s life wasn’t so perfect these days; it was like a dress that no longer fit.
It didn’t take her long to walk the half mile from the shop to her two-bedroom Craftsman-style cottage on Mountain View Road. Her dream home. In the summer she’d put two wicker rockers with plump cushions on the porch, and she and Jake had sat out there on warm weekday nights. She’d work on her knitting with their Saint Bernard, Tiny, lazing at her feet, while Jake serenaded her on his guitar. Last Christmas she’d taken great satisfaction in stringing colored lights and cedar boughs along the porch, while Jake had strung lights along the roofline—a team effort.
Ella sighed at the memory. She’d thought she’d have that house for life, had envisioned raising a family there or, once Jake became a famous country star, keeping it as a vacation home.
Her mother hadn’t shared the vision. “You shouldn’t buy a house so quickly,” Mims had cautioned when they first looked at it. “You’re both young and you don’t even know if this marriage will last.”
“Of course it’ll last,” Ella had insisted. “Why wouldn’t it?”
Her mother said nothing, just pursed her lips like a woman with an ugly secret. How had Mims known things wouldn’t work out with Jake? What early warning signs had she seen that Ella hadn’t?
Whatever she’d seen, she’d kept it to herself, and to show her support (once the decision was made and the papers were signed), she’d given them a gift certificate to Hearth and Home to buy a new couch, saying, “Really, Ella, you can’t decorate in Early American Garage Sale. What will people think?”
“Maybe they’ll think we’re happy,” Ella had suggested.
Mims had ignored that remark. “Go look at the couches at Hearth and Home, baby. You’ll find one you love, I promise.”
Ella did find a couch she loved, and Mims heartily approved of the brown leather sofa with the carved mahogany accents that Ella picked out. “You have wonderful taste,” she’d said, and then added, “In most things.” Translation: your taste in men is questionable.
“Really, darling, you can do so much better,” Mims advised when Ella and Jake started getting serious. “Sleep with him if you must, but for God’s sake don’t saddle yourself with him for life.”
What kind of mother told her daughter stuff like that? Lily Swan, that was who. Mims hadn’t felt the need for a husband, so Ella supposed she thought her daughter would see the wisdom of her choice and follow suit. “Men are fun, but not necessary,” she’d once overheard her mother say.
How much fun had Mims had with Ella’s father? And what had happened to keep them from becoming a family? That, like her mother’s age, was classified information and Ella had finally given up asking.
She opened her front door in time to see her own Mr. Not Necessary, her ex-husband, coming down the hallway wearing nothing but his boxers and carrying a basket of laundry, Tiny trotting at his heels. She hated it when Jake did that—not the laundry, parading around in his boxers.
Jake O’Brien had a poster-worthy body and looking at it was, well, distracting. He’d had all day to do the laundry. Why was he waiting until now?
She frowned at him.
He frowned back. “What?”
Tiny rushed up to her, his huge tail wagging with joy, and she bent to give him a good rub behind his ears. “You couldn’t have done the laundry earlier?” That sounded snippy, and she wasn’t a snippy sort of person. At least she hadn’t been before their divorce.
“I was busy,” he said.
Probably with some woman. Not that she cared. It was no longer any of her concern what he did or who he did it with.
“Anyway, what does it matter to you when I do my laundry? We’re not married anymore.”
“That’s my point,” she said, straightening up. “We’re not married and I don’t think you should be running around the house in your underwear.” Now she sounded both snippy and bossy. She was never bossy. Never!
He stopped next to her. That close proximity still did things to her.
Used to do things to her. Used to! She told the goose bumps on her arms to settle down.
He grinned at her, a wicked, taunting grin. “Does it…bother you?”
She could feel a guilty-as-charged heat on her cheeks. “It’s not proper.” Snippy, bossy and prissy—who was this new and unimproved Ella? “You don’t see me running around the house in my underwear.”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
She upgraded her frown to a scowl. “We may be sharing this house but it’s strictly business.”
“I am strictly business, and if my boxers bother you, move.”
Like she could afford to move? She didn’t have any more money in the bank than he did.
“Go stay with your mama.”
He might as well have added, “Mama’s girl.”
She wasn’t a mama’s girl and she had as much right to be here until the house sold as he did. She was an adult. She didn’t have to run home to her mother.
Anyway, Mims had downsized to a condo in the spiffy new Mountain Ridge condominiums outside town and they didn’t allow dogs Tiny’s size. If Jake thought she was leaving Tiny to him, he could think again. Tiny needed a mommy and a daddy. Even when they went their separate ways, they’d have joint custody of him. And besides, Ella needed to stay to make sure the house was kept in good condition to show. If she wasn’t there, potential buyers would see nothing but dirty toilets, dishes in the sink and beer cans on the coffee table, and they’d never be able to sell the place.
Sell the place—the thought of doing that still hurt. But it was only one in a string of many hurts she’d endured in the past year. For one wild, crazy moment, she wanted to put a hand to Jake’s face and ask, “What happened to us? Why are we doing this?” But she knew what had happened, and there was no going back now. The jet hadn’t just taxied down the runway or left the airport. It had left the city. The state. The country. They needed to move on, both of them.
She sighed. “Look, we’re stuck here until the place sells. Can’t we try and get along?”
He regarded her with those beautiful, dark Irish eyes. Roving eyes! “I’m not the one who started all this, El,” he said softly.
“Oh?” Who had “started” it by coming home with another woman’s phone number in his pants pocket?
There was no point in bringing that up. He’d just stick with his stupid story about the keyboard player dying to be in his band. Yeah? That wasn’t all the woman was dying for. The voice message Ella had gotten when she called the woman’s number said it all. I’m not home right now so leave a message. If this is Jake, I can meet you anytime, anyplace.
For what? A private audition? It had all been downhill from there.
He’d already let his perfect-husband mask slip before that, though, flirting with every little groupie who sashayed up to the bandstand when his band Ricochet was playing. She’d even caught him taking some girl’s black thong one night when the band was on break and he was supposed to be getting a Coke. He’d seen Ella coming and handed it back like it was a hot potato. A lacy hot potato.
“That came out of left field. I was so surprised I didn’t know what to do,” he’d said.
Just like he hadn’t known what to do with a certain keyboard player’s phone number? How dumb had he thought she was? And once she had proof…oh, he’d climbed on his high horse and acted all insulted that her mother’d had the nerve to hire a private detective to follow him. Who could blame her after hearing about the way he was sneaking around behind her daughter’s back, collecting other women’s panties?
But there was no denying what was plain in those pictures—her husband on another woman’s doorstep, hugging that woman. After being in her house for an hour. An hour! He’d claimed that he’d simply stopped by to drop off some music lead sheets. The kind of sheets they’d been using had nothing to do with music. How many quickies could an unfaithful husband squeeze into an hour? She didn’t want to do the math. Boy, whoever said one picture was worth a thousand words must have had a cheating husband.
Well, he’d gotten his keyboard player and Ella had gotten her divorce. They both got what they wanted. “You’re better off without him,” Mims had said. “He’s never going to amount to anything and you’d have been poor all your life. Starving musicians are a losing proposition.”
“I didn’t marry Jake to get rich,” Ella had protested.
“Congratulations, you succeeded,” Mims had retorted. Men might not have been necessary, but as far as her mother was concerned, once a girl had one, he darn well needed to earn his keep.
Her mother was right. Jake was immature and irresponsible and, worst of all, a cheater. She was well rid of him. Even if he did look hot in his boxers.
He frowned at her again. “Never mind. There’s no point talking anymore. I could talk till I’m blue in the face and you wouldn’t hear a thing I said.” With that parting remark, he marched up the stairs.
Ella turned her back on him. She was not—not!—going to look at his butt.
In fact, she wasn’t even going to stay in this house. By eight he’d be gone, on his way to the Red Barn, a honky-tonk a few miles outside of town. There he’d spend the night crooning country songs for people who were more interested in brawling and hooking up than listening to his band.
Ella had always loved listening to the band.
Oh, enough already, she scolded herself.
A moment later Jake was downstairs again and on his way down the hall to the kitchen. He’d covered the boxers with jeans but he was still bare-chested and that brought the goose bumps back for another visit. “The kitchen’s mine for twenty more minutes,” he called over his shoulder.
“Stay there as long as you want.” Messing everything up. “I’m leaving,” she called.
“Got a hot date?”
None of his business. She declined to answer. Instead, she grabbed her purse and started for the door. Tiny followed her hopefully.
She knelt in front of him and rubbed his side. “I promise I’ll be back as soon as he’s gone,” she whispered. “Then I’ll give you a good brushing.”
Tiny let out a groan and drool dripped from his chin. (Tiny did his share of mess-making, but unlike the other male in this house, he couldn’t help it.)
She kissed the top of his head, then slipped out the door, guilt riding on her shoulder. Poor Tiny. He felt the unhappy vibes in the house. In his doggy heart did he wonder what he’d done to deserve getting adopted into a broken home? If she’d known this was going to happen she’d never have visited that rescue site.
There was nothing she could do about that now. She’d make it up to him, somehow. How, exactly, she didn’t know. She hoped she could find someplace to rent that allowed big dogs that drooled and had a tendency to shed. Oh, dear.
Her Black Friday was getting blacker by the minute. She left the house, punching in Cecily Sterling’s phone number on her cell as she walked.
Ella and Cecily had been friends since high school. In fact, it was Cecily who had gotten Ella and Jake together. They’d lost touch when Cecily moved to L.A. but had reconnected when she returned to Icicle Falls earlier in the year. Cecily had been shocked to hear about the divorce but she’d been sympathetic and supportive. She had men interested in her, two to be exact, but she was done with men (or so she claimed), which made her the ideal dinner companion.
“Have you eaten yet?” Ella asked.
“Nope,” Cecily answered. “I just got in the door.”
“I don’t suppose you’d like to go back out the door, would you?”
“Maybe. What did you have in mind?”
“I need a place to hang out for a couple of hours. Dinner at Zelda’s?” Even though it was Friday night and the town was packed with tourists gearing up for Saturday shopping, Charlene Albach could always find a table for her friends.
“Jake’s still home?” Cecily guessed.
“Yeah,” Ella admitted. This was silly. She couldn’t keep running over to Charley’s restaurant every time Jake was home.
“I could go for a huckleberry martini,” Cecily said.
Oh, yes, a huckleberry martini sounded good. Or two. Whatever it took to wash away the image of Jake in his boxers.
* * *
Jake slammed a pot on the stove and pulled a can of chili from his side of the cupboard. Canned chili. He might as well have been a bachelor again.
Oh, yeah. He was.
He frowned at the can as he secured it to the electric can opener. This sucked. His life sucked. From perfect to puke in less than a year.
Was there a song in there somewhere? Probably not. He emptied the chili into the pot, along with a can of stewed tomatoes and a can of corn, his own secret recipe.
Tiny was in the kitchen now and looking expectantly up at him. “Yeah, I know. You like chili, too,” he said to the dog. He opened another can and added that to the pot. “You know this will make you fart.”
Tiny wagged his tail.
“Yeah, you’re right. Who cares? We’re guys, it’s what we do.” And they also walked around the house in their boxers.
Except not anymore, now that he and Ella weren’t together. Walking around in his boxers was no longer allowed. So maybe he should talk to her about leaving her bras hanging out in plain sight when she did the laundry. Did she have any idea how crazy that made him? All it took was one glance at those lacy little cups and he could picture Ella with him in that sleigh bed they’d found at an estate sale, going at it like rabbits.
He heaved a sigh. How had he gone from happily married to miserably divorced so fast?
He and Ella were meant to be together. They should’ve gone to counseling, worked things out.
Aw, heck, they wouldn’t even have needed counseling if he’d explained when she first started singing her version of “Your Cheatin’ Heart,” accusing him of being unfaithful. He’d tried to, but she’d cut him off. Then she’d thrown those pictures down in front of him and he’d been so shocked that his mother-in-law would do something that outrageous, and so offended and just plain pissed…he’d lost it. Wounded pride and anger had escorted him to the edge of the matrimonial cliff and then pushed him off.
It had been a fast fall and he learned firsthand that once the D word’s been said, there’s nothing else left to say.
So here he was, broken and miserable. The woman who’d once thought he hung the moon now wanted nothing more to do with him.
And his chili was burning. He swore and pulled it off the burner. “You’re getting the crusty part,” he informed Tiny. “You don’t care.”
You don’t care. Ella had thrown those words at him, insisting he sign the divorce papers.
“I’m not the one who filed for this,” he’d shot back.
“Just sign it, Jake. Please.”
When he’d seen those tears in her eyes, he should have pulled her to him and kissed her breathless. Then he should’ve torn up the papers, borrowed some money from Pops and moved them to Nashville. There was someplace he was sure her mother would never have followed. And that was probably what they needed. It could’ve been the two of them rather than the three of them.
He put his culinary creation in a bowl, gave Tiny the rest and then went back to his room. His room. That sucked, too. This was the guest room. Someday it was supposed to have been the nursery. Now it was his room.
He sat on the single bed that was six inches too short for him (a garage sale find), and sighed. Here he was, a squatter in his own home. Maybe Lily Swan was right. Maybe he was a loser. Maybe he had no talent. If he’d just admitted it, quit the band and taken a job in the warehouse at Sweet Dreams Chocolates, maybe he and Ella would still be together. There’d have been no groupies, no Jen, no reason to be jealous. Instead, he’d had to dream of a songwriting career and stardom. He’d tried to support his habit (and them) by working in the music shop on Fourth, but then the music shop had gone out of business. He still had a few guitar students but he wasn’t exactly getting rich. In short, these days he was a loser, unable to hang on to his woman and barely able to hang on to his dreams.
He looked at the dresser and the diamond in Ella’s engagement ring winked at him mockingly. He’d made payments on that for a whole year. Then he’d bummed the rest of the money he needed from Pops, paid it off and asked her to marry him that same night. She’d given him back both the engagement and wedding rings the day she’d shoved the divorce papers in front of him. “I can’t keep them,” she’d said. Just like she couldn’t keep him.
“No. I gave them to you. Keep them,” he’d insisted.
Ella loved jewelry and she’d especially loved that engagement ring, but she’d shaken her head and backed away.
Jake couldn’t bring himself to get rid of either ring. They still meant something to him, even if they didn’t to Ella.
Damn, he was a walking country song.
With a growl, he set aside his chili and finished getting dressed. No sense hanging around here any longer. He’d go to the Red Barn. Maybe he’d find some cute chick there who appreciated him and his music.
Even if he did, he’d look at her and see Ella.
And that sucked the most of all.
3
Charlene Albach, Charley to her friends, surveyed her domain with satisfaction. Six o’clock and all is well.
Zelda’s restaurant was filled with diners, many of them out-of-towners who’d come up to enjoy a Thanksgiving weekend getaway. Charley had been happy to oblige. She’d hated to miss going to her sister’s in Portland to be with family, but the restaurant was entirely hers now and she simply couldn’t leave. So she’d focused instead on giving other families a spectacular holiday, serving turkey dinner with all the trimmings, including stuffing made from her great-grandmother’s recipe. Well, with a few new twists. That was part of the fun of owning a restaurant. You got to create new recipes, dream up taste sensations that would keep customers coming back for more.
They were sure coming tonight. People had obviously worked up their appetites sledding and spending money in the shops. Tomorrow there’d be more sledding and shopping and more diners crowding into Zelda’s. And that meant more money in the cash register, which was bound to make for a very merry Christmas. This year Charley planned to be extravagant when shopping for her friends. They’d been there for her at every painful bump on the road to unexpectedly single, and she intended to show her thanks in a way that would make Santa proud.
She had just seated a fortysomething couple with a texting teen in tow when Ella O’Brien and Cecily Sterling came in. “And I thought my shop was crazy,” Ella observed, looking around.
The scene was a feast for the eyes. People of all ages and sizes, dressed in winter garb, consumed house specials such as salmon baked in golden puff pastry, squash seasoned with curry, baked winter vegetables and wild huckleberry cheesecake. There was plenty to occupy the other senses, too. The tantalizing scent of sage drifted out from the kitchen, encouraging diners to try the special turkey lasagna Charley’s head chef, Harvey, had created, and the clink of silver and hum of voices reminded her that life was good.
No, better than good. Great. Who needed a man, anyway? Getting free of her louse of a husband had freed up her creativity. The restaurant was better off without him. And so was Charley. Anyway, sex was overrated.
And if she kept telling herself that, she might begin to believe it.
“Can you find us a spot?” Cecily asked.
“I can always find room for a former employee. Are you sure you don’t want to come back to work for me?” Charley added as she led them to her last remaining two-top. “Like now?”
“Samantha’s keeping me busy enough at Sweet Dreams,” Cecily said with a smile. “I think my restaurant days are over.”
Just like her matchmaking days, or so Cecily claimed. Sometimes Charley entertained the idea of seeing if Cecily would put on her matchmaker hat one last time and find her a perfect man. But then she remembered there was no such thing, which was probably why Cecily was out of the matchmaking business and helping run her family’s chocolate company instead.
And there’s a reason you’re single, Charley told herself. Men were a liability, and they had no staying power. Richard, her ex, had proved that.
Never mind him. You’re having a really successful Black Friday. No need to turn it blue.
“So, business was good today?” she asked Ella as she handed her friends their menus.
“We moved a lot of inventory,” Ella said, sounding pleased.
Hardly surprising. Ella had a gift for creating irresistible displays in her shop. Charley had certainly succumbed to temptation often enough. How could a girl not when a hot top paired with a sweater that begged to be touched called her over, whispering, “Just try us on. Oh, and don’t you love this amazing scarf that’s hanging out with us?”
Ella herself was a walking ad. Tonight she was dolled up in jeans tucked into brown suede winter boots trimmed with a faux fur, along with a cream-colored cashmere sweater. She’d finished the look with a jaunty red jacket and a beret. It took style to pull off a beret. Ella had style in spades. Hardly surprising, considering who her mother was.
“That’ll make your mom happy,” Cecily predicted.
