Merry Ex-Mas

“I love that movie,” she’d said. “Love how the hero changed from a Scrooge to a great husband and dad.”

“I never knew you were so sentimental,” Cass had teased.

“I’m not,” Samantha had retorted, “but I know what’s important.”

Cass would give her that. Samantha Sterling had fought hard to save her family’s chocolate company. In the process she’d resuscitated the town of Icicle Falls, which had been in an economic slump, by sponsoring a chocolate festival. Spurred on by that success, the town leaders had caught festival fever. October had seen Oktoberfest, December’s tree-lighting event had been expanded from one weekend to every weekend and there was talk of a wine festival in the early summer.

Samantha and her sister Cecily were the first to arrive, rosy-cheeked and smiling, stomping snow off their boots. Blue-eyed, blond-haired Cecily was the beauty of the family, but with her red hair and freckles, Samantha wasn’t exactly a troll. She’d married Blake Preston, the bank’s manager, in August and still sported a newlywed glow. That would wear off eventually.

Listen to you, Cass scolded herself. Queen of the cynics.

“We brought vitamin C,” Samantha said, handing over a holiday box of Sweet Dreams Chocolates.

Chocolate, the other Vitamin C, and a girl’s best friend. “This takes care of me. I don’t know what the rest of you are having,” Cass joked. “Did you bring the movie?”

Cecily held up the DVD with Nicolas Cage on the cover. “We’re set.”

Ella was the next to arrive. She wasn’t as beautiful as her glamorous mother, Lily Swan, but she was cute and she knew how to dress. Tonight she looked ready for a magazine shoot in skinny jeans paired with a crisp white shirt, a black leather vest and a long, metallic red scarf, and bearing a bowl of parmesan popcorn, her specialty. Ella even did popcorn with flair.

Cass decided that flair was something you either soaked up in the gene pool or you didn’t. She could create works of art in her bakery, but when it came to personal style she couldn’t seem to get beyond unimpressionist. Oh, well. What did she care? She didn’t have anyone she needed to impress.

Not even your ex-in-laws?

No, she told herself firmly. Living well was the best revenge and she was living quite well, thank you. She didn’t need to look like a cover model to prove it.

She pushed aside the thought of Babette, who would, of course, show up for the wedding with her hair perfectly highlighted and her skinny little bod draped in something flattering. Maybe Cass would pass on the chocolate and popcorn tonight.

Charley was the last to arrive. She came bearing wine and looked frazzled enough to consume the entire bottle single-handed.

“Okay, what’s wrong?” Cass asked once the women were settled in the living room with their drinks and goodies.

“Richard’s back.” Charley took one of Cass’s gingerbread boys and bit off his head.

Cass nearly dropped her wineglass. “What?”

Charley nodded. More of the gingerbread boy disappeared.

“Why is he back?” Cass asked. “What does he want?”

“Me,” Charley said.

“You? He left you for another woman! Tell him to take a hike off the mountain,” Samantha advised.

Cass couldn’t have said it better herself. “I’ll second that.”

“So he’s left Ariel?” Cecily asked.

“He says it was all a mistake.”

Men always said that when they got caught with their pants down. Cass frowned. “Not as big a mistake as taking him back would be.”

“You’re not going to, are you?” asked Samantha.

“Absolutely not,” Charley shook her head vigorously.

“Good for you,” Cass said. Charley had the kind of never-ending legs that made men drool and gorgeous long hair and plenty of personality. She didn’t have to settle for letting a loser back in her life.

“Did you tell him that?” Samantha asked.

“Of course I did.”

“Then why is he still here?” Samantha persisted.

Charley was on her second gingerbread boy now. “He says he’s not giving up.”

“Oh, brother,” Ella said, rolling her eyes.

“Why is it men only want you when you don’t want them?” Charley grumbled.

“Because they’re bums,” Cass said.

“Not all of them,” Samantha murmured.

“Blake is the exception to the rule,” Cass told her.

“There are other exceptions out there,” Cecily added.

“Like Luke Goodman?” her sister teased.

“Like Luke,” Cecily agreed, her voice neutral.

Ella sighed. “So why do we always like the bad boys?”

Charley sighed, too. “Because we’re masochists?”

“There’s something about bad boys,” Cecily said, then seeing her sister’s frown, got busy inspecting a lock of hair for split ends.

“Yeah, something bad,” her sister said firmly. “Men like Richard and Todd Black are nothing but heartbreak on two legs.”

“I wasn’t talking about Todd,” Cecily said, her cheeks pink.

“I was,” Samantha said.

