Sheila Roberts - Merry Ex-Mas

He heaved a sigh. How had he gone from happily married to miserably divorced so fast?

He and Ella were meant to be together. They should’ve gone to counseling, worked things out.

Aw, heck, they wouldn’t even have needed counseling if he’d explained when she first started singing her version of “Your Cheatin’ Heart,” accusing him of being unfaithful. He’d tried to, but she’d cut him off. Then she’d thrown those pictures down in front of him and he’d been so shocked that his mother-in-law would do something that outrageous, and so offended and just plain pissed…he’d lost it. Wounded pride and anger had escorted him to the edge of the matrimonial cliff and then pushed him off.

It had been a fast fall and he learned firsthand that once the D word’s been said, there’s nothing else left to say.

So here he was, broken and miserable. The woman who’d once thought he hung the moon now wanted nothing more to do with him.

And his chili was burning. He swore and pulled it off the burner. “You’re getting the crusty part,” he informed Tiny. “You don’t care.”

You don’t care. Ella had thrown those words at him, insisting he sign the divorce papers.

“I’m not the one who filed for this,” he’d shot back.

“Just sign it, Jake. Please.”

When he’d seen those tears in her eyes, he should have pulled her to him and kissed her breathless. Then he should’ve torn up the papers, borrowed some money from Pops and moved them to Nashville. There was someplace he was sure her mother would never have followed. And that was probably what they needed. It could’ve been the two of them rather than the three of them.

He put his culinary creation in a bowl, gave Tiny the rest and then went back to his room. His room. That sucked, too. This was the guest room. Someday it was supposed to have been the nursery. Now it was his room.

He sat on the single bed that was six inches too short for him (a garage sale find), and sighed. Here he was, a squatter in his own home. Maybe Lily Swan was right. Maybe he was a loser. Maybe he had no talent. If he’d just admitted it, quit the band and taken a job in the warehouse at Sweet Dreams Chocolates, maybe he and Ella would still be together. There’d have been no groupies, no Jen, no reason to be jealous. Instead, he’d had to dream of a songwriting career and stardom. He’d tried to support his habit (and them) by working in the music shop on Fourth, but then the music shop had gone out of business. He still had a few guitar students but he wasn’t exactly getting rich. In short, these days he was a loser, unable to hang on to his woman and barely able to hang on to his dreams.

He looked at the dresser and the diamond in Ella’s engagement ring winked at him mockingly. He’d made payments on that for a whole year. Then he’d bummed the rest of the money he needed from Pops, paid it off and asked her to marry him that same night. She’d given him back both the engagement and wedding rings the day she’d shoved the divorce papers in front of him. “I can’t keep them,” she’d said. Just like she couldn’t keep him.

“No. I gave them to you. Keep them,” he’d insisted.

Ella loved jewelry and she’d especially loved that engagement ring, but she’d shaken her head and backed away.

Jake couldn’t bring himself to get rid of either ring. They still meant something to him, even if they didn’t to Ella.

Damn, he was a walking country song.

With a growl, he set aside his chili and finished getting dressed. No sense hanging around here any longer. He’d go to the Red Barn. Maybe he’d find some cute chick there who appreciated him and his music.

Even if he did, he’d look at her and see Ella.

And that sucked the most of all.

3

Charlene Albach, Charley to her friends, surveyed her domain with satisfaction. Six o’clock and all is well.

Zelda’s restaurant was filled with diners, many of them out-of-towners who’d come up to enjoy a Thanksgiving weekend getaway. Charley had been happy to oblige. She’d hated to miss going to her sister’s in Portland to be with family, but the restaurant was entirely hers now and she simply couldn’t leave. So she’d focused instead on giving other families a spectacular holiday, serving turkey dinner with all the trimmings, including stuffing made from her great-grandmother’s recipe. Well, with a few new twists. That was part of the fun of owning a restaurant. You got to create new recipes, dream up taste sensations that would keep customers coming back for more.

They were sure coming tonight. People had obviously worked up their appetites sledding and spending money in the shops. Tomorrow there’d be more sledding and shopping and more diners crowding into Zelda’s. And that meant more money in the cash register, which was bound to make for a very merry Christmas. This year Charley planned to be extravagant when shopping for her friends. They’d been there for her at every painful bump on the road to unexpectedly single, and she intended to show her thanks in a way that would make Santa proud.

She had just seated a fortysomething couple with a texting teen in tow when Ella O’Brien and Cecily Sterling came in. “And I thought my shop was crazy,” Ella observed, looking around.

The scene was a feast for the eyes. People of all ages and sizes, dressed in winter garb, consumed house specials such as salmon baked in golden puff pastry, squash seasoned with curry, baked winter vegetables and wild huckleberry cheesecake. There was plenty to occupy the other senses, too. The tantalizing scent of sage drifted out from the kitchen, encouraging diners to try the special turkey lasagna Charley’s head chef, Harvey, had created, and the clink of silver and hum of voices reminded her that life was good.

No, better than good. Great. Who needed a man, anyway? Getting free of her louse of a husband had freed up her creativity. The restaurant was better off without him. And so was Charley. Anyway, sex was overrated.

And if she kept telling herself that, she might begin to believe it.

“Can you find us a spot?” Cecily asked.

“I can always find room for a former employee. Are you sure you don’t want to come back to work for me?” Charley added as she led them to her last remaining two-top. “Like now?”

“Samantha’s keeping me busy enough at Sweet Dreams,” Cecily said with a smile. “I think my restaurant days are over.”

Just like her matchmaking days, or so Cecily claimed. Sometimes Charley entertained the idea of seeing if Cecily would put on her matchmaker hat one last time and find her a perfect man. But then she remembered there was no such thing, which was probably why Cecily was out of the matchmaking business and helping run her family’s chocolate company instead.

And there’s a reason you’re single, Charley told herself. Men were a liability, and they had no staying power. Richard, her ex, had proved that.

Never mind him. You’re having a really successful Black Friday. No need to turn it blue.

“So, business was good today?” she asked Ella as she handed her friends their menus.

“We moved a lot of inventory,” Ella said, sounding pleased.

Hardly surprising. Ella had a gift for creating irresistible displays in her shop. Charley had certainly succumbed to temptation often enough. How could a girl not when a hot top paired with a sweater that begged to be touched called her over, whispering, “Just try us on. Oh, and don’t you love this amazing scarf that’s hanging out with us?”

Ella herself was a walking ad. Tonight she was dolled up in jeans tucked into brown suede winter boots trimmed with a faux fur, along with a cream-colored cashmere sweater. She’d finished the look with a jaunty red jacket and a beret. It took style to pull off a beret. Ella had style in spades. Hardly surprising, considering who her mother was.