Did anything make Lily Swan happy? Charley could count on one finger the number of times she’d seen the woman smile. Well, really smile. How had such a snobby sour lemon produced such a nice daughter?
It was one of life’s mysteries, right up there with the mystery of how Charley could have been so dumb as to miss the fact that her husband was conducting an affair right under her nose…with the woman who worked as their hostess, for crying out loud. Somehow, Ariel hadn’t gotten the memo that her hostess duties applied only to paying customers. They did not extend to making your boss’s husband at home in your bed.
That was past history. Charley returned to the present. “So, you here celebrating?” she asked Ella.
“More like avoiding,” Cecily suggested, making Ella frown. “Jake’s still home,” she added for Charley’s benefit.
“I can see this house-sharing thing is working out great,” Charley cracked.
Ella shrugged. “It won’t be for long. Anyway, he can’t afford a place on his own and I can’t afford my half of the house payment plus rent somewhere else.”
“Your mom would probably help you.”
“I know, but I wouldn’t feel right asking her.”
“I’d have kicked his butt to the curb,” Charley said in no uncertain terms. “Let him stay with one of his band buddies.”
“Their wives and girlfriends would have been all over that,” Cecily pointed out with a grin.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Charley said. “Neither can cheaters.” Oooh, how she hated men who cheated on their wives!
“I know he looked as innocent as a man going to the bank in a ski mask, but I still have a hard time picturing Jake cheating on you,” Cecily said to Ella. “It doesn’t seem like him.”
Good old Cecily, always trying to see the best in people, even when there was no best to see. Although Charley had to admit, Jake had seemed like a nice guy. He and Ella had been Cecily’s first successful match, back when she and Ella were in high school. Going their separate ways for college hadn’t quenched Ella and Jake’s passion, and after graduation had come the big church wedding. Her mother hadn’t approved of Jake, but she gave Ella a wedding fit for a princess. They’d not only been a lovely bride and groom, they’d also seemed like the ideal couple, united for life.
Well, she and Richard had seemed like the ideal couple, too. Things weren’t always what they appeared.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ella said stiffly.
“Good idea,” Charley approved. “Keep this table a heartbreak-free zone.” She caught sight of another couple coming in the door and excused herself to greet them.
They were somewhere in their thirties. The man was going bald and his woman was no beauty, but the way they looked at each other proved that love was blind. She hung on to his arm like she’d never let him go.
Charley could remember when she’d held on to Richard like that. Somewhere along the way she’d released her hold....
She yanked herself back into the present and smiled at the newcomers. “Hi, how are you doing?” As if she had to ask. They were still happily in love.
“Great,” said the man.
“Do you have a reservation?” Charley asked.
He shook his head. “Someone told us this is a good place to eat. How long is the wait?”
“About twenty minutes, but we’re worth it.” Charley smiled. “If you like, you can wait in the bar and we’ll call you when there’s a table. Try the chocolate kiss,” she told the woman.
“That sounds good,” the woman said, and squeezed her man’s arm.
“We’ll wait,” he said, and gave Charley his name.
Watching them go, she wondered if they’d be happy together for the rest of their lives. Yes, she decided, they would be. And on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary they’d come back to Zelda’s to celebrate. On that pleasant thought she went to help a frazzled-looking Maria clear the corner table.
* * *
As Ella and Cecily enjoyed huckleberry martinis while waiting for their food to arrive Cecily took another stab at convincing her friend that she might have made a mistake.
It wasn’t the first time she’d tried, but Ella had been determined to divorce Jake even though Cecily was sure she was still in love with him. Yes, he wasn’t perfect, but he was perfect for Ella—a good guy with a nice family. Easygoing, fun-loving, just what Ella needed to balance the life of perfection her mother expected from her.
“I know it seems too late now that the divorce is final,” Cecily said, “but I can’t help thinking you should reconsider this. It doesn’t feel right.”
Ella stared into her martini glass. She looked like she was going to drop a few tears into it. “I know you’re famous for those hunches of yours, but this time you’re wrong, Cec. We just aren’t a match. He’s irresponsible. And untrustworthy.”
“But all you really had were suspicions.”
“I had more, believe me,” Ella said, and took a giant sip of her martini.
Jake was such a stand-up guy, Cecily found that hard to believe. What the heck had happened to these two? They’d been madly in love when she moved to L.A., yet by the time she’d moved back home they were done.
“Well, he’s not really irresponsible,” she defended Jake. “I mean, I know he doesn’t have a normal nine-to-five job, but he has a dream.”
“You can’t live on dreams.”
That sounded more like Lily Swan than Ella O’Brien. Ella’s mother had never liked Jake, probably thought he was too much of a redneck for her elegant daughter. Ella had beautiful taste in clothes and decorating, but when it came right down to it, she was a simple, small-town girl, not a New York jet-setter. That was Lily Swan, though. She’d settled in a small town to raise her daughter but she’d always fancied herself a sophisticated woman. Having a son-in-law who was a country musician and who eked out a living teaching guitar and playing in a band didn’t line up with her idea of a successful life.
Had Lily herself been all that successful? Surely if she’d been a top model she’d have wound up living in London or New York or L.A.—some place other than Icicle Falls. If you asked Cecily, Lily Swan had started believing her own press.
Not that anyone was asking Cecily, and not that she would’ve said what she thought even if she was asked. And she wouldn’t be saying anything now, except that Ella was miserable and she hated seeing her friend miserable.
“I don’t know,” she said. “It seems to me if you don’t have dreams you’re not really living.” She’d dreamed of coming home and carving out a new life for herself, and so far that was working out pretty well.
Her new life didn’t include love, though. She’d had enough misery in that department. She had to remind herself of this on a regular basis, every time she saw Luke Goodman, Sweet Dreams’ production manager. She also had to remind herself that sexual attraction did not equal love every time she ran into Todd Black, who owned the Man Cave, the seedy bar at the edge of town.
Ella finished off her drink. “It just wasn’t meant to be. Mims was right.”
Mother knows best? Lily Swan had done a fabulous job of brainwashing her daughter. Of course, she’d brainwashed herself, as well, convincing both of them that Ella could do better than Jake. Maybe she could if she was looking for wealth and status. But that wasn’t Ella. Hopefully, she’d realize it before it was too late and some other girl came along, picked up Jake’s broken heart and put it in her pocket.
* * *
The evening went by in a busy blur for Charley. By nine-thirty her feet hurt. That was nothing new. Her feet always hurt by nine-thirty. A few diners remained, savoring coffee and dessert or an after-dinner drink, but most of the crowd had moved on or relocated to the bar at the back of the restaurant. The dining area was now a burble of soft voices and an occasional clink of silverware on plates.
Sore feet aside, this was Charley’s favorite time of the night. The dinner rush over, she could bask in the satisfaction of having delivered a memorable dining experience to people celebrating and connecting over food.
Food. It was the centerpiece of life. From dinners of state to family gatherings, sharing food was an essential part of human connection. And it was the spice of love. How could you not fall in love when you were gazing across the table at someone? And when your sense of taste came alive over a Chocolate Decadence dessert or a crab soufflé the other senses joined the party. There was a reason lovers went out to dinner.
Some might say she simply owned a restaurant. Charley knew better. She owned a slice of people’s lives.
Tonight she’d had a great slice. She smiled, remembering how the texting teen had actually stopped on the way out to tell her she loved the wild blackberry pie. Her smile grew with the memory of the couple in love strolling out the door hand in hand. Oh, yes, a very successful night, she concluded as she loaded dirty dishes onto a tray.
She had just lifted it up to haul off to the kitchen when a cold gust of wind blew in the door. She looked up to see who the latecomer was and received a shock that made her heart jump and the tray slip from her hands, sending dishes and glasses to shatter on the floor. Oh, no. It couldn’t be.
But it was. The Ghost of Christmas Past. Her ex.
4
Charley stood gaping at her former husband. Random thoughts circled her brain like so many spinning plates. What’s he doing here? Am I hallucinating? Let’s test that theory by throwing a broken plate at him.
Maria hurried over to help her clean up, saw Richard and managed a shocked “Oh.”
Okay, now Charley knew she wasn’t hallucinating.
He stepped into the dining area. “Hello, Charley. You look good.”
So did he. Richard wasn’t a tall man, coming in at around five foot eight, but what there was of him was yummy. Yes, he’d added some gray strands to his dark hair—she hoped the new girlfriend had given him every one—but other than that he was sailing pleasantly into his forties with only a hint of lines around those gray eyes. He still had that full mouth and the misleadingly strong jaw. Anyone would mistake him for a movie hero. Movies, yes. Hero? Definitely not.
He stood there in his jeans and winter jacket, looking at her—how? Hopefully? No, that couldn’t be it. She had nothing he wanted. He’d made that abundantly clear when he chose another woman.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice flat.
“I wanted to see you.”
“Well, I don’t want to see you. Ever again.” Charley bent next to Maria and began to pick up some of the bigger pieces of dishware.
Richard joined them, loading a chunk of broken glass onto the tray.
“I don’t need your help,” Charley growled. “Anyway, you might cut yourself and sue me.” She was already giving him enough money. Talk about adding insult to injury. As part of the divorce settlement she’d had to buy out his share of the restaurant. Her restaurant!
Oh, yes, he’d worked it with her, but it had been hers—her vision, her creation. She’d sunk her entire inheritance from her grandmother into the place when it was a dying dump, and with imagination and hard work she’d built it into a popular community gathering spot. Richard had only come along for the ride.
And then taken her for a ride.
He laid a hand on hers. “I really need to talk to you.”
Maria gave a disgusted snort before hauling the tray full of breakage off to the kitchen.
Charley’s sentiments exactly. She sat back on her heels and regarded her ex. “You can’t want more money. God knows you’ve taken enough from me.”
He looked at her as if she’d stabbed him with a steak knife. “Charley…listen, we can’t talk here.”
“I don’t want to talk at all.”
“I know I don’t deserve so much as the time of day from you, but please, can we go back to the house?”
“My house,” she reminded him. She was buying out his share of that, too.
“Please?”
Maybe she was curious, or maybe the desperation in his voice gave her an appetite for more of the same. She could feel herself weakening.
Still she hedged. “I’m not done here.”
“I’m staying at Gerhardt’s. Call me on my cell when you’re finished.”
The same cell phone he’d used to text messages to Ariel, setting up stolen quickies in the bar before the employees arrived. Before Charley arrived.
“Charley, please. I know I don’t deserve it but please.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said. “And that’s the most I can promise.”
He managed an awkward nod. “I’ll be waiting,” he said, and then walked out the door.
Charley stood slowly. She was only thirty-nine but she suddenly felt ninety and weary right down to her soul.
Maria was back with a whisk broom and dustpan, frowning. “What did that bastardo want?”
“I’m not sure.” And she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out. “But he wants to see me later.”
“Don’t do it,” Maria cautioned. “He already hurt you once.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t let him do it again,” Charley assured her.
But when she finally got home she found herself calling him. He probably wouldn’t leave until she gave in, so the sooner she saw him, the sooner he’d go.
He was at her door ten minutes later.
“Make this fast,” she said as he stepped in. “I’m tired and I want to go to bed.” Alone, like I’ve been doing ever since you left.
He motioned to the living room. “Can we sit down?”
The last thing she wanted was Richard back in her living room. Bad enough that almost everything in it held a memory of their life together, from the brown microfiber sofa where they’d cuddled watching football or the Food Network to the Tiffany-style lamp he’d bought for her birthday three years ago. She should have gotten rid of that lamp. Heck, she should’ve gotten rid of everything. “I don’t understand why you’re here,” she said bitterly, leading the way to the couch. She sat down, crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at him.
He sat close to her—too close—and looked at her earnestly. “I’m here to ask you to take me back.”
This was the biggest shock she’d had since, well, since she’d discovered him cheating on her. “What?”
“I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I don’t either, but I know what you were thinking with,” she retorted.
His face flushed, but he held her gaze. “If I had it to do over…”
“You wouldn’t have done her?” Charley finished for him. “What’s the matter, Richard, did she dump you for a younger man?”
The flush deepened. Bingo! “I was a fool.”
“Yes, you were,” Charley agreed, “and for all I know you still are. Why should I take you back?”
“Because I love you.”
That produced a bitter laugh. “Oh, please. Don’t make me sick.”
“I do,” he insisted. “I always have. Ariel was a mistake.”
“A mistake you were happy enough to make,” Charley said. “You had a chance to give her up and you didn’t.”
“I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“Well, I am.” She stood, signaling that this ridiculous conversation was over.
He stood, too. He was barely taller than she was. Why had she picked such a small man?
“All I’m asking is that you give me a chance to prove I’ve changed. Twelve years together, Charley—that has to count for something.”
“It should have counted for something when you were looking around for a side dish.”
He sighed. “You’re right.”
“You know where the door is.”
His eyes filled with regret. “What would it take to convince you I’ve changed?”
She studied him. “You know…”
He regarded her hopefully.
“I can’t think of a thing.” She walked to the door and opened it. “Good night, Richard.”
He took the hint and walked out the door, but as he passed her he said, “I’m not giving up. You’re worth fighting for.”
He hadn’t thought that a year ago. She slammed the door after him and locked it.
* * *
The Gingerbread Haus opened at ten but Cass was always in by six, baking cookies and, at this time of year, assembling gingerbread houses, many of which would be shipped all over the country.
She got plenty of appreciation in her hometown, too, and Olivia Wallace arrived at eleven to pick up the creation Cass had made for the lobby of the Icicle Creek Lodge. A perfect replica of Olivia’s B and B styled after a Bavarian hunting lodge, it even sported a blue-frosting creek running past it.
“It’s lovely as usual,” Olivia said. “I don’t know how I’ll be able to resist nibbling at it.”
Olivia’s well-rounded figure testified to her lack of willpower. But Olivia was a widow and, as far as Cass was concerned that gave her unlimited nibbling rights. Anyway, Cass was in no position to say anything. She was a nibbler, too.
“Here’s a little something extra for when you get the urge,” she said, and handed Olivia a box containing a baker’s dozen frosted gingerbread cookies cut in the shape of Christmas trees.
“Oh, thank you,” Olivia said. “How much do I owe you for these?”
“Nothing. They’re on the house. The gingerbread house,” Cass added with a wink.
Dani came in from sending off the day’s shipment of gingerbread creations. “Here’s our bride-to-be,” Olivia greeted her.
Dani’s cheeks flushed with pleasure and she smiled at Olivia.
She’s going to be a beautiful bride, Cass thought. If only they had more time to plan this wedding.
“I just gave your grandmother and aunt our last room,” Olivia said to Dani. “It’s a good thing you called when you did, or that one would’ve been gone,” she added. “I’ve had three calls since.”
“One of them was probably my stepmother,” Dani said, and now the pink in her cheeks wasn’t from pleasure.
Babette. Cass could feel her mouth slipping down at the corners. Bimbette was more like it. Cass hadn’t met her, but she’d seen pictures. The woman was nothing more than arm candy. Cass had it on good authority (her son’s) that she couldn’t cook.
Not that Mason had married Babette for her culinary skills. She’d been a professional cheerleader for the Seattle Seahawks, a Sea Gal, and she had the body to prove it. Of course, once she snagged Mason at the ripe old age of thirty, she gave that up. Now she was all of what, thirty-one? And stepmother to a twenty-year-old. What a joke.
Olivia looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I wish I’d known earlier. I’d have reserved a block of rooms for you.”
“If any of us had known earlier we would’ve been more organized,” Cass said. She’d meant that as an explanation, not an accusation of her daughter. Judging from the deep rose shade blooming on Dani’s cheeks, she’d taken the remark to heart. “But Mike got a job in Spokane and he starts in January and they want to be together.”
“Of course you do,” Olivia said to Dani. “I sure hope the rest of your guests find someplace. I know Annemarie is full up and so is Gerhardt.”
No room at the inn. What a shame. Mason and Bimbette might have to miss the wedding. Not a very gracious thought, Cass scolded herself.
“Oh,” Dani said, a world of worry in her voice.
“Mountain Springs over by Cashmere might have something,” Olivia suggested. “That wouldn’t be too far away.”
Dani nodded and whipped her cell phone out of her jeans.
As she stepped away to make the call, Olivia lowered her voice. “I imagine this is all a little awkward.”
There was an understatement. “A little,” Cass said.
“I almost felt like a traitor saving a room but Dani asked.”
“It’s okay. In fact, I really appreciate it. Otherwise, they might have had to stay with me.”
The very thought of that was enough to make Cass shudder. Her judgmental ex-mother-in-law and her gossipy ex-sister-in-law staying with her? Ugh.
Two middle-aged women had come in and were waiting patiently in front of the glass display case. Olivia, like everyone else in Icicle Falls, knew the value of a tourist dollar. “Well, I’d better be going,” she said. “I’ve got to get to the grocery store or my guests won’t have breakfast tomorrow.” To the newcomers she said, “The gingerbread boys are delicious, but make sure you get a couple of those cream puff swans, too. They’re to die for.”
The women took her advice, purchasing gingerbread boys and girls and a couple of cream puffs. One of them bought a gingerbread house, as well.
Meanwhile, more customers had come into the bakery. Normally Dani would be helping Cass, but right now she and her cell phone were in the kitchen looking for lodging for Mason and Bimbette.
Let them find their own place to stay. Cass moved to the kitchen area. “I could use some help out here.”
Dani turned her back and held up a hand, which meant—what? Trying to hear? Be there in a minute?
“Now,” Cass added in her stern mama-bear voice.
“Okay, thanks,” Dani said, and ended the call.
“Honey, you’re going to have to do that later,” Cass said. “We’ve got customers.”
“We’ve always got customers,” Dani muttered grumpily.
Which was how they paid the bills. This had never bothered her daughter before.
But then she’d never been engaged.
Twenty minutes rushed past before they had a lull. Cass knew it was temporary. Once the lunch hour was finished, the customers would return.
She turned the sign on the door to Closed. “We’ll Be Back by One,” said the clock below. That gave them time for lunch, and in Dani’s case, time to go back to calling every motel and B and B within a twenty-mile radius.
