Merry Ex-Mas

by Sheila Roberts

  She had to stop seeing this man. It wasn’t fair.

  “Cecily, I have new skates!” Serena called.

  “Those are very nice,” she said, coming to stand in front of them.

  “My feet grew,” Serena told her. “Daddy says I’m going to be tall like him and be a lady basketball player.”

  “Would you like that?” Cecily asked.

  Serena wrinkled her forehead. “No. I just want to make cookies with Grandma.”

  “Maybe you’ll grow up to be a baker like Mrs. Wilkes,” Cecily suggested.

  “And make gingerbread boys!” cried Serena.

  “You make ’em and we’ll eat ’em,” Luke said.

  Serena hopped off the bench and began teetering toward the ice. “Let’s skate!”

  “Wait a minute, kiddo,” Luke said, reaching out and grasping her with a big hand. “No going on the ice by yourself. Remember?”

  Serena frowned. “Hurry up, Daddy. Get your skates on.”

  Luke sat on the bench and indicated the spot next to him, and Cecily set to work putting on her own skates.

  Serena stood watching the other skaters and Cecily took a moment to watch, too. It seemed half the residents of Icicle Falls were enjoying the fresh air this particular Saturday, with teenagers zipping past more sedate older people. Small children wobbled around, safely tucked between their parents, and one or two advanced skaters practiced jumps at the center of the rink. A little boy in hot pursuit of a squealing girl fell down, blinked in shock at the impact and then scrambled back up and returned to the chase.

  Next to Cecily, Luke chuckled. “Maybe by the time they’re grown-ups he’ll actually catch her.” He finished tying his lace, then stood and held out a hand to Cecily. “Ready?”

  Ready to be caught? Of course that wasn’t what he’d meant. And she wasn’t.

  But she gave her laces a final tug and let him take her hand. He held out his other hand to his daughter, and the three of them went onto the ice.

  Sometimes people forgot what a risky business skating was. A person could fall and break an arm. Or worse. Yet look how many people were out here. There was a thrill in racing over the ice, the wind in your face. And that, of course, was why people took the risk. Wasn’t it the same with love?

  After this she really had to stop hanging out with Luke. Really.

  * * *

  Ella found herself squirming in church on Sunday as Pastor Jim talked about the importance of self-control. Hers had been sadly lacking of late. Was it wrong to sleep with someone you weren’t married to if you’d been married to him? Maybe she could get off on a technicality. Right or wrong, it was stupid, and she wasn’t going to be stupid again, no matter how much Jake kissed her.

  No, no kissing! She let out her breath in a hiss.

  “Are you okay?” whispered Cecily, who was sitting next to her.

  No, she wasn’t. She was…confused. She nodded, though. Heaven forbid a woman should admit that she had problems when she was in church, surrounded by people who cared and would gladly help her.

  After the service, she went to lunch with Cecily, Samantha and Samantha’s husband, Blake Preston. Anything to avoid being at the house with Jake. They were through. Finished. Done.

  He probably wasn’t there, anyway. Since the divorce he’d taken to spending Sundays at his parents’.

  Sunday dinner with the O’Briens—how she missed that! Pot roast with all the trimmings, homemade biscuits, a rowdy game of cards, maybe even a knitting lesson—those afternoons had felt to Ella as if she’d been dropped right in the middle of some vintage TV family show like The Brady Bunch. Now she was in…what? Desperate Housewives? Lost? She felt lost, and she hadn’t touched her yarn and needles in months.

  Once you’re out of the house everything will be fine, she told herself. Once she didn’t have to look at Jake every day. Once she was out of touching range. That was the problem, of course. He was using sentiment like a swizzle stick to stir up her hormones and make her think they— She stopped the thought before it could turn into a sentence and light up inside her mind like a neon sign. But it was still there, anyway. Make her think they could get back together and be happy.

  Jake was a skirt-chasing loafer. She’d always have to be the one earning the family income and she’d never know if she could trust him. If she got together with someone like Axel she could have it all. The family. The comfortable lifestyle. Venice. Paris.

