Merry Ex-Mas

by Sheila Roberts

  “All at Olivia’s,” Dani said. “The wedding will be in that big conference room and the reception in the dining hall.”

  “Ah, perfect. And the view from the dining hall.” Heinrich kissed his fingers. “We can bring the outdoors inside.”

  With that they were off.

  “It’s all gorgeous,” Cass said finally. “What are we looking at costwise?”

  “What’s your budget?” Heinrich asked.

  Not much probably wasn’t a helpful answer. Cass had been doing some rough calculations in her head, which had given her a headache. She threw out a figure she hoped wouldn’t make her sound like the cheapskate of Icicle Falls.

  Her daughter looked at her like she was the cheapskate of Icicle Falls.

  Heinrich had been taking notes as they talked. Now he said, “Let me run some figures,” and disappeared into the back room, taking Kevin with him.

  “Jeez, Mom. That won’t buy much more than my bridal bouquet and boutonnieres.”

  “We still have to pay for food and your gown and a DJ, and we have to pay Olivia.”

  “I have some money saved up,” Dani said. “I can pay for the flowers.”

  “No, I’ll do it. You need to keep your money for the move,” Cass said quickly. Dani had asked for little enough growing up. She deserved the wedding she wanted. And the flowers she wanted. Cass would just have to load up her credit card, that was all. How much was that wedding gown going to cost?

  Don’t think about it.

  Now Heinrich was back, with a smiling Kevin right behind him. “Okay, we’re good to go.”

  “So you can do the flowers for that amount?” Cass asked. Surely not.

  “Not quite,” Heinrich said.

  “Well, then,” Cass began, ready to drain her account.

  “But we’re picking up the difference,” Kevin added before she could finish. “As a wedding present.”

  “Oh, thank you,” breathed Dani.

  Cass felt those pesky tears burning her eyes again. “Thanks, you two. Anything you want from the bakery, anytime.”

  Kevin grinned. “I’ll remember that when we throw our New Year’s Eve party.”

  So there it was, the first wedding hurdle safely jumped. Now all she had to worry about was…everything else.

  Mason could pay for half of this, she told herself. But the idea of asking him galled her. He’d been little more than a child-support check when the kids were growing up, and obviously he didn’t want to be involved now or he would have offered. No, she’d find a way to get whatever her daughter needed all on her own. Like she always had.

  Dani slipped her arms through Cass’s. “Thanks, Mom. It’s going to be beautiful.”

  Yes, it was. No matter what it cost.

  * * *

  Richard strolled into Zelda’s toward the end of the evening. Charley was visiting with Ed York and Pat Wilder as they enjoyed their pie and coffee. The sight of him whipped up more than one emotion in her. When he’d first reentered her life she’d felt anger and resentment. But tonight’s mix bore something new—yearning. What if?

  What was she thinking? This was not a good ingredient to add to the stew.

  She tried to keep her easy smile but it must have faltered because now Pat was looking at the door. “Oh, my,” she murmured.

  There was an understatement. Charley found herself wishing she’d hired a hostess for weekday evenings. Yes, she was the general manager, but she didn’t need to live here 24/7 as if she had no life. If she hadn’t been on duty tonight she could have hidden in her house, kept the door locked. Pretended she had a life.

  Why wouldn’t he give up? She made her way up to the front, stopping to check with a diner here and there en route. Let him wait.

  He seemed to have no problem waiting and greeted her with a smile when she finally got to him. “Looks nice in here,” he observed, taking in the red bows she’d put up at the windows and the small tree in the lobby done in red and gold.

  “Glad you approve.” Now, scram.

  “You look nice, too. In fact, you look good enough to eat,” he said, taking in the black pencil skirt and the new blouse and necklace she’d gotten at Gilded Lily’s. What, did he think she’d worn it for him?

  If not him, then who did you wear it for?

  She pleaded the fifth.

  “Is it too late to get a table?”