Cass sat down at a corner table with her cup of coffee and watched as Dani became increasingly desperate with every conversation. That desperation began to make Cass’s coffee churn in her stomach. If her daughter didn’t succeed in her mission it boded ill—not for Dani, and not for Mason and Bimbette, but for Cass.
Sure enough. At a quarter to one Dani plopped onto the chair next to her and tossed her smartphone on the table.
Tell me we’re out of eggs, tell me someone’s order never arrived, tell me anything but what you’re about to tell me.
“There’s no vacancy anywhere,” Dani announced miserably.
Cass spoke before her daughter could say the dreaded words. “It’ll be okay. Seattle’s not that far. Your dad can drive over the day of the wedding.”
Dani looked at her, eyes wide in horror. “But what about the rehearsal dinner the night before? And what if something happens? What if they close the pass?”
Then we can get on our knees and thank God.
Okay, that was truly rotten. This was her daughter’s big day and she wanted her father there. “I’m sure he’ll figure it out,” Cass said, trying to sound as if she cared.
“Mom, how can he when there’s no place anywhere?”
Surely that was a rhetorical question. She kept her mouth shut.
“Can they stay with us for a couple of days?”
There it was, what she’d known was coming all along. Just what she wanted for Christmas, her ex and his bimbo bride staying with her. “We have no place to put them,” she argued.
“They can have my room. I can sleep with Amber.”
“I was going to give your room to Grandma Nordby.” Cass would jump into boiling oil before she’d turn her mother out in favor of Mason and Bimbette.
“Then give them Willie’s room and put him on the sleeper sofa. Or put them on the sleeper sofa.”
That was what Cass wanted, to come out and find her ex and his second wife curled up together in her living room.
“We could find a place for them for just one night, couldn’t we?” Dani begged. “Two at the most.”
There had to be some other way they could work this out. Cass stalled for time. “Let me think about it, okay?”
Dani made a face like she’d just eaten baking soda. “I know what that means.”
So did Cass, and she felt like the world’s meanest mother.
A woman with two little girls had come to the door, and the girls were peering inside.
“Go unlock the door,” Cass said wearily.
“Sure. Fine,” Dani said in a tone of voice that showed how un-fine everything was.
“It would be nice if you could greet our customers with a smile instead of a frown,” Cass called after her.
“I’m smiling,” Dani called back. Smiling on the outside, seething on the inside.
They’ll find someplace to stay, Cass told herself. Now, if she could only believe that.
5
It was Sunday evening, time for Cass’s weekly chick flick night. The friends had decided to watch Christmas movies during the month of December and Cass’s pal Samantha Sterling had picked the one for tonight—The Family Man.
“I love that movie,” she’d said. “Love how the hero changed from a Scrooge to a great husband and dad.”
“I never knew you were so sentimental,” Cass had teased.
“I’m not,” Samantha had retorted, “but I know what’s important.”
Cass would give her that. Samantha Sterling had fought hard to save her family’s chocolate company. In the process she’d resuscitated the town of Icicle Falls, which had been in an economic slump, by sponsoring a chocolate festival. Spurred on by that success, the town leaders had caught festival fever. October had seen Oktoberfest, December’s tree-lighting event had been expanded from one weekend to every weekend and there was talk of a wine festival in the early summer.
Samantha and her sister Cecily were the first to arrive, rosy-cheeked and smiling, stomping snow off their boots. Blue-eyed, blond-haired Cecily was the beauty of the family, but with her red hair and freckles, Samantha wasn’t exactly a troll. She’d married Blake Preston, the bank’s manager, in August and still sported a newlywed glow. That would wear off eventually.
Listen to you, Cass scolded herself. Queen of the cynics.
“We brought vitamin C,” Samantha said, handing over a holiday box of Sweet Dreams Chocolates.
Chocolate, the other Vitamin C, and a girl’s best friend. “This takes care of me. I don’t know what the rest of you are having,” Cass joked. “Did you bring the movie?”
Cecily held up the DVD with Nicolas Cage on the cover. “We’re set.”
Ella was the next to arrive. She wasn’t as beautiful as her glamorous mother, Lily Swan, but she was cute and she knew how to dress. Tonight she looked ready for a magazine shoot in skinny jeans paired with a crisp white shirt, a black leather vest and a long, metallic red scarf, and bearing a bowl of parmesan popcorn, her specialty. Ella even did popcorn with flair.
Cass decided that flair was something you either soaked up in the gene pool or you didn’t. She could create works of art in her bakery, but when it came to personal style she couldn’t seem to get beyond unimpressionist. Oh, well. What did she care? She didn’t have anyone she needed to impress.
Not even your ex-in-laws?
No, she told herself firmly. Living well was the best revenge and she was living quite well, thank you. She didn’t need to look like a cover model to prove it.
She pushed aside the thought of Babette, who would, of course, show up for the wedding with her hair perfectly highlighted and her skinny little bod draped in something flattering. Maybe Cass would pass on the chocolate and popcorn tonight.
Charley was the last to arrive. She came bearing wine and looked frazzled enough to consume the entire bottle single-handed.
“Okay, what’s wrong?” Cass asked once the women were settled in the living room with their drinks and goodies.
“Richard’s back.” Charley took one of Cass’s gingerbread boys and bit off his head.
Cass nearly dropped her wineglass. “What?”
Charley nodded. More of the gingerbread boy disappeared.
“Why is he back?” Cass asked. “What does he want?”
“Me,” Charley said.
“You? He left you for another woman! Tell him to take a hike off the mountain,” Samantha advised.
Cass couldn’t have said it better herself. “I’ll second that.”
“So he’s left Ariel?” Cecily asked.
“He says it was all a mistake.”
Men always said that when they got caught with their pants down. Cass frowned. “Not as big a mistake as taking him back would be.”
“You’re not going to, are you?” asked Samantha.
“Absolutely not,” Charley shook her head vigorously.
“Good for you,” Cass said. Charley had the kind of never-ending legs that made men drool and gorgeous long hair and plenty of personality. She didn’t have to settle for letting a loser back in her life.
“Did you tell him that?” Samantha asked.
“Of course I did.”
“Then why is he still here?” Samantha persisted.
Charley was on her second gingerbread boy now. “He says he’s not giving up.”
“Oh, brother,” Ella said, rolling her eyes.
“Why is it men only want you when you don’t want them?” Charley grumbled.
“Because they’re bums,” Cass said.
“Not all of them,” Samantha murmured.
“Blake is the exception to the rule,” Cass told her.
“There are other exceptions out there,” Cecily added.
“Like Luke Goodman?” her sister teased.
“Like Luke,” Cecily agreed, her voice neutral.
Ella sighed. “So why do we always like the bad boys?”
Charley sighed, too. “Because we’re masochists?”
“There’s something about bad boys,” Cecily said, then seeing her sister’s frown, got busy inspecting a lock of hair for split ends.
“Yeah, something bad,” her sister said firmly. “Men like Richard and Todd Black are nothing but heartbreak on two legs.”
“I wasn’t talking about Todd,” Cecily said, her cheeks pink.
“I was,” Samantha said.
Cecily grabbed a handful of popcorn. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m ready to watch the movie.”
With Samantha in bossy older sister mode that was understandable. Cass started the movie.
As the plot unfolded, chronicling the life of the fictional Jack Campbell, she couldn’t help thinking of her own choices, of Mason. What if they’d been given a glimpse of a better future, one where they stayed united and lived as best friends instead of combatants? What would her life look like now?
What did it matter? She and Mason had made their choices and no hip angel was going to drop into their lives to give them a second chance. The best glimpse she could get was one of her daughter’s wedding going smoothly, of herself managing to be civil. If she could pull that off, it would be a miracle.
* * *
What a wonderful movie. And what a wonderful way to start the holidays. Ella was teary-eyed by the end of it. She always cried at movies. She cried over movies with sad endings because she felt so bad for the poor people. A movie with a happy ending, especially a romantic movie, brought her to tears because, well, it was all so overwhelmingly hopeful. Somewhere out there in the real world a man could be coming to his senses, realizing that he didn’t need to go off in search of El Dorado, that there was gold right in his own backyard. Maybe like the Jack Campbell character, Charley’s husband had figured that out.
Jake had insisted he had, that Ella was all he needed.
What big fat lies! Thank God her mother had opened her eyes to the truth. Otherwise, she’d have wasted the best years of her life, keeping the home fires burning on a shoestring budget while he carried on with other women.
“Well.” Cass raised her glass. “Here’s to the Jack Campbells of the world, wherever they’re hiding.”
“I’ll drink to that. I found mine,” Samantha said.
“And here’s to Christmas,” Cecily toasted.
“And Christmas weddings,” Samantha added. “Do these guys know Dani’s engaged?”
“That’s wonderful! Why didn’t you tell us?” Ella asked Cass.
“You’ve been anticipating this for months. I’m surprised you haven’t been crowing from the rooftops,” Charley said.
“I was going to tell you all.” Cass shrugged. “I got distracted.”
When Ella and Jake had gotten engaged, she’d told everyone. How did a woman get distracted from sharing such big news? “That’s so exciting. Tell us now.”
“She’s getting married the weekend before Christmas at Olivia’s.”
“Oh, that’ll be gorgeous,” Cecily said. “Olivia always has the place decorated like something out of a magazine.”
Especially at Christmas. The outside of the lodge would be awash with white twinkle lights, and inside cedar swags and red bows would adorn the banisters. But the best decoration of all was the vintage sleigh, decked out with swags and ribbons, surrounded by decorative gift boxes. Ella could envision Dani and Mike in that sleigh, posing for pictures in their wedding day finery.
“But wow, it doesn’t give you much time,” she said. It had taken her nine months to plan her wedding.
“And I thought we had a challenge putting together our chocolate festival in six weeks,” Cecily joked.
“Why so quick?” asked Ella, and then blushed as one obvious possibility occurred.
“No, they don’t have a baby on the way,” Cass said. “Just a move to Spokane in January.”
“Are you going to be able to pull it off?” Ella asked after Cass had explained about Mike’s new job.
“Are you stressed about getting everything done?” put in Cecily. “We can help, you know.”
“Absolutely,” said Charley, and Ella nodded her agreement.
“That’s not the bug in the soup, is it?” Samantha looked at Cass.
“Then what?” Ella asked. “Are you worried that she’s too young?”
“She is young,” Cass admitted. “And I was figuring she and Mike would wait a year before getting married. But she’s had her life mapped out since she was twelve—baking, husband and babies.”
Ella could identify with that. Well, except for the baking part. She’d always wanted a family, complete with husband. “Then what’s the bug in the soup?”
Cass frowned. “Dani wants her father to walk her down the aisle.”
They all knew how Cass felt about her ex. “Oh,” Ella said, at a loss for anything else to say.
“Yeah, oh. And it gets better. Guess where my daughter wants him and stepmommy to stay?”
Charley’s eyes got so big Ella thought they’d pop out of her head. “Seriously?”
“Pathetically seriously,” Cass said.
Cecily picked up the box of chocolates. “You need one of these.”
Several chocolates and much commiseration later, the party broke up.
“How are we going to help her get through this?” Cecily asked as the women made their way down Cass’s front walk.
“We could beat up Bimbette,” Charley cracked. “Or poison the ex.” She shook her head. “Cass is nuts if she goes along with this.”
“She’ll cave,” Samantha predicted. “She likes to pretend she’s tough, but when it comes to her kids she’s softer than a marshmallow. I think we’re going to have to be available 24/7 so she’s got someone to vent to.”
“For sure,” Charley agreed. “I can’t imagine being stuck in the same house with your ex.” She seemed to realize what she’d said and her face turned as red as a poinsettia. “Sorry, Ella.”
“It’s okay,” Ella said. “And I can tell you from experience, it’s going to be hard.”
“Hopefully your place will sell soon and you can move on,” Samantha told her.
Move on. Move. Ella’s holiday spirit suddenly moved on without her. “Hopefully,” she echoed.
She said goodbye to the others and returned to her empty dream house.
Jake was at an open mike at the Red Barn so the only one home was Tiny. He greeted her with a woof and a wagging tail.
“I know,” she said, rubbing the top of his massive head. “You’re ready for some exercise, huh, boy?”
Tiny woofed again and danced back and forth. She opened the front door and he darted out into the night.
Ella followed at a more sedate pace, wondering what it was like to be a dog. Did dogs ever worry? Did they ever question whether they’d made the right choice, done the right thing?
Silly thought, of course. All a dog had to do was enjoy being a dog. Someone else made the tough decisions.
If she and Jake had been Saint Bernards…
She shook her head at her own foolishness and whistled for Tiny to heel. Too bad she couldn’t have whistled for Jake to heel before he went bounding off.
Jake wasn’t the kind of man to heel. Instead of saying how sorry he was and asking her to forgive him after his fling with that keyboard player, he’d gotten combative. “I’m tired of this shit, Ella. If you can’t trust me, then we can’t be together.”
It had been all downhill from there.
“You don’t need a man to be happy,” Mims had told her.
Except Ella no longer had a man and she wasn’t happy.
She stewed over that for twenty minutes while Tiny sniffed and marked his territory. Then it started to snow and she turned them toward the house. By the time they got back she was in need of some bedtime hot chocolate.
She shed her coat and went to the kitchen to get her last packet of instant cocoa. She was pleasantly surprised to see that Jake had actually cleared his dishes from her vintage red Formica table. And then not surprised to find them in the sink. From the sink to the dishwasher was only one more step. How hard was that? He’d probably left them there, figuring she’d do it for him.
She opened the cupboard beneath the sink to get out the dish soap.
What was this? Water. A little pool of water. How had he managed that?
She mopped it up, then loaded the dishes. Now all that was left was a pot crusted with bits of burned chili. It didn’t take long to deduce that the chili was welded to the pan, so after a futile attempt to dislodge it, she added more soap and filled it to the brim with water to soak overnight. Then she rinsed out the sponge and the sink and opened the cupboard to put away the dish soap.
Oh, no. Here was a fresh puddle. Just what they needed right now, a leaky sink. She’d have to call a plumber first thing in the morning. Another bill to split down the middle.
She picked up the phone and called Jake’s cell. He was probably up on the bandstand singing about love with that man-stealing keyboard player or sitting at a table nursing a Coke and flirting with some cowgirl poured into tight jeans. That was his life—fun, glamorous and irresponsible. And while he flirted and played his guitar she dealt with leaky faucets.
She was well rid of this relationship. Next time she’d be smart when it came to choosing a man. Maybe she’d even find herself a plumber.
She’d expected her call to roll over to Jake’s voice mail but he answered on the second ring. “Everything okay?”
Why did he immediately think something was wrong? Oh, yeah. She was calling him. “The pipe under the kitchen sink is leaking. I just wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t use it when you got ho—back.” Home, that would’ve been the wrong word to use. This house wasn’t a home anymore. “I’ll call the plumber tomorrow.” Maybe he could squeeze her in that same day. It would make life simpler, since the shop was closed on Mondays.
“Don’t do that,” Jake said.
“We can’t leave it.” No one would want to buy a house that was falling apart.
“I know. I’ll fix it.”
Jake wasn’t the world’s best handyman. Last summer he’d gone through a pile of two-by-fours trying to fix one broken front-porch step. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Hey, any guy can fix a leaky pipe,” he said. “I’m not paying a plumber.”
She sure wasn’t going to foot the entire bill. “Okay,” she said. “But you’ll fix it first thing tomorrow, right?” Their Realtor, Axel Fuchs, had cautioned her to always have the house in tip-top shape. You never knew when a potential buyer would want to look at it.
“I’ll do it tomorrow,” Jake said. “Don’t worry.”
Don’t worry? That would be possible only if she were a Saint Bernard.
6
Richard was history. He needed to stay history, and that was exactly what Charley was going to tell him next time he popped up like the Ghost of Christmas Past. It wasn’t right to come back into a girl’s life after she’d worked through her anger (well, most of it) and gotten on with things. And she’d tell him that, she decided as she put on her makeup.
It was Monday and the restaurant was closed. She never bothered with makeup on Mondays.
She glared at her reflection. Why are you doing this?
Pride. She wanted Richard to see her at her best when she told him to set his boxers on fire and get lost.
“You liar,” she scolded herself. “You just want him to see you looking your best, period.”
Charley tossed her mascara in her makeup basket and left the bathroom.
She always stayed home on Monday mornings. She did her laundry in the morning and fooled around on Facebook. After lunch she’d read or watch the Food Network and then she’d take a run to Bruisers for a quick workout on the treadmill. Or go to the bakery for a little something—always more fun than the treadmill.
No hanging around the house this morning, she told herself. If Richard tried a surprise attack he’d find the fort deserted. She could finish her Christmas shopping. She’d hang out in Gilded Lily’s, Hearth and Home and Mountain Treasures. Oooh, and for lunch she’d indulge in a bratwurst at Big Brats. Then maybe she’d stop in at Sweet Dreams and say hi to Samantha. Or wander over to Gingerbread Haus and treat herself to a gingerbread boy.
She donned the knitted hat Ella had made for her and grabbed her winter coat.
And opened the door just in time to see Richard coming up the front steps, bundled up for winter in a parka and ski cap and carrying a thermos. She didn’t know which irritated her more, the fact that he’d ignored her command to bug off or that at the sight of him her heart lost its groove and gave a nervous skip. “What are you doing here?”
“Kidnapping you.”
“That’s against the law. Anyway, you’re not big enough to overpower me,” she added, and hoped that hurt. She shut the door after herself and started past him.
“Kidnapping you to go on a sleigh ride,” he said, ignoring her barb.
She stopped in her tracks. A sleigh ride. Other than chocolate, there was nothing more tempting. Sleigh rides were becoming a popular tourist activity in Icicle Falls. Ever since she and Richard had moved to town, Charley had wanted to take one, but somehow she’d never found time. There was something so romantic about a sleigh ride.
There would be nothing romantic about taking one with her ex. “Currier’s doesn’t offer sleigh rides on weekdays.”
“They do this week. I made special arrangements with Kirk Jones.”
