“I’m sorry, Jake, I’ve got to go,” she said and ended the call.
Jake tossed his cell phone on the couch and sat staring at the dead fireplace. Then he swore. Then he drop-kicked a pillow across the room while Tiny cheered him on with a hearty woof. He drop-kicked another pillow but the second kick didn’t help, either, so he marched back upstairs. He threw on sweats and went out the door to Bruisers to work off his anger.
An hour later, most of it was still riding his back. He left the gym, returned home and took Tiny for a long walk. After that he ate a big bowl of sugary cereal, then showered and dressed in his favorite jeans and Washington Huskies sweatshirt. As he stepped out of his pathetic single-guy bedroom, he couldn’t help looking into the master where he’d slept last night. The sleigh bed mocked him. No more rides for you, pal.
He heaved a sigh. Why was Ella being so stubborn? She had to know deep down that this was all wrong. She couldn’t make love like she had the night before and not want to be together. They’d come about as close to heaven as two people could get. Close to heaven. Now there was a good hook. Already humming, he went downstairs in search of his guitar.
* * *
Cass was exhausted. Not from work, but from hammering out the food details for the reception with Dani. Dani had sneered at the more affordable suggestions Bailey Sterling had emailed.
“For a wedding? Jeez, Mom.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Alfredo,” Cass had objected, “especially with shrimp in it, and this has shrimp and smoked salmon.”
“Probably a teaspoon of each,” Dani had said sarcastically.
“Not if Bailey’s doing it, and if we add appetizers…”
That had produced an eye roll. “What? More shrimp?”
“In endive, with avocado. And we can add chicken. Everyone loves chicken wings.”
“No one loves chicken wings. They’re stupid!”
“So is paying a fortune for salmon filets, especially if you want a band.”
At that Dani had thrown up her hands. “Fine. Why don’t we just make it a potluck?”
Now there was an idea. Before Cass could say anything cheeky, her daughter was crying and threatening to call Mason. Again.
“Go ahead,” Cass had snapped. “Let your father pick up the bill for everything. It can make up for all those years he did nothing.” Oh, that had been wrong.
“Maybe if you hadn’t moved us all the way over here, he would’ve been able to do more.”
“And maybe if I hadn’t, you’d never have met Mike.”
Their voices got loud enough to break the sound barrier in the kitchen, where Cass had staked out a corner for the family computer. Willie poked his head in the door. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Cass had growled.
“Yeah, right,” he’d scoffed, but neither Cass nor Dani bothered to say anything to that. They had enough to say to each other.
Finally, Cass did something she never did. She cried. Who said brides should have all the fun?
That had ended the fight. Dani knelt in front of her, all remorse and crying, too. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean all those things I said. It’s just…”
“I know. It’s your big day. Of course you want it to be special, and so do I.” But she couldn’t afford to give her daughter a Kardashian-style wedding. Why, oh, why wasn’t she rich?
They’d compromised, bagging the salmon and settling for three-cheese-stuffed chicken, fettuccini (minus the shrimp and salmon) and Caesar salad. And no appetizers.
“But we have to have champagne,” Dani had insisted. “For the toast.”
“How about champagne for the toast and champagne punch for the rest of the meal?”
That, along with a nonalcoholic punch, had been another good compromise.
Now Dani was off with Mike, Willie and Amber were watching a Netflix movie and Cass was going to take a long soak with some peppermint bubble bath from Bubbles, the bath shop that had opened last summer. She did her best to avoid the bathroom mirror as she undressed, but it was hard to ignore the fat woman lurking there.
She was sure she’d put on another five pounds since Dani got engaged. Potato chips and Sweet Dreams chocolates would do that to a woman, particularly when she was stressed.
She didn’t care what Dot said. It would’ve been nice if Mason had called her when Dani got engaged and suggested picking up half the tab for the wedding instead of playing this passive-aggressive game of offering nothing but coming through like a superhero every time Dani called him. Cass would have had twice the money and half the misery.