  Nashville.

  No, not Nashville!

  “Something’s off,” Cecily said as they all left Herman’s Hamburgers.

  Ella realized she hadn’t been paying attention. Had Cecily been talking? “What?”

  “You’ve been a zombie all morning. Are you sure everything’s okay?”

  Ella nodded. It was. Well, it would be. Someday.

  She was still telling herself that when she showed up at Cass’s for their weekly movie night. Cass had her tree up now, and it was decorated with a mishmash of ornaments, many obviously made by small hands, a colorful testament to a happy family. Unlike her tree, which was a sad reminder of family failure. Oh, yes, you’re doing fine.

  The selection for this night was the classic version of A Christmas Carol, with Alastair Sim. The happy ending was very satisfying.

  And more than a little thought-provoking. “Do you guys think people can change?” Ella asked. She suddenly realized she was echoing the question Charley had asked her the last time she was in the shop.

  “I don’t think so,” Cass said.

  “I didn’t used to.” Charley helped herself to one of the appetizers she’d brought. “But I think I was wrong, especially after the way Richard jumped in when Harvey went on his bender and left me in the lurch. And he’s been so supportive since the fire.”

  Ella saw Samantha and Cecily exchange looks. “It pays to be cautious,” Samantha said.

  Charley narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean it pays to be cautious.”

  “Are you talking about Richard?”

  Samantha took a deep breath, a clear indication that she was getting ready to dish out something unpleasant. “I don’t want to see you rush into anything.”

  “I’m not rushing,” Charley insisted. “Anyway, why are you so suspicious?”

  “Because he screwed you over once and he could do it again,” Samantha said bluntly.

  “She doesn’t want to see you hurt,” Cecily added. “None of us do.”

  Now Charley looked ready to smack Samantha. “Just because he made a mistake in the past—”

  “Doesn’t mean he can’t make another,” Samantha finished for her.

  “That wasn’t what I was going to say!”

  “I know. Listen,” Samantha continued. “It’s easy not to notice the red flags when all you’re seeing is hearts and flowers. I’m just suggesting you be a little cautious.”

  “What red flags?”

  “How about the fact that he can hang around here indefinitely? What businessperson can do that? What restaurant owner can do that?”

  “One who has a good general manager,” Charley retorted. “You want to come right out and tell me what you’re implying?”

  “I’m implying that maybe he hasn’t been so successful on his own. Maybe he’s come back to be with the goose who lays the golden eggs.”

  “In case you didn’t notice, my golden egg got fried,” Charley said, her voice icy.

  Samantha wasn’t deterred. “It’s insured. You have insurance money and a valuable piece of property.”

  A big, ugly silence fell on the room. Ella felt as if each woman was holding her breath.

  All except Samantha, who continued on boldly. “He hasn’t taken you to Seattle to see his restaurant. Why is that?”

  “Because he’s been busy helping me,” Charley said. “I couldn’t just up and leave my place, you know.” She glared at them. “Jeez, you guys.”

  “Wouldn’t he want to show you how s
uccessful he is?” Samantha persisted.

  Even Jake loved playing his songs for her, Ella thought. Men liked to show off to their women, to prove themselves worthy.

  That saddened her. Had she failed to give Jake enough appreciation and driven him to look for it from other women?

  Meanwhile, Charley and Samantha were still going at it. “Richard doesn’t need to prove anything to me,” Charley snapped. “Not anymore.”

  Samantha cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

  Charley was blinking furiously now, obviously fighting back tears. “Yeah, really, and thanks for your support.”

  “This is support.” Cass spoke in a quiet, even voice. “Like Cecily said, we don’t want to see you hurt again. We want you to be cautious.”

  “Have you looked up the restaurant on the internet?” Samantha asked.

  “I’ve been busy,” Charley said defensively.