Special arrangements. What strings had Richard pulled to get the owner of the Christmas tree farm to harness up his horses on a Monday?
Richard held up the thermos. “Hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps.”
“I don’t care if it’s champagne.”
“That’s for brunch. At the Firs.”
The Firs was an exclusive resort compound that extended for acres and included everything from hiking trails to outdoor hot tubs and pools surrounded by mountain rock. Cabins were outfitted with luxury furnishings and the dining hall provided feasts prepared by the kind of top chefs Charley only dreamed of hiring.
Now she was doubly tempted.
Don’t do it.
“All I’m asking for is a chance. Just give me today.”
One day, that was all he was asking.
She sighed. “Why did you have to come back?”
“Because I need you.”
“You didn’t need me a year ago when you were boinking Ariel in the bar.”
Richard grimaced. “Charley, I’ve changed. Let me prove it.”
Eating at the Firs was the equivalent of eating at Canlis in Seattle. She had no intention of getting back together with Richard, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t use him. Just deserts, she concluded. She’d use him like he’d once used her. Then he could see how it felt.
“Okay, I’ll go,” she said. “It’s not going to do you any good, but I’ll go.”
He grinned like she’d just offered to sleep with him. “It’s a beginning.”
Currier’s Tree Farm was rustic and picturesque. The snow-frosted split rail fence along the property was draped with cedar swags and red bows. The big tree in the yard was adorned with lights and huge colored balls and a shawl of snow. Behind the house, the tree farm stretched out with every imaginable kind of holiday tree. Off to the left she saw a stand where visitors could enjoy complimentary hot cider and to the right sat a big, red barn. There, in front of it, stood an old-fashioned sleigh decked out in cedar swags and ribbon. The chestnut draft horses looked equally festive, with jingle bells in their harnesses, their manes and tails braided with red ribbons. One of them stamped a foot. Another let out a soft nicker.
A lean, gray-haired man in winter garb came out of the barn and waved at them. “You’re right on time,” he called to Richard, and motioned for them to join him. “Got a perfect day for a sleigh ride,” he greeted Charley.
“It was nice of you to open for us,” Charley said.
He grinned, a big, broad smile that filled his face. “Anything for lovers.”
Lovers! Was that what Richard had told him? “Not exactly,” Charley said, frowning. “We’re exes.”
That made Kirk Jones’s bushy gray eyebrows shoot up and Richard’s mouth turn down.
“Oh, well,” Kirk said, and then cleared his throat. “It’s a great day for a sleigh ride.”
“No matter who it’s with,” Charley said, ignoring Richard’s helping hand and climbing into the sleigh.
Kirk had provided a plaid wool blanket and Richard spread it across her legs.
“Thanks. Lover,” she said with some asperity.
“You can’t blame me because people jump to conclusions,” he said.
“Did you give him a little push?”
“No. I told him the truth.”
Charley cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? And what was that?”
“That this is for a special lady. No lie.” He uncorked the thermos and pulled two disposable cups from his coat pocket.
As he poured she remembered how good he’d always been at romantic gestures—creating a dish and naming it after her, taking her over the mountains to Seattle one year to look at Christmas lights and then spending the night in a downtown hotel, hiding a bit of anniversary bling under her pillow.
What romantic things had he done for Ariel?
He handed over her hot chocolate. Then he poured himself a cup and capped the thermos. “To new beginnings,” he said, and raised his cup to her.
She said nothing in return, just took a sip and looked away.
“Or the hope of new beginnings,” Richard amended.
In your dreams, Charley thought, and downed some more.
Kirk was up in the sleigh now. He clicked his tongue and gave the horses’ rumps a gentle slap with the reins and they lurched forward.
Good thing her cocoa was half-gone, or she’d have been wearing it. And that would have been a shame because it was delicious. This was no instant stuff, she could tell. It had been made with cream and fine Dutch chocolate. Chocolate, the way to a girl’s heart.
But not this girl’s. Richard would never find his way back to hers, not even with a GPS made of solid Sweet Dreams dark.
Still, she decided, she might as well enjoy the ride.
There was plenty to enjoy. The sleigh ride was everything it should be. They wooshed past fir and pine trees clad in frosty white and open fields that beckoned them to come play in the snow, and all the while the sleigh bells on the horses’ harnesses jingled. The air was crisp and Charley could see her breath but the cocoa and the blanket kept her warm. Meanwhile, Richard was looking at her like he was a starving man and she a six-course meal. The best salve in the world for wounded pride.
Except it had been Richard who’d wounded her pride in the first place. Starvation was too good for him.
“This is perfect, isn’t it?” he said, and placed an arm around her shoulders.
She slid out from under it. “Almost.”
He was smart enough not to ask what kept it from being perfect.
They turned onto a path that led down a small incline and took them under a canopy of snowy tree boughs. This was magical. Charley sighed and leaned back against the seat cushions.
Up front Kirk was crooning a song about lovely weather for a sleigh ride.
“With you,” Richard whispered. “Aw, Charley, there’s no one like you.”
“You’re right,” she agreed.
“I’m just sorry I had to learn that the hard way.”
“Yes, you are a sorry man,” she said, making him frown. And that made her snicker.
* * *
After a brunch that involved several glasses of champagne she’d switched from snickering to giggling.
“I drank too much,” she realized as he drove her home.
“Maybe a little,” he said.
“Why did you let me drink so much champagne?” She groaned. “I’m going to have the mother of all headaches later.”
“Well, we can fix that,” he said. “You just need some water, and lucky for you I’ve got Perrier.”
She eyed him. “You thought of everything, didn’t you?”
“And then some,” he replied with a smile.
She shivered, but not because of what his smile did to her. She’d gotten chilled on the sleigh ride, that was the problem.
“How about I build you a fire?” he offered as they pulled up in front of the house that used to be theirs.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/sheila-roberts/merry-ex-mas/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Sheila Roberts
Watch as Christmas brings all kinds of surprises to Icicle Falls!Cass Wilkes was looking forward to her daughter Danielle’s Christmas wedding—until Dani announced that she wants her father, Cass’s ex, to walk her down the aisle. Seriously? Even worse, it seems that he, his trophy wife and their yappy little dog will be staying with Cass…Her friend Charlene Albach arrives at their weekly chick-flick night in shock. She’s just seen the ghost of Christmas past: her ex-husband, Richard, who left a year ago when he ran off with the hostess from her restaurant. Now the hostess is history and he wants to kiss and make up.Hide the mistletoe! And bring out the hot buttered rum, because the holidays aren’t easy for Ella O’Brien, either. Ella, newly divorced, is still sharing the house with her ex while they wait for the place to sell. The love is gone. Or is it?Welcome to Icicle Falls, the town that will warm your heart.'Sheila Roberts makes me laugh. I read her books & come away hopeful and happy.' - bestselling romance author Debbie Macomber
Christmas in Icicle Falls...
Between Yuletide traditions, winter sports and mistletoe hanging everywhere, Christmas is the best time of year in Icicle Falls, Washington. But this year it’s not so merry—for three of its residents, anyway.
Cass Wilkes, owner of the Gingerbread Haus bakery, was looking forward to her daughter, Danielle’s, wedding...until Dani announced that she wants her father, Cass’s ex, to walk her down the aisle. Seriously? And, since every B and B is full, it looks like he, his trophy wife and their yappy little dog will be staying with Cass.
Her friend Charlene Albach arrives at their weekly chick-flick night in shock. She’s just seen the ghost of Christmas past: her ex-husband, Richard, who left her a year ago, running off with the hostess from her restaurant, Zelda’s, to start a new life (and restaurant) in Seattle. Now the hostess is history and he wants to kiss and make up. Hide the mistletoe!
And bring out the hot buttered rum, because the holidays aren’t so easy for Ella O’Brien, either. Ella, who’s newly divorced, is still sharing the house with her ex while they wait for the place to sell, and they are still fighting over all the things they fought over when they were married. The love is gone. Isn’t it?
But Christmas has a way of working its magic. One of these women is about to rediscover love, another is going to remember what’s important in life and the third will find a new dream in the new year. Merry Ex-mas, ladies!
Praise for Sheila Roberts and Her Christmas Novels
“Roberts’ witty and effervescently funny holiday novel will warm hearts. Realistic characters populate the pages of this captivating story, which is a great escape from the holiday hustle and bustle.”
—RT Book Reviews (Top Pick) on On Strike for Christmas
“Hilarious…a fun and festive debut.”
—Library Journal on On Strike for Christmas
“Roberts’ charming holiday-themed contemporary story set in the Seattle area offers hope, comfort, and a second chance for those who believe, and a nudge to change the minds of those who don’t.”
—Booklist on The Snow Globe
“Within minutes of cracking open the book, my mood was lifted…The warm, glowing feeling it gave me lasted for days.”
—First for Women on The Snow Globe
“This lighthearted and charming read will appeal to fans of Kristin Hannah’s magical, light romances and readers who enjoyed Roberts’s previous holiday offerings.”
—Library Journal on The Snow Globe (Starred Review)
“Roberts’s well-intentioned story serves as a light, pleasant reminder about the importance of balancing family, friends, love, and career.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Snow Globe
“Another warm holiday yarn from the author of The Snow Globe.”
—Library Journal on The Nine Lives of Christmas
“Witty characterizations, slapstick mishaps, and plenty of holiday cheer.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Nine Lives of Christmas
“If you love Christmas, cats and happy endings, Sheila Roberts’ The Nine Lives of Christmas is the ticket to great holiday reading pleasure!”
—Literarily Speaking
Merry Ex-Mas
Sheila Roberts
www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)
For my pal Kathy
Acknowledgments
I had so much fun writing this book! Of course, it’s easy to have fun when you work with great people. Huge thanks to my agent, Paige Wheeler, and my editor, Paula Eykelhof. I’m grateful to both of you for your guidance and input. A big thanks to Janet, owner of Blinx on Bainbridge Island, WA, for giving me a glimpse into the busy life of a shop owner, to my friend Susan Sandeno, wedding cake expert, for sharing some of your cake decorating secrets with me, and to Robert Rabe, super chef, for answering my many questions about running a restaurant. A big yeehaw and thank-you to Ed Kerr and all his pals for helping me produce Jake’s song, “Merry Christmas, Mama.” And to all my friends who are mothers-in-law… None of you were the inspiration for the mother-in-law in this book! Finally, thanks as always to the brain trust: Susan Wiggs, Kate Breslin, Anjali Banerjee and Elsa Watson. You all rock and I hope Santa brings each of you a sleigh load of chocolate.
Dear Reader,
I’ve got to say, I love Christmas. Love everything about it—the decorations, the goodies, the presents, the Christmas Eve service, even the crazy busyness. I especially love getting a chance to gather with my family to celebrate. Believe me, my family knows how to celebrate. We are fun, fun, fun!
But I realize that for many of us the holidays can sometimes be more stressful than fun, especially when dealing with difficult family members. And when you start adding former spouses to the mix it can make you want to say more than, “Ho, ho, ho.”
I’m hoping Cass Wilkes, her friends and their exes will give you a laugh and maybe even some hope. I sure enjoyed writing about them, especially Ella and her ex-husband, Jake.
I must confess, Jake stole my heart. He even wound up with his own country music video, “Merry Christmas, Mama,” which I hope you’ll all check out on YouTube. He was kind enough to give me a role in it. Of course, he conveniently neglected to tell me about the rude indignities I’d suffer. Oh, well, that’s show biz. Not content with a music video, he’s got his own webpage, www.songsbyjake.com (http://www.songsbyjake.com), where you can read more of his thoughts, see pictures and hear some of his music.
Meanwhile, I hope you’ll enjoy the ride as Cass, Ella, Charley and their friends get ready for a crazy Christmas filled with everything from jingle bells to wedding bells.
You can find me on Facebook and Twitter, and please stop by my website, www.sheilasplace.com (http://www.sheilasplace.com).
Sheila
Contents
Chapter 1 (#u09d48180-c8a7-5b2d-944a-d139873e9cc2)
Chapter 2 (#u000747b3-027b-5d5e-9543-4696c0867f28)
Chapter 3 (#u8b8bb1dd-1faf-597d-9dd2-31723b2fc1a3)
Chapter 4 (#u8bde84a9-b5ea-55bd-9452-1bd6addba1c1)
Chapter 5 (#u53910d59-f606-5a9e-bdcc-0abd5e42f073)
Chapter 6 (#u0970f685-41c5-5b37-b393-7e6e95533678)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)
Recipes (#litres_trial_promo)
1
Once in a while, if a woman is really lucky, the perfect day she envisioned turns out to be just that. This was going to be one of those days, Cass Wilkes thought as she set the platter of carved turkey on her dining table.
She surveyed her handiwork with a smile. Everything was Martha Stewart–lovely from the china and crystal to the Thanksgiving centerpiece she’d bought at Lupine Floral, and her old Victorian home was filled with the aroma of herbs and spices. The dining room window framed a greeting-card-worthy winter scene—her front lawn with its trees and shrubs draped in frosty white and the snowcapped mountains looming beyond.
The snow had done what all good snow should do; it had stopped in plenty of time for road crews to clear the way for travelers. Unlike Thanksgiving last year, the town of Icicle Falls was humming with visitors looking for a holiday getaway. Great for business, especially when you owned a bakery. This weekend, gingerbread boys and girls would march out the door of Gingerbread Haus in droves and money would march right into Cass’s bank account—a good thing since she suspected she was going to have a wedding to pay for in a year or so.
A whoop of male excitement came from the living room, followed by cheers. The football game on TV was nearing its end and obviously the favored team had scored a touchdown.
“Okay, that’s everything from the kitchen,” said Dot Morrison, Cass’s mentor and former boss, as she placed a serving bowl heaped with stuffing, along with another full of mashed potatoes, on the table. Normally Dot would have been celebrating with her daughter, but Tilda was on patrol, keeping Icicle Falls safe from…who knew? Their town wasn’t exactly a hotbed of crime.
Dot had dressed for the occasion, wearing jeans and a white sweatshirt decorated with a turkey holding a sign that said “Think Outside the Box. Serve Ham.” Dot, who owned the town’s most popular pancake place, Breakfast Haus, had encouraged Cass to think outside the box years ago, even lent her money to start her bakery. Cass owed her Thanksgiving dinners for life.
“Get those clowns in here,” Dot said. “There’s nothing worse than cold food.”
Cass could suggest a few things—taxes, yeast infections, exes.
Oh, no, she wasn’t going to ruin a perfectly good holiday with even a hint of a thought about her ex-husband. That man, that self-centered, undeserving rat who’d tried to lure the kids away this weekend with a trip to Vail, who…
No, no. No thoughts about Mason. It was Thanksgiving, after all, a time to count her blessings.
Three of those blessings were sitting out there in the living room—her kids Danielle, Willie and Amber. Dani’s boyfriend, Mike, was there, too, tucked beside her in an overstuffed easy chair.
Twenty-year-old Dani was Cass’s oldest and her right-hand woman at the bakery. She’d inherited Cass’s passion for creating in the kitchen, and after a year of community college had opted to work full-time at the bakery. Cass had hoped she’d put in at least another year, but she’d had no interest. “I can learn more from you than I can from any college professor,” she’d told Cass. When it came to baking, well, what could Cass say? Dani was right.
Amber, her youngest, sat curled up on one end of the couch, texting. A few months earlier she’d been adding to Cass’s gray-hair collection, hanging out with the kind of kids no mother wants her child to be with or, worse, become. Thank God (and, possibly, Cass’s pal Samantha Sterling) Amber had changed direction and found some new and improved friends.
Willie, Cass’s high school jock, was sprawled on the floor, holding the favored stuffed toy of high school boys everywhere—a football. The only trouble she had with Willie was keeping him full. The boy was a two-legged locust.
Then there was her younger brother, Drew, who’d come over from Seattle. Recently divorced (was this tendency toward divorce something in their genes?), he’d been more than happy to spend the weekend hanging out with her family. He’d never had kids of his own, so she’d shared. He made a great uncle and a better father figure than her ex.
No, no, no. Not giving him so much as a thought today.
Cass stood in the archway like a lady butler and announced, “Dinner, guys.”
Of course, no one was listening. Another touchdown happened in TV Land. “Yeah!” whooped Mike.
“My team sucks,” Willie muttered, giving his football an irritable bounce.
“My dinner’s going to suck if you don’t get out here and eat it now,” Cass warned.
“The game’s pretty much over, anyway,” Mike said, demonstrating good boyfriend etiquette. He stood, pulling Dani up with him. He was a big boy, a former football star and her son’s new hero. Mike was currently employed at the local hardware store, which, as far as Cass was concerned, was ideal. Once he popped the question, he and Dani would get married and live in Icicle Falls, near family and friends, a win-win for everyone.
“You’re right,” Drew agreed. He shut off the TV and led the parade to the dining room table.
Cass only had to look at a cookie to gain five pounds. Her brother, lucky dog, was tall and reedy, and could eat anything. He was a better dresser, too, always had been. And better-looking. But he couldn’t cook, and when he came to town he was her best customer. He was also her best friend, and she was glad he’d come here for the holiday.
The only ones missing as everyone settled around the table were Cass’s mother and stepfather, who’d become snowbirds and were with his family in Florida. But Mom and Fred planned to come out for Christmas, and if Cass had to choose she’d rather have her mother with them for that holiday.
Drew reached for the turkey and Cass rapped his hand with a serving spoon. “Grace first, you heathen.”
Willie snickered, which earned him the privilege of offering thanks. He barely had “Amen” out of his mouth before he was into the dressing, piling it high on his plate.
Normally she’d remind him that other people might actually want some, too, but not today. Thanksgiving was for feasting and she’d made plenty. Besides, she was going to have an extra serving herself.
For a while conversation consisted of comments like “Pass the rolls” and “Where’d the olives end up?” As plates and then stomachs filled, new topics arose: whose fantasy football team was going to win, how well Cass and Dani’s new gingerbread necklaces were selling, Dot’s upcoming bunion surgery.