You could have called him.
She pushed the thought firmly away. She’d hated taking child support money from him when they were divorced, even though they were his kids, too, and it was money she was due. Those monthly checks had felt more like a sop to his conscience than support. It would’ve felt the same now, too.
In all fairness to Mason, he’d never been a deadbeat dad. He’d occasionally been late with his child support check, but that had been because of his crazy work schedule and forgetfulness rather than deliberate irresponsibility. And he wasn’t hurting for money now. So why hadn’t he offered up front to fork some over?
The answer was simple. He wasn’t merely clueless. He was still the same self-absorbed man he’d always been.
Let him keep his money. She didn’t need it. She didn’t need him. Hadn’t for years. In fact, she didn’t need any man. She was fine on her own. Fine.
Were there any potato chips left?
* * *
“I’m so glad the house has sold,” Mims said as Ella forked into a slice of hazelnut torte.
Once more Ella was eating at Schwangau, the most expensive restaurant in town, and the maître d’ was becoming her new best friend. But when they’d walked in and she saw how packed the place was, even on a weeknight, she couldn’t help thinking about poor Charley. Would her former customers return once she’d rebuilt her business or would they get in the habit of frequenting other places? Ella sure hoped they’d return. She’d be back.
“The sooner you’re out of the house, the better,” Mims said as their waiter filled her coffee cup.
“I still have to find a place that will allow Tiny,” Ella said.
“Let your former husband have him,” Mims said with a dismissive flick of her hand. And that took care of Tiny.
Mims had dismissed Jake just as easily when Ella decided on a divorce. “Really, baby, you’re better off without him. The boy was subpar.”
But Tiny wasn’t subpar, and Ella had no intention of letting Jake keep him and feed him until he exploded. “He belongs to both of us.”
Mims rolled her eyes and took a sip of her coffee. “It was ridiculous to get such a big dog. Really, Ella, I don’t know what you were thinking.”
She was thinking they’d stay in that house for years, have a child to go along with the dog once they had a little more money. Child. Baby. What were the chances that one of Jake’s sperm had succeeded in its egg hunt? She pushed aside the rest of her torte.
“You’re not finishing? I’m surprised.”
“I’m not hungry.” Now she sounded sullen. Well, she felt sullen.
“You shouldn’t eat that fattening garbage, anyway.”
Mims had raised Ella to believe that sugar was the devil’s tool. If a woman had to consume calories they should come floating in a glass of white wine. Well, once in a while, Ella liked to flirt with the devil, especially at Christmas. She’d even tried her hand at baking Christmas cookies the year before last. They weren’t as good as Cass’s but Jake had liked them.
Him again. She had to stop thinking about Jake. And his sperm. You made your choice, she told herself sternly. Now you have to live with it. And if that included a baby, fine. She’d wanted a baby.
She’d never wanted to raise a baby by herself, though. If Jake moved to Nashville that was exactly what she’d be doing.
Well, her mother had managed
fine on her own and she would, too. She could see it now, Mommy and baby having a little talk. Sorry your daddy isn’t around, but daddies are overrated. Just ask your grandma.
Mims reached a hand across the table. “Why the glum face? Everything is finally smoothing out in your life.”
Smoothing out. Was that what you called it? She’d lost her marriage, her dreams and now her home. Smooth.
* * *
“Not again,” Larry said.
Jake scowled at him. “What?”
“You’ve got that same bee up your butt that you had last week. What is bugging you now?”
“Nothing,” Jake said, sounding completely bugged.
“I can take away the sting,” Jen said. “Did any of you guys check out our song on YouTube?”
The song. With everything else that had been going on, Jake had forgotten about it.
“Oh, yeah,” Larry said. “This should make you smile, bro. You wanna guess how many views we’re up to already?”
Jake shrugged. “Fifty.”
“Try eight hundred,” Larry said.