  “At least check out the website,” Samantha urged. “If his place looks like the next best thing to Wolfgang Puck, then you can forget I said anything.”

  The tears had spilled over now. Cecily handed Charley a tissue and gave her a hug. “He hurt you badly once. Nobody wants to see him do it twice. That’s all. We really do care what happens to you, you know.”

  Charley dabbed at her eyes and nodded. “I know. I’m sorry I’m so bitchy.”

  “Your restaurant just burned down. You’re allowed,” Samantha said. “But you can rebuild it and make it even better. It’s a lot harder to rebuild a broken heart.”

  How true.

  A few more tears, some hugs, and then Charley was on her way, claiming she still had paperwork to fill out.

  “And some research to do,” Samantha murmured as their friend hurried out the door. “I hope she does it.”

  “Do you know something we don’t?” her sister asked.

  It was plain from Samantha’s face that she did.

  “Okay, spill,” Cass commanded.

  “Well, cynic that I am, I looked up this restaurant of his.”

  “Does he even have a restaurant?” Cass asked, her voice tinged with worry.

  “Oh, he has one, all right. But it’s not open.”

  16

  Samantha’s suspicions burrowed their way into the back of Charley’s mind like so many termites and began crunching away.

  Richard had moved from Gerhardt’s Gasthaus into her bed, and she returned home to find him sprawled on the living room couch, watching the Food Network’s Hidden Surprises, a show featuring small-town restaurants. After seeing how well getting featured on Mimi LeGrand’s All Things Chocolate had worked for Samantha, Charley had been toying with contacting this show’s producer and inviting him to Icicle Falls. Thanks to her unpleasant surprise, that would be a ways down the road.

  She frowned. “You want to turn that off?”

  He fired the remote at the TV and the cozy restaurant scene vanished from the screen. “I was just killing time until you got back home. How was the party?”

  Fine until the movie ended. “It was okay.”

  “Just okay, huh?”

  “It’s hard to get excited about anything right now.” Including Richard. Sometimes a woman shouldn’t listen to her friends. Now Charley wished she’d covered her ears and chanted, “La, la, la, la, la.”

  “Anything?” He patted the cushion next to him on the couch, and she came over and sat down. “There’s a new year right around the corner, babe.” He put an arm around her and kissed her. “Meanwhile, I bet I can get you excited.”

  Sort of. Even as Richard was making love to her, the termites kept crunching. He hasn’t taken you to Seattle to see his restaurant. Why is that?

  Any number of reasons. Like maybe he simply wanted to concentrate on winning her back. Maybe he’d figured that bringing up the subject of the restaurant he’d started after he left her would be like pouring salt in a wound. It would.

  So there was the reason. And now, with that resolved she could—

  Check out Richard’s restaurant on the internet the next morning. Masochist that she was, she’d done it when they first split. Try as she had, she’d never been able to forget the name: Piatto Dolce, Sweet Plate. The thought of him serving up sweet plates of anything with his little hostess with the mostest had set her teeth on edge. She’d glared at the webpage, hoped they gave whatever food critic visited them food poisoning and then closed the page, never to look again. She hadn’t looked when he returned, either. She had been busy. Really. Maybe she also hadn’t wanted to see how successful he’d been without her.

  But now she had to get rid of those termites, so she left Richard snoring in bed and slipped downstairs to settle on the couch with her laptop.

  Up came the website with the food-magazine-worthy picture of the restaurant’s interior on the home page—a sophisticated slice of Italy complete with sexy lighting and linen tablecloths, a tribute to Richard’s favorite cuisine. There was something else on the home page, too. A notice saying, “Piatto Dolce is currently closed for renovations. Please check back later. Grazie.”

  Closed for renovations. Richard hadn’t said anything about that. But so what? They’d had other, more important things to talk about. Like them. And this explained why he could afford to stay in Icicle Falls....

  But wouldn’t he want to be on hand to supervise those renovations? She planned to be on site at Zelda’s every day, making sure things were getting done. She’d been over to the charred ruins any number of times, picking through things, meeting with the company in charge of cleanup, getting bids from contractors.