Then it was time for pie. In spite of how crazy-busy Cass had been with work, she’d managed to bake pumpkin, pecan and her brother’s favorite, wild huckleberry. “This will be enough for me,” he joked, grabbing the whole pie.
With dessert came another tradition, one Cass had started when the kids were small.
“Okay,” she said once everyone had been served, “it’s gratitude time. Who wants to go first?”
Gratitude. Sometimes the challenge to be grateful had been as big as the word. Often she’d been a world-class hypocrite, encouraging her children to look on the bright side while she indulged in resentment.
It seemed like she’d spent most of her married life in that particular mental state. She’d resented Mason’s decision to join the navy when they were engaged. They’d barely set up housekeeping when he shipped out the first time. He’d missed his daughter’s birth; Cass’s childbirth partner had been her mother. Better her mother than his, she’d told herself. That was something to be grateful for. And she’d been grateful when he got out of the navy. Not so much when he went back to school and neglected his family for his studies. Not so much when he carved out a career that seemed to keep him gone more than it allowed him to be home. Mason had been determined to find the path to success but that path had little room for his family. She was the one who’d always been there to soothe every heartbreak, puzzle over every math problem, cheer at every ball game. And what had he done?
Gratitude, remember? Okay, she was grateful she wasn’t with him anymore.
“I’m grateful for something,” Dani said. She reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out a diamond ring and slid it on her finger.
“Oh, my gosh, you’re engaged!” cried Amber.
Cass set down her fork and gaped. Of course she’d known this was coming, but she was a little upset that her daughter hadn’t told her before everyone else. “When did this happen?” she asked.
Dani’s brown eyes sparkled with excitement. She looked at Mike and they shared the smile reserved for a couple in possession of newly minted love. “Last night. We wanted to wait and surprise everyone.”
Well, they had.
“Don’t know how surprised anyone is,” Dot said, “but I think you made your mother’s day.”
Of course she had. Why was Cass sitting there like a turkey in a pan? She jumped up and went to hug her daughter and future son-in-law. “This is wonderful. You two are going to be so happy.”
How could they not be? Unlike her mother at that age, Danielle had been wise and thoughtful when selecting a mate. She hadn’t rushed into a relationship with her hormones on fire and her brain dead from smoke inhalation. She’d held out for the right man. They even looked perfect together, Mike with his dark hair and eyes and that big frame, Dani with her lighter coloring and sandy hair and willowy figure. In their wedding garb they’d look fit for the top of a wedding cake.
“This calls for more pie,” Drew said with a grin, and helped himself to another piece.
“I’m going to be a bridesmaid, right?” Amber asked her sister.
“Of course,” Dani said.
“You’d better dig out your Armani,” Cass said to Drew. “Dani’s going to need you to walk her down the aisle.”
Dani’s face lost some of its bride-to-be glow and she bit her lip.
“Hey, I’m cool sitting in the front row with your mom,” Drew said quickly. “I don’t have to be the one.”
Oh, yes, he did. Who else was going to? Oh, no. Surely not…
“Actually, I was hoping Daddy would walk me down the aisle,” Dani said.
The undeserving absent father? The man who’d been M.I.A. for most of Dani’s life? Cass fell back against her chair and stared across the table at her daughter.
Dani’s cheeks bloomed with a guilty flush and she studiously avoided her mother’s gaze.
“Daddy?” Cass echoed. It came out frosted with scorn. Way to be mature and poison your daughter’s happy moment, she scolded herself.
With her sunny disposition and eagerness to please, Danielle was generally easy to get along with, but now her chin jutted out at a pugnacious angle. “I know he’ll want to.”
Oh, he always wanted to be there, but he never had been.
Until lately. Now that their children were practically grown. He and his thirty-two-year-old trophy wife, Babette, seemed to think they could have the kids come over to Seattle anytime he swooped in from his business trips and buy their affection with shopping expeditions and Seahawks tickets.
Obviously it was working, and that made Cass want to break the wishbone she’d been saving into a thousand pieces. This wasn’t right. How to get Dani to see that, though?
She cleared her throat. “You know he travels a lot.”
“I know,” Dani said, “but we want a Christmas wedding and he’ll be here for Christmas.”
“Christmas Day?” Willie made a face.
Dani frowned at him. “What, are you afraid Santa won’t come?” To the others she said, “We thought the weekend before.”
“That’s not much time to plan a wedding,” Dot pointed out. “What’s the rush?”
Now Mike was beaming like a man with a big announcement.
“Because Mike got a job as assistant manager at a hardware store in Spokane,” Dani announced for him, “and when he moves for his new job I want to go with him.”
Everyone at the table got busy offering Mike congratulations.
Except Cass, who was in shock. They’d be moving away. Her daughter would be leaving practically the minute after she got married. The vision of Dani raising her family here in Icicle Falls, of someday taking over the bakery, went up in smoke. It was all Cass could do not to cry. She pushed away the plate with her half-finished pumpkin pie and hoped nobody asked her what she was thankful for.
“Anyway, we just want a small wedding,” Mike said. “Nothing fancy.”
Nothing fancy? Dani had always wanted a big church wedding. What happened to that?
“And I know Daddy can come that weekend,” Dani added.
“You already talked to your father?” Before you even shared the news with me? Hurt welled up in Cass, giving her the worst case of heartburn she’d ever had.
“Just to see if he’s going to be around,” Dani said. “I thought maybe everyone could come up and stay for the week.”
“Here?” Cass squeaked.
“Whoo boy,” Drew said under his breath.
“There’s no room,” Cass said firmly. No room at the inn.
Dot shrugged. “You could probably put them up at Olivia’s.”
Thank you, Dot. Remind me never to invite you over for Thanksgiving dinner again.
“Dani, you know how crazy it gets this time of year,” Cass said. “I’m sure the B and Bs are booked solid.”
“Olivia still has a couple of rooms,” Dani said.
“You talked to her?” She’d told Olivia, too?
“This morning. I just called to ask if she had any left.”
“Well, then, I guess that settles it,” Cass said stiffly.
“You’ll help me plan it, won’t you?” Dani asked her in a small voice.
Cass was hurt and she was mad, but she wasn’t insane. “Of course I will. And I’ll make the cake.”
“Well, duh.” Amber rolled her eyes.
Dani ignored her sister and smiled happily. “Thanks, Mom.”
Cass sighed. She’d even suck it up and be nice at the wedding. It would be wrong to spoil her daughter’s big day with petty jealousy.
It’s not petty, whispered her evil twin. Cass told her to shut up.
“I know it’s a busy time of year,” Dani said.
“’Tis the season,” Dot cracked.
The season to be jolly. That was going to be hard with her ex-husband strutting around town, pretending to be the world’s best dad. It was going to be hard to greet his bimbo trophy wife with good cheer. And she didn’t even want to think about dealing with her ex-mother- and sister-in-law. If Santa thought this was what Cass wanted for Christmas, he needed to retire.
“This is going to be a pain in the butt for you,” Dot said to her later, after the dishes were done and the kids were playing on the Wii.
Cass leaned against the kitchen counter and stared at the contents of her coffee mug—black, just like her mood.
“But you’ll get through it.”
Of course she would. Exes were a part of life. She’d put on her big-girl panties and cope. After all, it was only a couple of days. Anyway, they’d all be staying at Olivia’s place. She’d hardly have to see them.
Cass managed a reluctant smile and raised her mug. “Well, then, here’s to getting through.”
Dot clinked mugs with her. “Merry Ex-mas, kiddo.”
2
It was Black Friday, a big day for retail in Icicle Falls. For Ella O’Brien that made two black days in a row. How different this Thanksgiving had been from the year before.
Not that her mother hadn’t tried to make it special. Mims had hauled Ella over the mountains to Seattle for an overnight in the city, and on turkey day they’d eaten their holiday dinner at a high-priced restaurant. Surrounded by strangers. Well, except for Gregory, Mother’s longtime friend and fellow fashionista, who had a condo on the waterfront.
Ella hadn’t invited the thought that came to her as they were eating, but it had come, anyway, making an unwelcome fourth at the table. This is pathetically different from last Thanksgiving with your in-laws. Correction: former in-laws.
That had been a typical O’Brien celebration, rowdy and exciting, especially for a woman who’d always wanted brothers and sisters. Mims, who had been included, kept a superior distance while grown-ups and children alike had worked up an appetite by running around in the woods playing capture the flag. After dinner her mother-in-law (ex-mother-in-law, darn it) had helped her figure out a tricky knitting pattern.
And later, when it was time for dessert, Mims the fishaterian learned that the slice of mincemeat pie she was enjoying was a hunter’s version with moose meat added to the sweet filling and had to make a dash for the bathroom.
There’d been no bathroom dash this year. And no Jake. That was fine with Ella. Really. Mims was right; she was better off without that skirt-chasing, irresponsible, overgrown child. And her life would be perfect once she didn’t have to see him every day.
But she missed his mother and his sister and brothers. It had been fun to have someone to call Mom.
She’d never called her own mother Mom. Instead, she’d wound up mimicking Mims’s fashion-model friends and calling her Mims. Ella had never gotten the full story on that nickname, beyond that fact that it had something to do with her mother’s fondness for mimosas. Oh, and a tycoon and a yacht. Her mother had never wanted to be Mom, anyway. That was simply too unglam. And Lily Swan brought glamour to everything, including motherhood. So that was how it was growing up and that was normal, and that was what Ella told her friends whenever they asked why she didn’t call her mother Mom.
And when they asked why she didn’t have a daddy, she recited the Swan party line—a girl didn’t really need a daddy. She’d sure wanted one, though, and had watched with longing when she saw other little girls riding on their daddies’ shoulders or getting taken out for ice cream.
When she’d married Jake and gotten a father-in-law it was the world’s best bonus.
Jake’s dad always greeted her with a hug and a “How’s my girl?” He checked the air in her tires and whittled little wood raccoons for her to put on her mantelpiece in the living room. Mims had pronounced them tacky but Ella loved them because every time she looked at them she could see her father-in-law’s big, smiling face.
“We’re so sorry to lose you,” Mom O’Brien had written in a sweet card after Ella and Jake broke the news. She’d been sorry to be lost. Too bad a girl couldn’t shed the husband but keep the family, she thought as she turned the sign hanging on the door of Gilded Lily’s to Closed.
She was tired—working with people all day could be exhausting—but it was a good kind of tired, she decided as she started to add up the day’s receipts. From now until New Year’s Eve the shop would be busy. Gilded Lily’s was the closest thing Icicle Falls had to a Neiman Marcus or a Nordstrom. It was owned by her mother but Ella managed it. She loved pretty clothes and she loved helping her customers find a special dress for that special occasion, whether it was a party or a prom, as well as all the accessories to enhance it. There’d been a lot of enhancing taking place this Black Friday.
Now the business day was over and it was time to go home. Home is where the heart is. There’s no place like home.
Bah, humbug.
She stepped out into the brisk mountain air and locked the door behind her. Winter darkness had settled in for the night and downtown Icicle Falls was a-twinkle. Christmas lights decked out the trees in the park and the potted fir trees nestled against the shops, and red ribbons adorned the old-fashioned lampposts that ran along Center Street.
Every weekend there would be a tree-lighting ceremony, and the skyscraper-size fir in town square would come to life with hundreds of colored lights, making the winter village scene complete. With its mountain setting and Bavarian architecture, Icicle Falls was like an animated postcard, quaint and charming—a perfect setting for a perfect life. Except Ella’s life wasn’t so perfect these days; it was like a dress that no longer fit.
It didn’t take her long to walk the half mile from the shop to her two-bedroom Craftsman-style cottage on Mountain View Road. Her dream home. In the summer she’d put two wicker rockers with plump cushions on the porch, and she and Jake had sat out there on warm weekday nights. She’d work on her knitting with their Saint Bernard, Tiny, lazing at her feet, while Jake serenaded her on his guitar. Last Christmas she’d taken great satisfaction in stringing colored lights and cedar boughs along the porch, while Jake had strung lights along the roofline—a team effort.
Ella sighed at the memory. She’d thought she’d have that house for life, had envisioned raising a family there or, once Jake became a famous country star, keeping it as a vacation home.
Her mother hadn’t shared the vision. “You shouldn’t buy a house so quickly,” Mims had cautioned when they first looked at it. “You’re both young and you don’t even know if this marriage will last.”
“Of course it’ll last,” Ella had insisted. “Why wouldn’t it?”
Her mother said nothing, just pursed her lips like a woman with an ugly secret. How had Mims known things wouldn’t work out with Jake? What early warning signs had she seen that Ella hadn’t?
Whatever she’d seen, she’d kept it to herself, and to show her support (once the decision was made and the papers were signed), she’d given them a gift certificate to Hearth and Home to buy a new couch, saying, “Really, Ella, you can’t decorate in Early American Garage Sale. What will people think?”
“Maybe they’ll think we’re happy,” Ella had suggested.
Mims had ignored that remark. “Go look at the couches at Hearth and Home, baby. You’ll find one you love, I promise.”
Ella did find a couch she loved, and Mims heartily approved of the brown leather sofa with the carved mahogany accents that Ella picked out. “You have wonderful taste,” she’d said, and then added, “In most things.” Translation: your taste in men is questionable.
“Really, darling, you can do so much better,” Mims advised when Ella and Jake started getting serious. “Sleep with him if you must, but for God’s sake don’t saddle yourself with him for life.”
What kind of mother told her daughter stuff like that? Lily Swan, that was who. Mims hadn’t felt the need for a husband, so Ella supposed she thought her daughter would see the wisdom of her choice and follow suit. “Men are fun, but not necessary,” she’d once overheard her mother say.
How much fun had Mims had with Ella’s father? And what had happened to keep them from becoming a family? That, like her mother’s age, was classified information and Ella had finally given up asking.
She opened her front door in time to see her own Mr. Not Necessary, her ex-husband, coming down the hallway wearing nothing but his boxers and carrying a basket of laundry, Tiny trotting at his heels. She hated it when Jake did that—not the laundry, parading around in his boxers.
Jake O’Brien had a poster-worthy body and looking at it was, well, distracting. He’d had all day to do the laundry. Why was he waiting until now?
She frowned at him.
He frowned back. “What?”
Tiny rushed up to her, his huge tail wagging with joy, and she bent to give him a good rub behind his ears. “You couldn’t have done the laundry earlier?” That sounded snippy, and she wasn’t a snippy sort of person. At least she hadn’t been before their divorce.
“I was busy,” he said.
Probably with some woman. Not that she cared. It was no longer any of her concern what he did or who he did it with.
“Anyway, what does it matter to you when I do my laundry? We’re not married anymore.”
“That’s my point,” she said, straightening up. “We’re not married and I don’t think you should be running around the house in your underwear.” Now she sounded both snippy and bossy. She was never bossy. Never!
He stopped next to her. That close proximity still did things to her.
Used to do things to her. Used to! She told the goose bumps on her arms to settle down.
He grinned at her, a wicked, taunting grin. “Does it…bother you?”
She could feel a guilty-as-charged heat on her cheeks. “It’s not proper.” Snippy, bossy and prissy—who was this new and unimproved Ella? “You don’t see me running around the house in my underwear.”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
She upgraded her frown to a scowl. “We may be sharing this house but it’s strictly business.”
“I am strictly business, and if my boxers bother you, move.”
Like she could afford to move? She didn’t have any more money in the bank than he did.
“Go stay with your mama.”
He might as well have added, “Mama’s girl.”
She wasn’t a mama’s girl and she had as much right to be here until the house sold as he did. She was an adult. She didn’t have to run home to her mother.
Anyway, Mims had downsized to a condo in the spiffy new Mountain Ridge condominiums outside town and they didn’t allow dogs Tiny’s size. If Jake thought she was leaving Tiny to him, he could think again. Tiny needed a mommy and a daddy. Even when they went their separate ways, they’d have joint custody of him. And besides, Ella needed to stay to make sure the house was kept in good condition to show. If she wasn’t there, potential buyers would see nothing but dirty toilets, dishes in the sink and beer cans on the coffee table, and they’d never be able to sell the place.
Sell the place—the thought of doing that still hurt. But it was only one in a string of many hurts she’d endured in the past year. For one wild, crazy moment, she wanted to put a hand to Jake’s face and ask, “What happened to us? Why are we doing this?” But she knew what had happened, and there was no going back now. The jet hadn’t just taxied down the runway or left the airport. It had left the city. The state. The country. They needed to move on, both of them.
She sighed. “Look, we’re stuck here until the place sells. Can’t we try and get along?”
He regarded her with those beautiful, dark Irish eyes. Roving eyes! “I’m not the one who started all this, El,” he said softly.
“Oh?” Who had “started” it by coming home with another woman’s phone number in his pants pocket?
There was no point in bringing that up. He’d just stick with his stupid story about the keyboard player dying to be in his band. Yeah? That wasn’t all the woman was dying for. The voice message Ella had gotten when she called the woman’s number said it all. I’m not home right now so leave a message. If this is Jake, I can meet you anytime, anyplace.
For what? A private audition? It had all been downhill from there.
He’d already let his perfect-husband mask slip before that, though, flirting with every little groupie who sashayed up to the bandstand when his band Ricochet was playing. She’d even caught him taking some girl’s black thong one night when the band was on break and he was supposed to be getting a Coke. He’d seen Ella coming and handed it back like it was a hot potato. A lacy hot potato.
“That came out of left field. I was so surprised I didn’t know what to do,” he’d said.
Just like he hadn’t known what to do with a certain keyboard player’s phone number? How dumb had he thought she was? And once she had proof…oh, he’d climbed on his high horse and acted all insulted that her mother’d had the nerve to hire a private detective to follow him. Who could blame her after hearing about the way he was sneaking around behind her daughter’s back, collecting other women’s panties?
But there was no denying what was plain in those pictures—her husband on another woman’s doorstep, hugging that woman. After being in her house for an hour. An hour! He’d claimed that he’d simply stopped by to drop off some music lead sheets. The kind of sheets they’d been using had nothing to do with music. How many quickies could an unfaithful husband squeeze into an hour? She didn’t want to do the math. Boy, whoever said one picture was worth a thousand words must have had a cheating husband.
