LITMIR.BIZ

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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

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