  Maybe the work on his place hadn’t started yet.

  That was it. He was here winning her back while he had the time. Once the renovations were done they’d own two restaurants. It would mean double the work, of course, but double the success as long as they could manage both and be together. They’d find a way to work everything out, and he was up here to do just that. He was here for her. Samantha had been wrong. Well-meaning, but wrong.

  “Hey, you awake already?”

  Charley gave a guilty start and hid the evidence of her snooping with a click before Richard could see what she was up to. “I couldn’t sleep anymore.”

  There he stood, his hair tousled, bare-chested, wearing his favorite black sweats. Dessert with legs. He came over to the couch and looked over her shoulder. “What are you working on?”

  She suddenly felt like some kind of traitor. “Just doing some research,” she said, and shut the laptop.

  “It’s going to be another long day. How about some coffee?”

  “Please. I think I’ll go shower.”

  “Want company?”

  She shook her head. With all the stress of rebuilding her life, it seemed her sex drive had put itself in Park. That was it. The stress. Stress would do that to any girl.

  “Like you said, it’s going to be another long day,” she said. “I’d better get started.”

  That day didn’t turn out to be half as long as the next one. After the last conversation with her insurance agent, Charley finally had an idea of how much money she could expect for rebuilding Zelda’s and just how far it would stretch.

  “Everything’s gone up in price,” she lamented as she and Richard worked together on dinner. “There’s so much to do. And that darned Ethan Masters is going to drive me nuts.”

  “He’s the best contractor in town,” Richard said, slicing apples for their salad.

  “And the most infuriating.” Charley picked up her wineglass and took a healthy slug of pinot grigio, then moved to help him with the salad, shelling pistachios to go in the bowl with the tossed greens and apples. “He doesn’t seem to understand that the longer I stay closed, the more customers I lose.”

  Richard set down his knife and leaned against the counter. “So run away.”

  She gave a snort. “Sometimes I’d like to.” Lately she’d fantasized about running away from her problems. If it hadn’t been for her friends and Richard, she didn�
��t know what she would’ve done. Samantha could say whatever she wanted, but he really had been there for her, especially since the fire.

  “No, I’m serious,” he said. “There’s nothing tying you here. You don’t have to spend the rest of your life in Icicle Falls.”

  But she wanted to. She loved this town with its friendly people and its gorgeous mountain views. Still, she could keep an open mind. “What were you thinking?”

  “Come to Seattle with me.”

  Maybe they could have two homes, one here and one in Seattle. Still… “It would be hard to run Zelda’s from Seattle.” How were they going to manage that?

  “How about running a restaurant in Seattle instead?” He shrugged. “Don’t waste your money rebuilding in this nowhere place.”

  Wait a minute. The termites began crunching again. “What should I do with it?” Don’t say what I think you’re going to.

  “We could put it into my place in Seattle. That’s where the action is. Anyway, you’re not a small-town girl, Charley.”

  She wasn’t a fool, either. She stopped shelling nuts. “What’s going on with your Piatto Dolce, Richard? Do you need a cash infusion?”

  The sudden flush on his cheeks answered before his lips even started moving. “A restaurant is a money pit, you know that. But that’s beside the point,” he added quickly.

  “No. It is the point. I went to your website. It said you were closed for renovations.”

  “I’m making some improvements,” he said defensively.

  And putting them on hold until he had her eating out of his hand and could convince her to take him back. Then he would’ve returned to live off her or done exactly what he was trying to do now—talk her into sinking her money into his place.

  “And you need money to do that,” she said. “My money.”

  He opened his mouth to speak but the look on his face had already said it all.

  “You. Bastard.” All the rage she’d felt the first time he left returned with double the force. She whacked the salad bowl and sent it crashing, spilling romaine and spinach leaves and apples across the kitchen floor.

  He held up a hand. “Charley, babe, let me explain.”