Well, he’d gotten his keyboard player and Ella had gotten her divorce. They both got what they wanted. “You’re better off without him,” Mims had said. “He’s never going to amount to anything and you’d have been poor all your life. Starving musicians are a losing proposition.”
“I didn’t marry Jake to get rich,” Ella had protested.
“Congratulations, you succeeded,” Mims had retorted. Men might not have been necessary, but as far as her mother was concerned, once a girl had one, he darn well needed to earn his keep.
Her mother was right. Jake was immature and irresponsible and, worst of all, a cheater. She was well rid of him. Even if he did look hot in his boxers.
He frowned at her again. “Never mind. There’s no point talking anymore. I could talk till I’m blue in the face and you wouldn’t hear a thing I said.” With that parting remark, he marched up the stairs.
Ella turned her back on him. She was not—not!—going to look at his butt.
In fact, she wasn’t even going to stay in this house. By eight he’d be gone, on his way to the Red Barn, a honky-tonk a few miles outside of town. There he’d spend the night crooning country songs for people who were more interested in brawling and hooking up than listening to his band.
Ella had always loved listening to the band.
Oh, enough already, she scolded herself.
A moment later Jake was downstairs again and on his way down the hall to the kitchen. He’d covered the boxers with jeans but he was still bare-chested and that brought the goose bumps back for another visit. “The kitchen’s mine for twenty more minutes,” he called over his shoulder.
“Stay there as long as you want.” Messing everything up. “I’m leaving,” she called.
“Got a hot date?”
None of his business. She declined to answer. Instead, she grabbed her purse and started for the door. Tiny followed her hopefully.
She knelt in front of him and rubbed his side. “I promise I’ll be back as soon as he’s gone,” she whispered. “Then I’ll give you a good brushing.”
Tiny let out a groan and drool dripped from his chin. (Tiny did his share of mess-making, but unlike the other male in this house, he couldn’t help it.)
She kissed the top of his head, then slipped out the door, guilt riding on her shoulder. Poor Tiny. He felt the unhappy vibes in the house. In his doggy heart did he wonder what he’d done to deserve getting adopted into a broken home? If she’d known this was going to happen she’d never have visited that rescue site.
There was nothing she could do about that now. She’d make it up to him, somehow. How, exactly, she didn’t know. She hoped she could find someplace to rent that allowed big dogs that drooled and had a tendency to shed. Oh, dear.
Her Black Friday was getting blacker by the minute. She left the house, punching in Cecily Sterling’s phone number on her cell as she walked.
Ella and Cecily had been friends since high school. In fact, it was Cecily who had gotten Ella and Jake together. They’d lost touch when Cecily moved to L.A. but had reconnected when she returned to Icicle Falls earlier in the year. Cecily had been shocked to hear about the divorce but she’d been sympathetic and supportive. She had men interested in her, two to be exact, but she was done with men (or so she claimed), which made her the ideal dinner companion.
“Have you eaten yet?” Ella asked.
“Nope,” Cecily answered. “I just got in the door.”
“I don’t suppose you’d like to go back out the door, would you?”
“Maybe. What did you have in mind?”
“I need a place to hang out for a couple of hours. Dinner at Zelda’s?” Even though it was Friday night and the town was packed with tourists gearing up for Saturday shopping, Charlene Albach could always find a table for her friends.
“Jake’s still home?” Cecily guessed.
“Yeah,” Ella admitted. This was silly. She couldn’t keep running over to Charley’s restaurant every time Jake was home.
“I could go for a huckleberry martini,” Cecily said.
Oh, yes, a huckleberry martini sounded good. Or two. Whatever it took to wash away the image of Jake in his boxers.
* * *
Jake slammed a pot on the stove and pulled a can of chili from his side of the cupboard. Canned chili. He might as well have been a bachelor again.
Oh, yeah. He was.
He frowned at the can as he secured it to the electric can opener. This sucked. His life sucked. From perfect to puke in less than a year.
Was there a song in there somewhere? Probably not. He emptied the chili into the pot, along with a can of stewed tomatoes and a can of corn, his own secret recipe.
Tiny was in the kitchen now and looking expectantly up at him. “Yeah, I know. You like chili, too,” he said to the dog. He opened another can and added that to the pot. “You know this will make you fart.”
Tiny wagged his tail.
“Yeah, you’re right. Who cares? We’re guys, it’s what we do.” And they also walked around the house in their boxers.
Except not anymore, now that he and Ella weren’t together. Walking around in his boxers was no longer allowed. So maybe he should talk to her about leaving her bras hanging out in plain sight when she did the laundry. Did she have any idea how crazy that made him? All it took was one glance at those lacy little cups and he could picture Ella with him in that sleigh bed they’d found at an estate sale, going at it like rabbits.
He heaved a sigh. How had he gone from happily married to miserably divorced so fast?
He and Ella were meant to be together. They should’ve gone to counseling, worked things out.
Aw, heck, they wouldn’t even have needed counseling if he’d explained when she first started singing her version of “Your Cheatin’ Heart,” accusing him of being unfaithful. He’d tried to, but she’d cut him off. Then she’d thrown those pictures down in front of him and he’d been so shocked that his mother-in-law would do something that outrageous, and so offended and just plain pissed…he’d lost it. Wounded pride and anger had escorted him to the edge of the matrimonial cliff and then pushed him off.
It had been a fast fall and he learned firsthand that once the D word’s been said, there’s nothing else left to say.
So here he was, broken and miserable. The woman who’d once thought he hung the moon now wanted nothing more to do with him.
And his chili was burning. He swore and pulled it off the burner. “You’re getting the crusty part,” he informed Tiny. “You don’t care.”
You don’t care. Ella had thrown those words at him, insisting he sign the divorce papers.
“I’m not the one who filed for this,” he’d shot back.
“Just sign it, Jake. Please.”
When he’d seen those tears in her eyes, he should have pulled her to him and kissed her breathless. Then he should’ve torn up the papers, borrowed some money from Pops and moved them to Nashville. There was someplace he was sure her mother would never have followed. And that was probably what they needed. It could’ve been the two of them rather than the three of them.
He put his culinary creation in a bowl, gave Tiny the rest and then went back to his room. His room. That sucked, too. This was the guest room. Someday it was supposed to have been the nursery. Now it was his room.
He sat on the single bed that was six inches too short for him (a garage sale find), and sighed. Here he was, a squatter in his own home. Maybe Lily Swan was right. Maybe he was a loser. Maybe he had no talent. If he’d just admitted it, quit the band and taken a job in the warehouse at Sweet Dreams Chocolates, maybe he and Ella would still be together. There’d have been no groupies, no Jen, no reason to be jealous. Instead, he’d had to dream of a songwriting career and stardom. He’d tried to support his habit (and them) by working in the music shop on Fourth, but then the music shop had gone out of business. He still had a few guitar students but he wasn’t exactly getting rich. In short, these days he was a loser, unable to hang on to his woman and barely able to hang on to his dreams.
He looked at the dresser and the diamond in Ella’s engagement ring winked at him mockingly. He’d made payments on that for a whole year. Then he’d bummed the rest of the money he needed from Pops, paid it off and asked her to marry him that same night. She’d given him back both the engagement and wedding rings the day she’d shoved the divorce papers in front of him. “I can’t keep them,” she’d said. Just like she couldn’t keep him.
“No. I gave them to you. Keep them,” he’d insisted.
Ella loved jewelry and she’d especially loved that engagement ring, but she’d shaken her head and backed away.
Jake couldn’t bring himself to get rid of either ring. They still meant something to him, even if they didn’t to Ella.
Damn, he was a walking country song.
With a growl, he set aside his chili and finished getting dressed. No sense hanging around here any longer. He’d go to the Red Barn. Maybe he’d find some cute chick there who appreciated him and his music.
Even if he did, he’d look at her and see Ella.
And that sucked the most of all.
3
Charlene Albach, Charley to her friends, surveyed her domain with satisfaction. Six o’clock and all is well.
Zelda’s restaurant was filled with diners, many of them out-of-towners who’d come up to enjoy a Thanksgiving weekend getaway. Charley had been happy to oblige. She’d hated to miss going to her sister’s in Portland to be with family, but the restaurant was entirely hers now and she simply couldn’t leave. So she’d focused instead on giving other families a spectacular holiday, serving turkey dinner with all the trimmings, including stuffing made from her great-grandmother’s recipe. Well, with a few new twists. That was part of the fun of owning a restaurant. You got to create new recipes, dream up taste sensations that would keep customers coming back for more.
They were sure coming tonight. People had obviously worked up their appetites sledding and spending money in the shops. Tomorrow there’d be more sledding and shopping and more diners crowding into Zelda’s. And that meant more money in the cash register, which was bound to make for a very merry Christmas. This year Charley planned to be extravagant when shopping for her friends. They’d been there for her at every painful bump on the road to unexpectedly single, and she intended to show her thanks in a way that would make Santa proud.
She had just seated a fortysomething couple with a texting teen in tow when Ella O’Brien and Cecily Sterling came in. “And I thought my shop was crazy,” Ella observed, looking around.
The scene was a feast for the eyes. People of all ages and sizes, dressed in winter garb, consumed house specials such as salmon baked in golden puff pastry, squash seasoned with curry, baked winter vegetables and wild huckleberry cheesecake. There was plenty to occupy the other senses, too. The tantalizing scent of sage drifted out from the kitchen, encouraging diners to try the special turkey lasagna Charley’s head chef, Harvey, had created, and the clink of silver and hum of voices reminded her that life was good.
No, better than good. Great. Who needed a man, anyway? Getting free of her louse of a husband had freed up her creativity. The restaurant was better off without him. And so was Charley. Anyway, sex was overrated.
And if she kept telling herself that, she might begin to believe it.
“Can you find us a spot?” Cecily asked.
“I can always find room for a former employee. Are you sure you don’t want to come back to work for me?” Charley added as she led them to her last remaining two-top. “Like now?”
“Samantha’s keeping me busy enough at Sweet Dreams,” Cecily said with a smile. “I think my restaurant days are over.”
Just like her matchmaking days, or so Cecily claimed. Sometimes Charley entertained the idea of seeing if Cecily would put on her matchmaker hat one last time and find her a perfect man. But then she remembered there was no such thing, which was probably why Cecily was out of the matchmaking business and helping run her family’s chocolate company instead.
And there’s a reason you’re single, Charley told herself. Men were a liability, and they had no staying power. Richard, her ex, had proved that.
Never mind him. You’re having a really successful Black Friday. No need to turn it blue.
“So, business was good today?” she asked Ella as she handed her friends their menus.
“We moved a lot of inventory,” Ella said, sounding pleased.
Hardly surprising. Ella had a gift for creating irresistible displays in her shop. Charley had certainly succumbed to temptation often enough. How could a girl not when a hot top paired with a sweater that begged to be touched called her over, whispering, “Just try us on. Oh, and don’t you love this amazing scarf that’s hanging out with us?”
Ella herself was a walking ad. Tonight she was dolled up in jeans tucked into brown suede winter boots trimmed with a faux fur, along with a cream-colored cashmere sweater. She’d finished the look with a jaunty red jacket and a beret. It took style to pull off a beret. Ella had style in spades. Hardly surprising, considering who her mother was.
“That’ll make your mom happy,” Cecily predicted.
Did anything make Lily Swan happy? Charley could count on one finger the number of times she’d seen the woman smile. Well, really smile. How had such a snobby sour lemon produced such a nice daughter?
It was one of life’s mysteries, right up there with the mystery of how Charley could have been so dumb as to miss the fact that her husband was conducting an affair right under her nose…with the woman who worked as their hostess, for crying out loud. Somehow, Ariel hadn’t gotten the memo that her hostess duties applied only to paying customers. They did not extend to making your boss’s husband at home in your bed.
That was past history. Charley returned to the present. “So, you here celebrating?” she asked Ella.
“More like avoiding,” Cecily suggested, making Ella frown. “Jake’s still home,” she added for Charley’s benefit.
“I can see this house-sharing thing is working out great,” Charley cracked.
Ella shrugged. “It won’t be for long. Anyway, he can’t afford a place on his own and I can’t afford my half of the house payment plus rent somewhere else.”
“Your mom would probably help you.”
“I know, but I wouldn’t feel right asking her.”
“I’d have kicked his butt to the curb,” Charley said in no uncertain terms. “Let him stay with one of his band buddies.”
“Their wives and girlfriends would have been all over that,” Cecily pointed out with a grin.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Charley said. “Neither can cheaters.” Oooh, how she hated men who cheated on their wives!
“I know he looked as innocent as a man going to the bank in a ski mask, but I still have a hard time picturing Jake cheating on you,” Cecily said to Ella. “It doesn’t seem like him.”
Good old Cecily, always trying to see the best in people, even when there was no best to see. Although Charley had to admit, Jake had seemed like a nice guy. He and Ella had been Cecily’s first successful match, back when she and Ella were in high school. Going their separate ways for college hadn’t quenched Ella and Jake’s passion, and after graduation had come the big church wedding. Her mother hadn’t approved of Jake, but she gave Ella a wedding fit for a princess. They’d not only been a lovely bride and groom, they’d also seemed like the ideal couple, united for life.
Well, she and Richard had seemed like the ideal couple, too. Things weren’t always what they appeared.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ella said stiffly.
“Good idea,” Charley approved. “Keep this table a heartbreak-free zone.” She caught sight of another couple coming in the door and excused herself to greet them.
They were somewhere in their thirties. The man was going bald and his woman was no beauty, but the way they looked at each other proved that love was blind. She hung on to his arm like she’d never let him go.
Charley could remember when she’d held on to Richard like that. Somewhere along the way she’d released her hold....
She yanked herself back into the present and smiled at the newcomers. “Hi, how are you doing?” As if she had to ask. They were still happily in love.
“Great,” said the man.
“Do you have a reservation?” Charley asked.
He shook his head. “Someone told us this is a good place to eat. How long is the wait?”
“About twenty minutes, but we’re worth it.” Charley smiled. “If you like, you can wait in the bar and we’ll call you when there’s a table. Try the chocolate kiss,” she told the woman.
“That sounds good,” the woman said, and squeezed her man’s arm.
“We’ll wait,” he said, and gave Charley his name.
Watching them go, she wondered if they’d be happy together for the rest of their lives. Yes, she decided, they would be. And on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary they’d come back to Zelda’s to celebrate. On that pleasant thought she went to help a frazzled-looking Maria clear the corner table.
* * *
As Ella and Cecily enjoyed huckleberry martinis while waiting for their food to arrive Cecily took another stab at convincing her friend that she might have made a mistake.
It wasn’t the first time she’d tried, but Ella had been determined to divorce Jake even though Cecily was sure she was still in love with him. Yes, he wasn’t perfect, but he was perfect for Ella—a good guy with a nice family. Easygoing, fun-loving, just what Ella needed to balance the life of perfection her mother expected from her.
“I know it seems too late now that the divorce is final,” Cecily said, “but I can’t help thinking you should reconsider this. It doesn’t feel right.”
Ella stared into her martini glass. She looked like she was going to drop a few tears into it. “I know you’re famous for those hunches of yours, but this time you’re wrong, Cec. We just aren’t a match. He’s irresponsible. And untrustworthy.”
“But all you really had were suspicions.”
“I had more, believe me,” Ella said, and took a giant sip of her martini.
Jake was such a stand-up guy, Cecily found that hard to believe. What the heck had happened to these two? They’d been madly in love when she moved to L.A., yet by the time she’d moved back home they were done.
“Well, he’s not really irresponsible,” she defended Jake. “I mean, I know he doesn’t have a normal nine-to-five job, but he has a dream.”
“You can’t live on dreams.”
That sounded more like Lily Swan than Ella O’Brien. Ella’s mother had never liked Jake, probably thought he was too much of a redneck for her elegant daughter. Ella had beautiful taste in clothes and decorating, but when it came right down to it, she was a simple, small-town girl, not a New York jet-setter. That was Lily Swan, though. She’d settled in a small town to raise her daughter but she’d always fancied herself a sophisticated woman. Having a son-in-law who was a country musician and who eked out a living teaching guitar and playing in a band didn’t line up with her idea of a successful life.
Had Lily herself been all that successful? Surely if she’d been a top model she’d have wound up living in London or New York or L.A.—some place other than Icicle Falls. If you asked Cecily, Lily Swan had started believing her own press.
Not that anyone was asking Cecily, and not that she would’ve said what she thought even if she was asked. And she wouldn’t be saying anything now, except that Ella was miserable and she hated seeing her friend miserable.
“I don’t know,” she said. “It seems to me if you don’t have dreams you’re not really living.” She’d dreamed of coming home and carving out a new life for herself, and so far that was working out pretty well.
Her new life didn’t include love, though. She’d had enough misery in that department. She had to remind herself of this on a regular basis, every time she saw Luke Goodman, Sweet Dreams’ production manager. She also had to remind herself that sexual attraction did not equal love every time she ran into Todd Black, who owned the Man Cave, the seedy bar at the edge of town.
Ella finished off her drink. “It just wasn’t meant to be. Mims was right.”
Mother knows best? Lily Swan had done a fabulous job of brainwashing her daughter. Of course, she’d brainwashed herself, as well, convincing both of them that Ella could do better than Jake. Maybe she could if she was looking for wealth and status. But that wasn’t Ella. Hopefully, she’d realize it before it was too late and some other girl came along, picked up Jake’s broken heart and put it in her pocket.
* * *
The evening went by in a busy blur for Charley. By nine-thirty her feet hurt. That was nothing new. Her feet always hurt by nine-thirty. A few diners remained, savoring coffee and dessert or an after-dinner drink, but most of the crowd had moved on or relocated to the bar at the back of the restaurant. The dining area was now a burble of soft voices and an occasional clink of silverware on plates.
Sore feet aside, this was Charley’s favorite time of the night. The dinner rush over, she could bask in the satisfaction of having delivered a memorable dining experience to people celebrating and connecting over food.