  “You know it’s not,” she said, and led him to a corner table by the kitchen. Not the best seat in the house by any means, but he didn’t deserve the best seat. He didn’t deserve any seat.

  “Perfect,” he said. “Now I can observe the new chef in action. Is he as good as me?”

  “There are lots of men who are as good as you. Better even.” She handed him his menu, then walked away.

  “Take your time getting to him,” she told Ginny, his waitress.

  Ginny looked at her wide-eyed, and no wonder, since she had only one other occupied table in her station, but she nodded.

  Richard didn’t seem to mind. Every time Charley glanced at him, he was sitting there smiling contentedly, observing everything. As if he still had a stake in this place. The old anger fired up. How dared he! She avoided him for the rest of the night, even when he was the last person sitting at a table.

  Finally, at ten, she told him, “The restaurant is closing. You need to go.”

  “I’m not done.” He held up the glass of wine he’d been nursing for the past half hour. It had one sip left in it.

  She took the glass and downed the wine. “Now you are.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “I didn’t see your car outside. How about I walk you home?”

  “How about you don’t.”

  “It’s only a walk home, Charley.”

  It would be too long a walk. She shook her head. “No, thanks.”

  “Please.”

  He looked so contrite. And so handsome. Oh, jeez. What was wrong with her?

  “Charley, I want to make up for how I hurt you.”

  The very mention of what he’d done strengthened her resolve. “You can’t,” she said, her face stony.

  “I can try, if you let me.”

  After several more minutes of contrition wrapped in flattery she gave in. Fool. What are you thinking? She had a suspicion, and it left her feeling uneasy.

  Charley exchanged her shoes for the boots she’d worn to work and they walked home in a wintry wonderland, the houses along her street looking like frosted gingerbread. Many had their Christmas lights up already and they glowed like giant gumdrops. Charley huddled inside her long coat, trying to fight off the shivers. She should’ve worn pants.

  “You’re cold,” Richard said, and put an arm around her.

  “Not that cold,” she lied, and removed it, then hunched inside her coat collar like a giant turtle.

  “Won’t even let me fight off the cold, huh?”

  “I can do my own fighting.”

  He acknowledged that with a nod.

  They walked the rest of the way in silence, and when they got to the front porch, she turned and said, “See? I didn’t need you to walk me home.”

  “You’ve never needed me.”

  Was that some sort of accusation? “Is that why you found Ariel so attractive? She needed you?”

  He shrugged.

  “How convenient to have an excuse.” Charley turned her back on him and unlocked the front door.

  She tried to shut it in his face but he blocked the move and slipped inside, just like last time. Well, he was going to get nowhere now, just like last time.

  “One nightcap, then I’ll go. I promise.”

  She should tell him to go now. So, tell him. “One nightcap,” she said. She hung up her coat and then went to the dining room sideboard where she kept the liquor. She didn’t need to ask what he wanted. She knew. Jack Daniel’s, straight up.

  She handed him the glass.

  “You’re not having anything?”

  “No.”

 
“No peppermint schnapps?” he coaxed.

  “No.” Charley liked a glass of wine now and then, and this time of year she enjoyed cocoa laced with peppermint schnapps. But she preferred companionable drinking. There was no companionship here. There was something else, though, and that was giving her shivers worse than she’d had on the walk over.

  “Well,” he said, raising the glass to her, “here’s looking at you, kid.”

  Casablanca, their favorite movie. “Did you make the same toast to Ariel?”

  He gave a snort. “Like she would even have known where it came from?”

  “Everyone knows where that comes from.” Yet it had sounded so special when Richard said it to her.

  She should have left her coat on. The house was cold. She didn’t usually bother to heat it though, not when she came straight home from work every night and went to bed. Alone. The shivers returned full force.

  “Let me build a fire,” Richard offered, and moved to the fireplace.

  “No!” Her voice was sharper than necessary, certainly sharper than she’d intended. “I’m not planning on staying up that long.” She sat on the couch and pulled an afghan around her shoulders.