“Eight hundred?” Guy echoed. “I’ve only got twenty people to my name, including family and friends. Who all is looking at this?”
“People are forwarding the link, dope,” Larry told him. “Hell, everyone at the packing plant has sent it to their friends. I knew you were on to something,” he said to Jake.
“Yeah, he was,” Tim agreed. “Talk about inspired. And what a great way to get back at the mother-in-law from hell for screwing up your life.”
“Poetic justice,” said Jen.
“Huh?”
“It means she’s getting what she deserves,” Jen said, and smiled at Jake.
And with all the poisonous crap she was probably still pouring in her daughter’s ears, she deserved a lot. Jake found himself smiling for the first time all night. Yeah, Merry Christmas, Mama.
By Friday he concluded that his former mother-in-law was deserving of much more than a tacky song. Maybe a nice winter cruise—down Icicle Falls, in an inner tube, buck naked, in the middle of the night. Or a visit to someplace special in one of her favorite cities—a back alley, with hopefully a mugger or two. If not for her, he and Ella would be together again, he was sure of it.
But instead, they were back at square one, sharing the house with an invisible force field between them. Jaw clenched, he watched Ella drive off with Axel Fuchs yet again. God only knew where they were going tonight. Ella hadn’t told him. Ella had hardly spoken to him.
The house was sold and she was getting on with her life. He should, too.
He took Tiny for a good, long lope in the snow and then turned back toward home. Not home, he corrected himself. The house. Just a house. Then he got ready to go play his gig at the Red Barn.
“Sorry you’re on your own tonight,” he told the dog.
Tiny whined and wagged his tail. He’d seen the guitar sitting by the front door and he knew that meant doggy solitary.
Jake gave the dog a goodbye scratch behind the ears. “Maybe she won’t stay out too late.”
Unless she decided to stay over at Axel’s.
Would she do that? Jake frowned. He’d been Ella’s one and only. The thought of that slimy wuss having her was enough to make him clench his fists.
She’d do it. Eventually, she’d do it just because she could.
So why was he being a choirboy?
He asked himself again later that night when a cute little groupie named Allison stopped by the band’s table to flirt.
“She’s hot for you,” Larry said.
“Who isn’t?” Jen said, and winked at him.
It was obvious Jake could move on with his life, starting tonight if he wanted to.
Well, maybe he did. Maybe he was sick of chasing after Ella like a dumb puppy. He downed the last of his Coke. Maybe he could get laid before the night was over. Why not? Ella always thought he was a player. It was time to live up to the legend.
15
The snoring was loud enough to wake the dead. Jake rolled over and gave his bedmate a shove.
Tiny startled awake and lifted his big head as if to say, “Where’s the emergency?”
“You’re snoring again,” Jake informed him. He glanced at the clock—10:00 a.m. Ella would be long gone.
At least she’d come home the night before. He’d looked in the bedroom when he rolled in around one and found it gratifying to see her slender form under the covers in the sleigh bed—until it occurred to him that she might have had sex with Axel and then come home.
Sex. He’d planned on making a night of it. Until his conscience reminded him that revenge sex wasn’t good for anyone, especially the other person. He couldn’t do that to someone. He didn’t want to be a player. He only wanted to be with Ella.
He sat on the edge of the bed and dragged his hands through his hair, giving it a good pull in the process, hoping to wake up his brain cells. What the hell was he going to do?
Finish that song he’d started for her, that was what.
* * *
Cecily was going to meet Luke Goodman, Sweet Dreams’ production manager, and his daughter, Serena, at the little downtown skating rink dropping in at Johnson’s Drugs first. She’d added mascara to her basket of goodies when Todd Black came strolling down the aisle.
“Hey, there,” he greeted her.
Zing went her insides. Why, oh, why did they do that every time he came around? Cut it out, she told them, then said a casual hi to Todd.
He stopped next to her and peered into her basket.
She frowned and shifted it away from him.