Food. It was the centerpiece of life. From dinners of state to family gatherings, sharing food was an essential part of human connection. And it was the spice of love. How could you not fall in love when you were gazing across the table at someone? And when your sense of taste came alive over a Chocolate Decadence dessert or a crab soufflé the other senses joined the party. There was a reason lovers went out to dinner.
Some might say she simply owned a restaurant. Charley knew better. She owned a slice of people’s lives.
Tonight she’d had a great slice. She smiled, remembering how the texting teen had actually stopped on the way out to tell her she loved the wild blackberry pie. Her smile grew with the memory of the couple in love strolling out the door hand in hand. Oh, yes, a very successful night, she concluded as she loaded dirty dishes onto a tray.
She had just lifted it up to haul off to the kitchen when a cold gust of wind blew in the door. She looked up to see who the latecomer was and received a shock that made her heart jump and the tray slip from her hands, sending dishes and glasses to shatter on the floor. Oh, no. It couldn’t be.
But it was. The Ghost of Christmas Past. Her ex.
4
Charley stood gaping at her former husband. Random thoughts circled her brain like so many spinning plates. What’s he doing here? Am I hallucinating? Let’s test that theory by throwing a broken plate at him.
Maria hurried over to help her clean up, saw Richard and managed a shocked “Oh.”
Okay, now Charley knew she wasn’t hallucinating.
He stepped into the dining area. “Hello, Charley. You look good.”
So did he. Richard wasn’t a tall man, coming in at around five foot eight, but what there was of him was yummy. Yes, he’d added some gray strands to his dark hair—she hoped the new girlfriend had given him every one—but other than that he was sailing pleasantly into his forties with only a hint of lines around those gray eyes. He still had that full mouth and the misleadingly strong jaw. Anyone would mistake him for a movie hero. Movies, yes. Hero? Definitely not.
He stood there in his jeans and winter jacket, looking at her—how? Hopefully? No, that couldn’t be it. She had nothing he wanted. He’d made that abundantly clear when he chose another woman.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice flat.
“I wanted to see you.”
“Well, I don’t want to see you. Ever again.” Charley bent next to Maria and began to pick up some of the bigger pieces of dishware.
Richard joined them, loading a chunk of broken glass onto the tray.
“I don’t need your help,” Charley growled. “Anyway, you might cut yourself and sue me.” She was already giving him enough money. Talk about adding insult to injury. As part of the divorce settlement she’d had to buy out his share of the restaurant. Her restaurant!
Oh, yes, he’d worked it with her, but it had been hers—her vision, her creation. She’d sunk her entire inheritance from her grandmother into the place when it was a dying dump, and with imagination and hard work she’d built it into a popular community gathering spot. Richard had only come along for the ride.
And then taken her for a ride.
He laid a hand on hers. “I really need to talk to you.”
Maria gave a disgusted snort before hauling the tray full of breakage off to the kitchen.
Charley’s sentiments exactly. She sat back on her heels and regarded her ex. “You can’t want more money. God knows you’ve taken enough from me.”
He looked at her as if she’d stabbed him with a steak knife. “Charley…listen, we can’t talk here.”
“I don’t want to talk at all.”
“I know I don’t deserve so much as the time of day from you, but please, can we go back to the house?”
“My house,” she reminded him. She was buying out his share of that, too.
“Please?”
Maybe she was curious, or maybe the desperation in his voice gave her an appetite for more of the same. She could feel herself weakening.
Still she hedged. “I’m not done here.”
“I’m staying at Gerhardt’s. Call me on my cell when you’re finished.”
The same cell phone he’d used to text messages to Ariel, setting up stolen quickies in the bar before the employees arrived. Before Charley arrived.
“Charley, please. I know I don’t deserve it but please.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said. “And that’s the most I can promise.”
He managed an awkward nod. “I’ll be waiting,” he said, and then walked out the door.
Charley stood slowly. She was only thirty-nine but she suddenly felt ninety and weary right down to her soul.
Maria was back with a whisk broom and dustpan, frowning. “What did that bastardo want?”
“I’m not sure.” And she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out. “But he wants to see me later.”
“Don’t do it,” Maria cautioned. “He already hurt you once.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t let him do it again,” Charley assured her.
But when she finally got home she found herself calling him. He probably wouldn’t leave until she gave in, so the sooner she saw him, the sooner he’d go.
He was at her door ten minutes later.
“Make this fast,” she said as he stepped in. “I’m tired and I want to go to bed.” Alone, like I’ve been doing ever since you left.
He motioned to the living room. “Can we sit down?”
The last thing she wanted was Richard back in her living room. Bad enough that almost everything in it held a memory of their life together, from the brown microfiber sofa where they’d cuddled watching football or the Food Network to the Tiffany-style lamp he’d bought for her birthday three years ago. She should have gotten rid of that lamp. Heck, she should’ve gotten rid of everything. “I don’t understand why you’re here,” she said bitterly, leading the way to the couch. She sat down, crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at him.
He sat close to her—too close—and looked at her earnestly. “I’m here to ask you to take me back.”
This was the biggest shock she’d had since, well, since she’d discovered him cheating on her. “What?”
“I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I don’t either, but I know what you were thinking with,” she retorted.
His face flushed, but he held her gaze. “If I had it to do over…”
“You wouldn’t have done her?” Charley finished for him. “What’s the matter, Richard, did she dump you for a younger man?”
The flush deepened. Bingo! “I was a fool.”
“Yes, you were,” Charley agreed, “and for all I know you still are. Why should I take you back?”
“Because I love you.”
That produced a bitter laugh. “Oh, please. Don’t make me sick.”
“I do,” he insisted. “I always have. Ariel was a mistake.”
“A mistake you were happy enough to make,” Charley said. “You had a chance to give her up and you didn’t.”
“I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“Well, I am.” She stood, signaling that this ridiculous conversation was over.
He stood, too. He was barely taller than she was. Why had she picked such a small man?
“All I’m asking is that you give me a chance to prove I’ve changed. Twelve years together, Charley—that has to count for something.”
“It should have counted for something when you were looking around for a side dish.”
He sighed. “You’re right.”
“You know where the door is.”
His eyes filled with regret. “What would it take to convince you I’ve changed?”
She studied him. “You know…”
He regarded her hopefully.
“I can’t think of a thing.” She walked to the door and opened it. “Good night, Richard.”
He took the hint and walked out the door, but as he passed her he said, “I’m not giving up. You’re worth fighting for.”
He hadn’t thought that a year ago. She slammed the door after him and locked it.
* * *
The Gingerbread Haus opened at ten but Cass was always in by six, baking cookies and, at this time of year, assembling gingerbread houses, many of which would be shipped all over the country.
She got plenty of appreciation in her hometown, too, and Olivia Wallace arrived at eleven to pick up the creation Cass had made for the lobby of the Icicle Creek Lodge. A perfect replica of Olivia’s B and B styled after a Bavarian hunting lodge, it even sported a blue-frosting creek running past it.
“It’s lovely as usual,” Olivia said. “I don’t know how I’ll be able to resist nibbling at it.”
Olivia’s well-rounded figure testified to her lack of willpower. But Olivia was a widow and, as far as Cass was concerned that gave her unlimited nibbling rights. Anyway, Cass was in no position to say anything. She was a nibbler, too.
“Here’s a little something extra for when you get the urge,” she said, and handed Olivia a box containing a baker’s dozen frosted gingerbread cookies cut in the shape of Christmas trees.
“Oh, thank you,” Olivia said. “How much do I owe you for these?”
“Nothing. They’re on the house. The gingerbread house,” Cass added with a wink.
Dani came in from sending off the day’s shipment of gingerbread creations. “Here’s our bride-to-be,” Olivia greeted her.
Dani’s cheeks flushed with pleasure and she smiled at Olivia.
She’s going to be a beautiful bride, Cass thought. If only they had more time to plan this wedding.
“I just gave your grandmother and aunt our last room,” Olivia said to Dani. “It’s a good thing you called when you did, or that one would’ve been gone,” she added. “I’ve had three calls since.”
“One of them was probably my stepmother,” Dani said, and now the pink in her cheeks wasn’t from pleasure.
Babette. Cass could feel her mouth slipping down at the corners. Bimbette was more like it. Cass hadn’t met her, but she’d seen pictures. The woman was nothing more than arm candy. Cass had it on good authority (her son’s) that she couldn’t cook.
Not that Mason had married Babette for her culinary skills. She’d been a professional cheerleader for the Seattle Seahawks, a Sea Gal, and she had the body to prove it. Of course, once she snagged Mason at the ripe old age of thirty, she gave that up. Now she was all of what, thirty-one? And stepmother to a twenty-year-old. What a joke.
Olivia looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I wish I’d known earlier. I’d have reserved a block of rooms for you.”
“If any of us had known earlier we would’ve been more organized,” Cass said. She’d meant that as an explanation, not an accusation of her daughter. Judging from the deep rose shade blooming on Dani’s cheeks, she’d taken the remark to heart. “But Mike got a job in Spokane and he starts in January and they want to be together.”
“Of course you do,” Olivia said to Dani. “I sure hope the rest of your guests find someplace. I know Annemarie is full up and so is Gerhardt.”
No room at the inn. What a shame. Mason and Bimbette might have to miss the wedding. Not a very gracious thought, Cass scolded herself.
“Oh,” Dani said, a world of worry in her voice.
“Mountain Springs over by Cashmere might have something,” Olivia suggested. “That wouldn’t be too far away.”
Dani nodded and whipped her cell phone out of her jeans.
As she stepped away to make the call, Olivia lowered her voice. “I imagine this is all a little awkward.”
There was an understatement. “A little,” Cass said.
“I almost felt like a traitor saving a room but Dani asked.”
“It’s okay. In fact, I really appreciate it. Otherwise, they might have had to stay with me.”
The very thought of that was enough to make Cass shudder. Her judgmental ex-mother-in-law and her gossipy ex-sister-in-law staying with her? Ugh.
Two middle-aged women had come in and were waiting patiently in front of the glass display case. Olivia, like everyone else in Icicle Falls, knew the value of a tourist dollar. “Well, I’d better be going,” she said. “I’ve got to get to the grocery store or my guests won’t have breakfast tomorrow.” To the newcomers she said, “The gingerbread boys are delicious, but make sure you get a couple of those cream puff swans, too. They’re to die for.”
The women took her advice, purchasing gingerbread boys and girls and a couple of cream puffs. One of them bought a gingerbread house, as well.
Meanwhile, more customers had come into the bakery. Normally Dani would be helping Cass, but right now she and her cell phone were in the kitchen looking for lodging for Mason and Bimbette.
Let them find their own place to stay. Cass moved to the kitchen area. “I could use some help out here.”
Dani turned her back and held up a hand, which meant—what? Trying to hear? Be there in a minute?
“Now,” Cass added in her stern mama-bear voice.
“Okay, thanks,” Dani said, and ended the call.
“Honey, you’re going to have to do that later,” Cass said. “We’ve got customers.”
“We’ve always got customers,” Dani muttered grumpily.
Which was how they paid the bills. This had never bothered her daughter before.
But then she’d never been engaged.
Twenty minutes rushed past before they had a lull. Cass knew it was temporary. Once the lunch hour was finished, the customers would return.
She turned the sign on the door to Closed. “We’ll Be Back by One,” said the clock below. That gave them time for lunch, and in Dani’s case, time to go back to calling every motel and B and B within a twenty-mile radius.
Cass sat down at a corner table with her cup of coffee and watched as Dani became increasingly desperate with every conversation. That desperation began to make Cass’s coffee churn in her stomach. If her daughter didn’t succeed in her mission it boded ill—not for Dani, and not for Mason and Bimbette, but for Cass.
Sure enough. At a quarter to one Dani plopped onto the chair next to her and tossed her smartphone on the table.
Tell me we’re out of eggs, tell me someone’s order never arrived, tell me anything but what you’re about to tell me.
“There’s no vacancy anywhere,” Dani announced miserably.
Cass spoke before her daughter could say the dreaded words. “It’ll be okay. Seattle’s not that far. Your dad can drive over the day of the wedding.”
Dani looked at her, eyes wide in horror. “But what about the rehearsal dinner the night before? And what if something happens? What if they close the pass?”
Then we can get on our knees and thank God.
Okay, that was truly rotten. This was her daughter’s big day and she wanted her father there. “I’m sure he’ll figure it out,” Cass said, trying to sound as if she cared.
“Mom, how can he when there’s no place anywhere?”
Surely that was a rhetorical question. She kept her mouth shut.
“Can they stay with us for a couple of days?”
There it was, what she’d known was coming all along. Just what she wanted for Christmas, her ex and his bimbo bride staying with her. “We have no place to put them,” she argued.
“They can have my room. I can sleep with Amber.”
“I was going to give your room to Grandma Nordby.” Cass would jump into boiling oil before she’d turn her mother out in favor of Mason and Bimbette.
“Then give them Willie’s room and put him on the sleeper sofa. Or put them on the sleeper sofa.”
That was what Cass wanted, to come out and find her ex and his second wife curled up together in her living room.
“We could find a place for them for just one night, couldn’t we?” Dani begged. “Two at the most.”
There had to be some other way they could work this out. Cass stalled for time. “Let me think about it, okay?”
Dani made a face like she’d just eaten baking soda. “I know what that means.”
So did Cass, and she felt like the world’s meanest mother.
A woman with two little girls had come to the door, and the girls were peering inside.
“Go unlock the door,” Cass said wearily.
“Sure. Fine,” Dani said in a tone of voice that showed how un-fine everything was.
“It would be nice if you could greet our customers with a smile instead of a frown,” Cass called after her.
“I’m smiling,” Dani called back. Smiling on the outside, seething on the inside.
They’ll find someplace to stay, Cass told herself. Now, if she could only believe that.
5
It was Sunday evening, time for Cass’s weekly chick flick night. The friends had decided to watch Christmas movies during the month of December and Cass’s pal Samantha Sterling had picked the one for tonight—The Family Man.
“I love that movie,” she’d said. “Love how the hero changed from a Scrooge to a great husband and dad.”
“I never knew you were so sentimental,” Cass had teased.
“I’m not,” Samantha had retorted, “but I know what’s important.”
Cass would give her that. Samantha Sterling had fought hard to save her family’s chocolate company. In the process she’d resuscitated the town of Icicle Falls, which had been in an economic slump, by sponsoring a chocolate festival. Spurred on by that success, the town leaders had caught festival fever. October had seen Oktoberfest, December’s tree-lighting event had been expanded from one weekend to every weekend and there was talk of a wine festival in the early summer.
Samantha and her sister Cecily were the first to arrive, rosy-cheeked and smiling, stomping snow off their boots. Blue-eyed, blond-haired Cecily was the beauty of the family, but with her red hair and freckles, Samantha wasn’t exactly a troll. She’d married Blake Preston, the bank’s manager, in August and still sported a newlywed glow. That would wear off eventually.
Listen to you, Cass scolded herself. Queen of the cynics.
“We brought vitamin C,” Samantha said, handing over a holiday box of Sweet Dreams Chocolates.
Chocolate, the other Vitamin C, and a girl’s best friend. “This takes care of me. I don’t know what the rest of you are having,” Cass joked. “Did you bring the movie?”
Cecily held up the DVD with Nicolas Cage on the cover. “We’re set.”
Ella was the next to arrive. She wasn’t as beautiful as her glamorous mother, Lily Swan, but she was cute and she knew how to dress. Tonight she looked ready for a magazine shoot in skinny jeans paired with a crisp white shirt, a black leather vest and a long, metallic red scarf, and bearing a bowl of parmesan popcorn, her specialty. Ella even did popcorn with flair.
Cass decided that flair was something you either soaked up in the gene pool or you didn’t. She could create works of art in her bakery, but when it came to personal style she couldn’t seem to get beyond unimpressionist. Oh, well. What did she care? She didn’t have anyone she needed to impress.
Not even your ex-in-laws?
No, she told herself firmly. Living well was the best revenge and she was living quite well, thank you. She didn’t need to look like a cover model to prove it.
She pushed aside the thought of Babette, who would, of course, show up for the wedding with her hair perfectly highlighted and her skinny little bod draped in something flattering. Maybe Cass would pass on the chocolate and popcorn tonight.
Charley was the last to arrive. She came bearing wine and looked frazzled enough to consume the entire bottle single-handed.
“Okay, what’s wrong?” Cass asked once the women were settled in the living room with their drinks and goodies.
“Richard’s back.” Charley took one of Cass’s gingerbread boys and bit off his head.
Cass nearly dropped her wineglass. “What?”
Charley nodded. More of the gingerbread boy disappeared.
“Why is he back?” Cass asked. “What does he want?”
“Me,” Charley said.
“You? He left you for another woman! Tell him to take a hike off the mountain,” Samantha advised.
Cass couldn’t have said it better herself. “I’ll second that.”
“So he’s left Ariel?” Cecily asked.
“He says it was all a mistake.”
Men always said that when they got caught with their pants down. Cass frowned. “Not as big a mistake as taking him back would be.”
“You’re not going to, are you?” asked Samantha.
“Absolutely not,” Charley shook her head vigorously.
“Good for you,” Cass said. Charley had the kind of never-ending legs that made men drool and gorgeous long hair and plenty of personality. She didn’t have to settle for letting a loser back in her life.
“Did you tell him that?” Samantha asked.
“Of course I did.”
“Then why is he still here?” Samantha persisted.
Charley was on her second gingerbread boy now. “He says he’s not giving up.”
“Oh, brother,” Ella said, rolling her eyes.
“Why is it men only want you when you don’t want them?” Charley grumbled.
“Because they’re bums,” Cass said.
“Not all of them,” Samantha murmured.
“Blake is the exception to the rule,” Cass told her.
“There are other exceptions out there,” Cecily added.
“Like Luke Goodman?” her sister teased.
“Like Luke,” Cecily agreed, her voice neutral.
Ella sighed. “So why do we always like the bad boys?”
Charley sighed, too. “Because we’re masochists?”
“There’s something about bad boys,” Cecily said, then seeing her sister’s frown, got busy inspecting a lock of hair for split ends.
