LITMIR.BIZ

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      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

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