  “Or having me here that long?”

  “What would be the point?”

  “To talk, and remember why we got together in the first place.”

  “Temporary insanity?”

  “We had something good. Until I blew it,” he added quickly, probably before she could. “And I’m not sure you can call twelve years temporary.”

  “I thought it was going to be for a lifetime.” Charley found an inconvenient sob rising to choke her.

  “It should have been.” Now he was next to her on the couch, his drink forgotten on the coffee table. “Oh, baby. I’m sorry. I blew it.”

  She pulled away. “Yeah, you did. And now I’m supposed to simply forget that and welcome you back with open arms?”

  “No. I wouldn’t expect you to do that. All I’m asking is that you think about starting again. Remember how good we had it?”

  She remembered. Maybe that was why his betrayal hurt so much. She stood. “It’s late, Richard, and I’m tired.”

  He nodded and stood, too. “Walk me to the door.”

  She remained where she was. “You know where it is.”

  He nodded, took her hand and led her toward the entryway.

  In only a few nervous heartbeats they were standing in the archway that separated the entryhall from the living room, right where Charley had always hung a satin ball decorated with mistletoe.

  He pointed to the spot. “The mistletoe isn’t there this year.”

  “No, it’s not,” she agreed. “I haven’t exactly been in a kissing mood.” Now she wished she’d hung it there, found some great-looking guy to kiss her under it. She could have taken a picture, posted it on her Facebook page, sent a copy to Richard with a note that said, “See what you’re missing?”

  “Let’s pretend it is,” he murmured, and then, before she could stop him, he kissed her. Oooh, how long had it been since she’d been kissed? Richard had always known how to turn her to mush. He hadn’t lost his touch.

  He’d had plenty of practice. With another woman. She pulled away and yanked the front door open. “Good night, Richard.”

  He grabbed his coat from the coat tree where he’d tossed it. “I like that.”

  She couldn’t resist asking, “What?”

  “You said good-night. You could have said goodbye.” He turned and ran down the steps.

  “Goodbye!” she called after him. But it was belated and halfhearted and they both knew it.

  10

  Charley was enjoying a leisurely Saturday morning with her December issue of Bon Appétit when Richard showed up on her doorstep bearing eggnog lattes from Bavarian Brews.

  She scowled at him. “Would you like me to tell you what you can do with those?”

  He held up a cup, letting the aroma of coffee and nutmeg drift her way. “It would be a shame to waste this.”

  She snatched the cup from him. “Lattes for life couldn’t atone for what you did.”

  “Charley, I’m trying. Please, let me come in.”

  She hated him for the pleading expression on his face, hated how it almost made her feel sorry for him. She opened the door wider and he stepped inside.

  Great. You’ve let the snake slither back in your house in exchange for an eggnog latte. Smart, Charley. She turned her back on him and took a sip. The latte was better than her judgment. “What do you want, Richard?”

  “I want you to go out to breakfast with me.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You have time. It’s only ten.”

  “Just because I have time doesn’t mean I have the inclination.” Her phone rang. Saved by the ringtone. Whoever it was, whatever that person wanted, it would make the perfect excuse to ditch her ex.

  “Uh, Charley, it’s Bruno.”

  Why was her grill chef calling her at ten in the morning? Why was he calling her at all? If there was a problem she should’ve been hearing from Harvey, her head chef.

  Dread dropped in to wish her happy holidays. “Where’s Harvey?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m calling you.”

  “What?” She fell onto the nearest chair. Her chef should have been in at seven. By now he should have had all the orders put away, the goose portioned and the kitchen crew prepping the night’s set menu. Instead, there was…Bruno. Good old Bruno, who never operated on all four burners. And who’d waited three hours to call her.

  “He’s not here,” Bruno said. “And there’s nothing in the walk-in. The meat guy hasn’t shown up and Sysco hasn’t brought the produce order. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be prepping for the set menu.”