“Yeah, something bad,” her sister said firmly. “Men like Richard and Todd Black are nothing but heartbreak on two legs.”
“I wasn’t talking about Todd,” Cecily said, her cheeks pink.
“I was,” Samantha said.
Cecily grabbed a handful of popcorn. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m ready to watch the movie.”
With Samantha in bossy older sister mode that was understandable. Cass started the movie.
As the plot unfolded, chronicling the life of the fictional Jack Campbell, she couldn’t help thinking of her own choices, of Mason. What if they’d been given a glimpse of a better future, one where they stayed united and lived as best friends instead of combatants? What would her life look like now?
What did it matter? She and Mason had made their choices and no hip angel was going to drop into their lives to give them a second chance. The best glimpse she could get was one of her daughter’s wedding going smoothly, of herself managing to be civil. If she could pull that off, it would be a miracle.
* * *
What a wonderful movie. And what a wonderful way to start the holidays. Ella was teary-eyed by the end of it. She always cried at movies. She cried over movies with sad endings because she felt so bad for the poor people. A movie with a happy ending, especially a romantic movie, brought her to tears because, well, it was all so overwhelmingly hopeful. Somewhere out there in the real world a man could be coming to his senses, realizing that he didn’t need to go off in search of El Dorado, that there was gold right in his own backyard. Maybe like the Jack Campbell character, Charley’s husband had figured that out.
Jake had insisted he had, that Ella was all he needed.
What big fat lies! Thank God her mother had opened her eyes to the truth. Otherwise, she’d have wasted the best years of her life, keeping the home fires burning on a shoestring budget while he carried on with other women.
“Well.” Cass raised her glass. “Here’s to the Jack Campbells of the world, wherever they’re hiding.”
“I’ll drink to that. I found mine,” Samantha said.
“And here’s to Christmas,” Cecily toasted.
“And Christmas weddings,” Samantha added. “Do these guys know Dani’s engaged?”
“That’s wonderful! Why didn’t you tell us?” Ella asked Cass.
“You’ve been anticipating this for months. I’m surprised you haven’t been crowing from the rooftops,” Charley said.
“I was going to tell you all.” Cass shrugged. “I got distracted.”
When Ella and Jake had gotten engaged, she’d told everyone. How did a woman get distracted from sharing such big news? “That’s so exciting. Tell us now.”
“She’s getting married the weekend before Christmas at Olivia’s.”
“Oh, that’ll be gorgeous,” Cecily said. “Olivia always has the place decorated like something out of a magazine.”
Especially at Christmas. The outside of the lodge would be awash with white twinkle lights, and inside cedar swags and red bows would adorn the banisters. But the best decoration of all was the vintage sleigh, decked out with swags and ribbons, surrounded by decorative gift boxes. Ella could envision Dani and Mike in that sleigh, posing for pictures in their wedding day finery.
“But wow, it doesn’t give you much time,” she said. It had taken her nine months to plan her wedding.
“And I thought we had a challenge putting together our chocolate festival in six weeks,” Cecily joked.
“Why so quick?” asked Ella, and then blushed as one obvious possibility occurred.
“No, they don’t have a baby on the way,” Cass said. “Just a move to Spokane in January.”
“Are you going to be able to pull it off?” Ella asked after Cass had explained about Mike’s new job.
“Are you stressed about getting everything done?” put in Cecily. “We can help, you know.”
“Absolutely,” said Charley, and Ella nodded her agreement.
“That’s not the bug in the soup, is it?” Samantha looked at Cass.
“Then what?” Ella asked. “Are you worried that she’s too young?”
“She is young,” Cass admitted. “And I was figuring she and Mike would wait a year before getting married. But she’s had her life mapped out since she was twelve—baking, husband and babies.”
Ella could identify with that. Well, except for the baking part. She’d always wanted a family, complete with husband. “Then what’s the bug in the soup?”
Cass frowned. “Dani wants her father to walk her down the aisle.”
They all knew how Cass felt about her ex. “Oh,” Ella said, at a loss for anything else to say.
“Yeah, oh. And it gets better. Guess where my daughter wants him and stepmommy to stay?”
Charley’s eyes got so big Ella thought they’d pop out of her head. “Seriously?”
“Pathetically seriously,” Cass said.
Cecily picked up the box of chocolates. “You need one of these.”
Several chocolates and much commiseration later, the party broke up.
“How are we going to help her get through this?” Cecily asked as the women made their way down Cass’s front walk.
“We could beat up Bimbette,” Charley cracked. “Or poison the ex.” She shook her head. “Cass is nuts if she goes along with this.”
“She’ll cave,” Samantha predicted. “She likes to pretend she’s tough, but when it comes to her kids she’s softer than a marshmallow. I think we’re going to have to be available 24/7 so she’s got someone to vent to.”
“For sure,” Charley agreed. “I can’t imagine being stuck in the same house with your ex.” She seemed to realize what she’d said and her face turned as red as a poinsettia. “Sorry, Ella.”
“It’s okay,” Ella said. “And I can tell you from experience, it’s going to be hard.”
“Hopefully your place will sell soon and you can move on,” Samantha told her.
Move on. Move. Ella’s holiday spirit suddenly moved on without her. “Hopefully,” she echoed.
She said goodbye to the others and returned to her empty dream house.
Jake was at an open mike at the Red Barn so the only one home was Tiny. He greeted her with a woof and a wagging tail.
“I know,” she said, rubbing the top of his massive head. “You’re ready for some exercise, huh, boy?”
Tiny woofed again and danced back and forth. She opened the front door and he darted out into the night.
Ella followed at a more sedate pace, wondering what it was like to be a dog. Did dogs ever worry? Did they ever question whether they’d made the right choice, done the right thing?
Silly thought, of course. All a dog had to do was enjoy being a dog. Someone else made the tough decisions.
If she and Jake had been Saint Bernards…
She shook her head at her own foolishness and whistled for Tiny to heel. Too bad she couldn’t have whistled for Jake to heel before he went bounding off.
Jake wasn’t the kind of man to heel. Instead of saying how sorry he was and asking her to forgive him after his fling with that keyboard player, he’d gotten combative. “I’m tired of this shit, Ella. If you can’t trust me, then we can’t be together.”
It had been all downhill from there.
“You don’t need a man to be happy,” Mims had told her.
Except Ella no longer had a man and she wasn’t happy.
She stewed over that for twenty minutes while Tiny sniffed and marked his territory. Then it started to snow and she turned them toward the house. By the time they got back she was in need of some bedtime hot chocolate.
She shed her coat and went to the kitchen to get her last packet of instant cocoa. She was pleasantly surprised to see that Jake had actually cleared his dishes from her vintage red Formica table. And then not surprised to find them in the sink. From the sink to the dishwasher was only one more step. How hard was that? He’d probably left them there, figuring she’d do it for him.
She opened the cupboard beneath the sink to get out the dish soap.
What was this? Water. A little pool of water. How had he managed that?
She mopped it up, then loaded the dishes. Now all that was left was a pot crusted with bits of burned chili. It didn’t take long to deduce that the chili was welded to the pan, so after a futile attempt to dislodge it, she added more soap and filled it to the brim with water to soak overnight. Then she rinsed out the sponge and the sink and opened the cupboard to put away the dish soap.
Oh, no. Here was a fresh puddle. Just what they needed right now, a leaky sink. She’d have to call a plumber first thing in the morning. Another bill to split down the middle.
She picked up the phone and called Jake’s cell. He was probably up on the bandstand singing about love with that man-stealing keyboard player or sitting at a table nursing a Coke and flirting with some cowgirl poured into tight jeans. That was his life—fun, glamorous and irresponsible. And while he flirted and played his guitar she dealt with leaky faucets.
She was well rid of this relationship. Next time she’d be smart when it came to choosing a man. Maybe she’d even find herself a plumber.
She’d expected her call to roll over to Jake’s voice mail but he answered on the second ring. “Everything okay?”
Why did he immediately think something was wrong? Oh, yeah. She was calling him. “The pipe under the kitchen sink is leaking. I just wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t use it when you got ho—back.” Home, that would’ve been the wrong word to use. This house wasn’t a home anymore. “I’ll call the plumber tomorrow.” Maybe he could squeeze her in that same day. It would make life simpler, since the shop was closed on Mondays.
“Don’t do that,” Jake said.
“We can’t leave it.” No one would want to buy a house that was falling apart.
“I know. I’ll fix it.”
Jake wasn’t the world’s best handyman. Last summer he’d gone through a pile of two-by-fours trying to fix one broken front-porch step. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Hey, any guy can fix a leaky pipe,” he said. “I’m not paying a plumber.”
She sure wasn’t going to foot the entire bill. “Okay,” she said. “But you’ll fix it first thing tomorrow, right?” Their Realtor, Axel Fuchs, had cautioned her to always have the house in tip-top shape. You never knew when a potential buyer would want to look at it.
“I’ll do it tomorrow,” Jake said. “Don’t worry.”
Don’t worry? That would be possible only if she were a Saint Bernard.
6
Richard was history. He needed to stay history, and that was exactly what Charley was going to tell him next time he popped up like the Ghost of Christmas Past. It wasn’t right to come back into a girl’s life after she’d worked through her anger (well, most of it) and gotten on with things. And she’d tell him that, she decided as she put on her makeup.
It was Monday and the restaurant was closed. She never bothered with makeup on Mondays.
She glared at her reflection. Why are you doing this?
Pride. She wanted Richard to see her at her best when she told him to set his boxers on fire and get lost.
“You liar,” she scolded herself. “You just want him to see you looking your best, period.”
Charley tossed her mascara in her makeup basket and left the bathroom.
She always stayed home on Monday mornings. She did her laundry in the morning and fooled around on Facebook. After lunch she’d read or watch the Food Network and then she’d take a run to Bruisers for a quick workout on the treadmill. Or go to the bakery for a little something—always more fun than the treadmill.
No hanging around the house this morning, she told herself. If Richard tried a surprise attack he’d find the fort deserted. She could finish her Christmas shopping. She’d hang out in Gilded Lily’s, Hearth and Home and Mountain Treasures. Oooh, and for lunch she’d indulge in a bratwurst at Big Brats. Then maybe she’d stop in at Sweet Dreams and say hi to Samantha. Or wander over to Gingerbread Haus and treat herself to a gingerbread boy.
She donned the knitted hat Ella had made for her and grabbed her winter coat.
And opened the door just in time to see Richard coming up the front steps, bundled up for winter in a parka and ski cap and carrying a thermos. She didn’t know which irritated her more, the fact that he’d ignored her command to bug off or that at the sight of him her heart lost its groove and gave a nervous skip. “What are you doing here?”
“Kidnapping you.”
“That’s against the law. Anyway, you’re not big enough to overpower me,” she added, and hoped that hurt. She shut the door after herself and started past him.
“Kidnapping you to go on a sleigh ride,” he said, ignoring her barb.
She stopped in her tracks. A sleigh ride. Other than chocolate, there was nothing more tempting. Sleigh rides were becoming a popular tourist activity in Icicle Falls. Ever since she and Richard had moved to town, Charley had wanted to take one, but somehow she’d never found time. There was something so romantic about a sleigh ride.
There would be nothing romantic about taking one with her ex. “Currier’s doesn’t offer sleigh rides on weekdays.”
“They do this week. I made special arrangements with Kirk Jones.”
Special arrangements. What strings had Richard pulled to get the owner of the Christmas tree farm to harness up his horses on a Monday?
Richard held up the thermos. “Hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps.”
“I don’t care if it’s champagne.”
“That’s for brunch. At the Firs.”
The Firs was an exclusive resort compound that extended for acres and included everything from hiking trails to outdoor hot tubs and pools surrounded by mountain rock. Cabins were outfitted with luxury furnishings and the dining hall provided feasts prepared by the kind of top chefs Charley only dreamed of hiring.
Now she was doubly tempted.
Don’t do it.
“All I’m asking for is a chance. Just give me today.”
One day, that was all he was asking.
She sighed. “Why did you have to come back?”
“Because I need you.”
“You didn’t need me a year ago when you were boinking Ariel in the bar.”
Richard grimaced. “Charley, I’ve changed. Let me prove it.”
Eating at the Firs was the equivalent of eating at Canlis in Seattle. She had no intention of getting back together with Richard, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t use him. Just deserts, she concluded. She’d use him like he’d once used her. Then he could see how it felt.
“Okay, I’ll go,” she said. “It’s not going to do you any good, but I’ll go.”
He grinned like she’d just offered to sleep with him. “It’s a beginning.”
Currier’s Tree Farm was rustic and picturesque. The snow-frosted split rail fence along the property was draped with cedar swags and red bows. The big tree in the yard was adorned with lights and huge colored balls and a shawl of snow. Behind the house, the tree farm stretched out with every imaginable kind of holiday tree. Off to the left she saw a stand where visitors could enjoy complimentary hot cider and to the right sat a big, red barn. There, in front of it, stood an old-fashioned sleigh decked out in cedar swags and ribbon. The chestnut draft horses looked equally festive, with jingle bells in their harnesses, their manes and tails braided with red ribbons. One of them stamped a foot. Another let out a soft nicker.
A lean, gray-haired man in winter garb came out of the barn and waved at them. “You’re right on time,” he called to Richard, and motioned for them to join him. “Got a perfect day for a sleigh ride,” he greeted Charley.
“It was nice of you to open for us,” Charley said.
He grinned, a big, broad smile that filled his face. “Anything for lovers.”
Lovers! Was that what Richard had told him? “Not exactly,” Charley said, frowning. “We’re exes.”
That made Kirk Jones’s bushy gray eyebrows shoot up and Richard’s mouth turn down.
“Oh, well,” Kirk said, and then cleared his throat. “It’s a great day for a sleigh ride.”
“No matter who it’s with,” Charley said, ignoring Richard’s helping hand and climbing into the sleigh.
Kirk had provided a plaid wool blanket and Richard spread it across her legs.
“Thanks. Lover,” she said with some asperity.
“You can’t blame me because people jump to conclusions,” he said.
“Did you give him a little push?”
“No. I told him the truth.”
Charley cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? And what was that?”
“That this is for a special lady. No lie.” He uncorked the thermos and pulled two disposable cups from his coat pocket.
As he poured she remembered how good he’d always been at romantic gestures—creating a dish and naming it after her, taking her over the mountains to Seattle one year to look at Christmas lights and then spending the night in a downtown hotel, hiding a bit of anniversary bling under her pillow.
What romantic things had he done for Ariel?
He handed over her hot chocolate. Then he poured himself a cup and capped the thermos. “To new beginnings,” he said, and raised his cup to her.
She said nothing in return, just took a sip and looked away.
“Or the hope of new beginnings,” Richard amended.
In your dreams, Charley thought, and downed some more.
Kirk was up in the sleigh now. He clicked his tongue and gave the horses’ rumps a gentle slap with the reins and they lurched forward.
Good thing her cocoa was half-gone, or she’d have been wearing it. And that would have been a shame because it was delicious. This was no instant stuff, she could tell. It had been made with cream and fine Dutch chocolate. Chocolate, the way to a girl’s heart.
But not this girl’s. Richard would never find his way back to hers, not even with a GPS made of solid Sweet Dreams dark.
Still, she decided, she might as well enjoy the ride.
There was plenty to enjoy. The sleigh ride was everything it should be. They wooshed past fir and pine trees clad in frosty white and open fields that beckoned them to come play in the snow, and all the while the sleigh bells on the horses’ harnesses jingled. The air was crisp and Charley could see her breath but the cocoa and the blanket kept her warm. Meanwhile, Richard was looking at her like he was a starving man and she a six-course meal. The best salve in the world for wounded pride.
Except it had been Richard who’d wounded her pride in the first place. Starvation was too good for him.
“This is perfect, isn’t it?” he said, and placed an arm around her shoulders.
She slid out from under it. “Almost.”
He was smart enough not to ask what kept it from being perfect.
They turned onto a path that led down a small incline and took them under a canopy of snowy tree boughs. This was magical. Charley sighed and leaned back against the seat cushions.
Up front Kirk was crooning a song about lovely weather for a sleigh ride.
“With you,” Richard whispered. “Aw, Charley, there’s no one like you.”
“You’re right,” she agreed.
“I’m just sorry I had to learn that the hard way.”
“Yes, you are a sorry man,” she said, making him frown. And that made her snicker.
* * *
After a brunch that involved several glasses of champagne she’d switched from snickering to giggling.
“I drank too much,” she realized as he drove her home.
“Maybe a little,” he said.
“Why did you let me drink so much champagne?” She groaned. “I’m going to have the mother of all headaches later.”
“Well, we can fix that,” he said. “You just need some water, and lucky for you I’ve got Perrier.”
She eyed him. “You thought of everything, didn’t you?”
“And then some,” he replied with a smile.
She shivered, but not because of what his smile did to her. She’d gotten chilled on the sleigh ride, that was the problem.
“How about I build you a fire?” he offered as they pulled up in front of the house that used to be theirs.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/sheila-roberts/merry-ex-mas/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Sheila Roberts
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
Отзывы: Пока нет Добавить отзыв
О книге: Watch as Christmas brings all kinds of surprises to Icicle Falls!Cass Wilkes was looking forward to her daughter Danielle’s Christmas wedding—until Dani announced that she wants her father, Cass’s ex, to walk her down the aisle. Seriously? Even worse, it seems that he, his trophy wife and their yappy little dog will be staying with Cass…Her friend Charlene Albach arrives at their weekly chick-flick night in shock. She’s just seen the ghost of Christmas past: her ex-husband, Richard, who left a year ago when he ran off with the hostess from her restaurant. Now the hostess is history and he wants to kiss and make up.Hide the mistletoe! And bring out the hot buttered rum, because the holidays aren’t easy for Ella O’Brien, either. Ella, newly divorced, is still sharing the house with her ex while they wait for the place to sell. The love is gone. Or is it?Welcome to Icicle Falls, the town that will warm your heart.′Sheila Roberts makes me laugh. I read her books & come away hopeful and happy.′ – bestselling romance author Debbie Macomber