“You don’t need that.”
What, the Midol or the mascara?
“Why do women wear makeup, anyway?”
Okay, not the Midol.
“To look nice,” she said.
“Guys don’t care, you know,” he said. “They’re not that interested in your eyelashes.”
“So you say, but if a woman walked around without makeup you wouldn’t even look at her.”
“Sure I would,” he said. “I’d just be looking somewhere else.” He demonstrated, letting his gaze drift down to her chest.
“You’re pathetic,” she said in disgust.
“No, I’m not. I’m honest.”
“Well, thanks for the honesty.”
“Just trying to tell it like it is.” He threw her a cynical smile. “But you were a matchmaker. You already know how it is. Or did a lot of your clients ask for women with big…eyelashes?”
“No, and maybe that has something to do with why I’m not in that business anymore. And not dating.” She started to move down the aisle.
Instead of getting the message to buzz off, he fell in step with her. “Funny how you can be so smart and still not see what’s right in front of your face.”
She stopped. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s right in front of my face?”
He moved to stand in front of her, very closely in front of her. “Me.”
Zing! All that heat… Her lips were suddenly dry. Don’t lick your lips.
She couldn’t help it, they were dry.
Now the cynical smile had turned much more intimate. He reached up and ran his thumb along her lower lip. “You should get some lip balm, gorgeous. It would be a shame to see those pretty lips get all cracked.”
Zing, zing, zing! Her zing-o-meter was going through the roof. She took a step back. “Thanks. I’ll do that.” She slipped around him and started walking again.
And there he was, still keeping her company. “You know what else is good for fighting off the cold?”
“What?”
“Hot chocolate. I’ll buy you some.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Have some candy, little girl?”
He chuckled. “Get into my car. Take a ride.”
“Sorry, I don’t take rides with strange men.”
“Come on, Cecily. Quit being such a wimp. You know you want to be with me.”
&n
bsp; Yes, she did.
And she didn’t. The smart part of her didn’t.
“One cup of cocoa. What’s it going to hurt?”
Probably her heart. “Sorry,” she said. “I’ve got plans.”
Not a date. Luke wanted them to be more, but they were just friends, and she was determined to keep it that way. Letting things get serious wouldn’t be fair to him. She’d sworn off men, the good, the bad and the…drop-dead gorgeous.
Todd shrugged off her rejection. “One of these days, you’re not going to be able to take it anymore. One of these days you’ll be knocking on my door, ready for a dance lesson.”
She remembered their conversation a few months ago when she’d fainted and wound up in the back room of his tavern. The idea of seeing Todd in action was as tempting now as it had been then. Oh, yes, Todd Black had the moves, and he’d given her a sample of them since she’d come home.
But she wasn’t in the market. She wasn’t in the market for any man. “I hope you’re not holding your breath.”
“You’d be surprised how long I can hold my breath. You’d be surprised how long I can do a lot of things.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head and left it at that.
Enough of him. She had better ways to spend her time than sparring with the pirate of Icicle Falls. She made her purchases, then headed for the park.
The ice rink, dotted with skaters clad in colorful winter clothes, would have inspired Norman Rockwell. Around the edges, people sat on park benches and enjoyed hot chocolate or roasted nuts, or stood at fire pits, warming up for the next round. Farther up the hill that led to the highway, a group of boys were having a snowball fight. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla from a nut vendor’s booth made Cecily’s mouth water.
Luke was already at the edge of the rink, lacing up his daughter’s ice skates. Serena, now five, looked adorable in pink leggings and her pink parka, a knitted hat pulled over her curls. The child always appeared ready for a magazine cover, thanks to her grandmother, who’d stepped into the mother role when Luke’s wife was killed in a car accident.
Serena saw Cecily approaching and began waving, not a sedate wave, but one that had her bouncing on the bench. Luke turned and waved, too. No bouncing, but the big grin on his face said it all.
Merry Ex-Mas Page 15