  The mayor’s holiday dinner—thirty movers and shakers, politicians, even the representative for their district would be present. “I know you’ll come up with a wonderful meal for us, Charley,” Mayor Stone had said.

  “Oh, yes,” she’d assured him.

  “Oh, yes,” her head chef had assured her. “We can give him goose, roasted winter vegetables, a traditional figgy pudding for dessert.”

  Now Bruno was telling her they had nothing, and her goose was cooked. “I’ll be right there,” she said. She ended the call and raced for the door, both her latte and her ex forgotten.

  Richard hurried after her. “Charley, what’s going on?”

  Hell’s kitchen, that was what. “My head chef didn’t show up.” Richard said something but she didn’t listen. She was too busy panicking. This was a disaster. Her life was flambéed, all thanks to Harvey’s disappearing act. She raced to her car, putting in a call to Harvey as she went. His phone rang. And rang. And rang some more. Finally his voice mail kicked in. “Harvey, where are you?”

  As if she had to ask. She knew. Harvey had broken his promise to go to AA. Harvey was out with his best friend, José Cuervo. Harvey, the worm in the bottle. They’d had this conversation only two weeks ago when she’d caught him helping himself from the bar. For his sauce, he’d claimed. But she’d smelled his breath. His kitchen creations weren’t the only things getting sauced. She’d given him another chance; now she wanted to give him a black eye. Oh, she was going to murder the little weasel! How good it would feel to be able to break a plate over his head.

  Except who had been the fool who gave him a second chance? No, she was the one who deserved to have a plate broken over her head.

  The kitchen at Zelda’s was normally a beehive of busyness on a Saturday morning, with staff cutting tomatoes and tearing lettuce leaves into big bins, pulling desserts out of the oven, cutting and weighing steak. Instead, Charley found Bruno, leaning against the counter, a block of cement with a head, wearing a white chef’s jacket and a befuddled expression. Next to him stood Andy, her salad and dessert man, a short, skinny guy, also in a white jacket. “There’s no produce,” he informed her.

  She marched to the wal
k-in cooler and threw open the door. All she saw was bare metal shelving, giant Sysco containers of mayonnaise, mustards, garlic, shallots, pan racks with vacant metal trays, plastic inserts filled with sauces and dressings, but no produce or meat to be dressed. Bruno had told her but she hadn’t wanted to believe him.

  She stood for a moment, staring at shelves full of empty, then she left the cooler. There, in the middle of the kitchen, stood Tweedledum and Tweedledumber, looking at her, waiting for their orders.

  She went back into the walk-in, shut the door after her and, woman of action that she was, grabbed two fists full of hair and screamed. Then she marched to the door. She was going to bang her head on it until her brains fell out. Brains for dinner, hahahaha.

  She was just about to whang her head on the door when it opened.

  There stood Richard.

  “Excuse me, but I have to go stick my head in the oven,” she said, and started past him.

  He caught her arm and pulled her back inside the walk-in, shutting the door. Not exactly the warmest place for a cozy conversation but Charley had worked up enough of a sweat having her meltdown that she was barely aware of the cold.

  “You have to get a grip,” he said.

  “I intend to get a grip—around Harvey’s neck.”

  “Harvey’s history. Right now we have to make a list of what you need.”

  What she needed? She needed all her deliveries. And a head chef, pulling together the set menu for the evening. “I need—” she threw up her hands “—everything! I need a miracle. I need to murder Harvey, and serve his head on a platter. The mayor’s dinner party is tonight and there’s nothing!”

  Richard grasped both her arms. “Charley, calm down. This isn’t like you.”

  “This is like me,” she growled. “This is like the new me.”

  “Well, get in touch with the old you and calm down,” he said firmly. “Let’s come up with a game plan.”

  She ran a hand through her hair. “Right. You’re right.”

  “Okay. You calm now?”

  She nodded. “I’m cool. Call me cucumber.” How was she going to fix this mess?

  “Good. Now, first of all, what’s the set menu for the mayor’s dinner?”