Sheila Roberts - Merry Ex-Mas

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 finished.”

The same cell phone he’d used to text messages to Ariel, setting up stolen quickies in the bar before the employees arrived. Before Charley arrived.

“Charley, please. I know I don’t deserve it but please.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said. “And that’s the most I can promise.”

He managed an awkward nod. “I’ll be waiting,” he said, and then walked out the door.

Charley stood slowly. She was only thirty-nine but she suddenly felt ninety and weary right down to her soul.

Maria was back with a whisk broom and dustpan, frowning. “What did that bastardo want?”

“I’m not sure.” And she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out. “But he wants to see me later.”

“Don’t do it,” Maria cautioned. “He already hurt you once.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t let him do it again,” Charley assured her.

But when she finally got home she found herself calling him. He probably wouldn’t leave until she gave in, so the sooner she saw him, the sooner he’d go.

He was at her door ten minutes later.

“Make this fast,” she said as he stepped in. “I’m tired and I want to go to bed.” Alone, like I’ve been doing ever since you left.

He motioned to the living room. “Can we sit down?”

The last thing she wanted was Richard back in her living room. Bad enough that almost everything in it held a memory of their life together, from the brown microfiber sofa where they’d cuddled watching football or the Food Network to the Tiffany-style lamp he’d bought for her birthday three years ago. She should have gotten rid of that lamp. Heck, she should’ve gotten rid of everything. “I don’t understand why you’re here,” she said bitterly, leading the way to the couch. She sat down, crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at him.

He sat close to her—too close—and looked at her earnestly. “I’m here to ask you to take me back.”

This was the biggest shock she’d had since, well, since she’d discovered him cheating on her. “What?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I don’t either, but I know what you were thinking with,” she retorted.

His face flushed, but he held her gaze. “If I had it to do over…”

“You wouldn’t have done her?” Charley finished for him. “What’s the matter, Richard, did she dump you for a younger man?”

The flush deepened. Bingo! “I was a fool.”

“Yes, you were,” Charley agreed, “and for all I know you still are. Why should I take you back?”

“Because I love you.”

That produced a bitter laugh. “Oh, please. Don’t make me sick.”

“I do,” he insisted. “I always have. Ariel was a mistake.”

“A mistake you were happy enough to make,” Charley said. “You had a chance to give her up and you didn’t.”

“I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“Well, I am.” She stood, signaling that this ridiculous conversation was over.

He stood, too. He was barely taller than she was. Why had she picked such a small man?

“All I’m asking is that you give me a chance to prove I’ve changed. Twelve years together, Charley—that has to count for something.”

“It should have counted for something when you were looking around for a side dish.”

He sighed. “You’re right.”

“You know where the door is.”