Cecily grabbed a handful of popcorn. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m ready to watch the movie.”

With Samantha in bossy older sister mode that was understandable. Cass started the movie.

As the plot unfolded, chronicling the life of the fictional Jack Campbell, she couldn’t help thinking of her own choices, of Mason. What if they’d been given a glimpse of a better future, one where they stayed united and lived as best friends instead of combatants? What would her life look like now?

What did it matter? She and Mason had made their choices and no hip angel was going to drop into their lives to give them a second chance. The best glimpse she could get was one of her daughter’s wedding going smoothly, of herself managing to be civil. If she could pull that off, it would be a miracle.

* * *

What a wonderful movie. And what a wonderful way to start the holidays. Ella was teary-eyed by the end of it. She always cried at movies. She cried over movies with sad endings because she felt so bad for the poor people. A movie with a happy ending, especially a romantic movie, brought her to tears because, well, it was all so overwhelmingly hopeful. Somewhere out there in the real world a man could be coming to his senses, realizing that he didn’t need to go off in search of El Dorado, that there was gold right in his own backyard. Maybe like the Jack Campbell character, Charley’s husband had figured that out.

Jake had insisted he had, that Ella was all he needed.

What big fat lies! Thank God her mother had opened her eyes to the truth. Otherwise, she’d have wasted the best years of her life, keeping the home fires burning on a shoestring budget while he carried on with other women.

“Well.” Cass raised her glass. “Here’s to the Jack Campbells of the world, wherever they’re hiding.”

“I’ll drink to that. I found mine,” Samantha said.

“And here’s to Christmas,” Cecily toasted.

“And Christmas weddings,” Samantha added. “Do these guys know Dani’s engaged?”

“That’s wonderful! Why didn’t you tell us?” Ella asked Cass.

“You’ve been anticipating this for months. I’m surprised you haven’t been crowing from the rooftops,” Charley said.

“I was going to tell you all.” Cass shrugged. “I got distracted.”

When Ella and Jake had gotten engaged, she’d told everyone. How did a woman get distracted from sharing such big news? “That’s so exciting. Tell us now.”

“She’s getting married the weekend before Christmas at Olivia’s.”

“Oh, that’ll be gorgeous,” Cecily said. “Olivia always has the place decorated like something out of a magazine.”

Especially at Christmas. The outside of the lodge would be awash with white twinkle lights, and inside cedar swags and red bows would adorn the banisters. But the best decoration of all was the vintage sleigh, decked out with swags and ribbons, surrounded by decorative gift boxes. Ella could envision Dani and Mike in that sleigh, posing for pictures in their wedding day finery.

“But wow, it doesn’t give you much time,” she said. It had taken her nine months to plan her wedding.

“And I thought we had a challenge putting together our chocolate festival in six weeks,” Cecily joked.

“Why so quick?” asked Ella, and then blushed as one obvious possibility occurred.

“No, they don’t have a baby on the way,” Cass said. “Just a move to Spokane in January.”

“Are you going to be able to pull it off?” Ella asked after Cass had explained about Mike’s new job.

“Are you stressed about getting everything done?” put in Cecily. “We can help, you know.”

“Absolutely,” said Charley, and Ella nodded her agreement.

“That’s not the bug in the soup, is it?” Samantha looked at Cass.

“Then what?” Ella asked. “Are you worried that she’s too young?”

“She is young,” Cass admitted. “And I was figuring she and Mike would wait a year before getting married. But she’s had her life mapped out since she was twelve—baking, husband and babies.”

Ella could identify with that. Well, except for the baking part. She’d always wanted a family, complete with husband. “Then what’s the bug in the soup?”

Cass frowned. “Dani wants her father to walk her down the aisle.”

They all knew how Cass felt about her ex. “Oh,” Ella said, at a loss for anything else to say.

“Yeah, oh. And it gets better. Guess where my daughter wants him and stepmommy to stay?”

Charley’s eyes got so big Ella thought they’d pop out of her head. “Seriously?”

“Pathetically seriously,” Cass said.

Cecily picked up the box of chocolates. “You need one of these.”

Several chocolates and much commiseration later, the party broke up.

“How are we going to help her get through this?” Cecily asked as the women made their way down Cass’s front walk.

“We could beat up Bimbette,” Charley cracked. “Or poison the ex.” She shook her head. “Cass is nuts if she goes along with this.”

“She’ll cave,” Samantha predicted. “She likes to pretend she’s tough, but when it comes to her kids she’s softer than a marshmallow. I think we’re going to have to be available 24/7 so she’s got someone to vent to.”

“For sure,” Charley agreed. “I can’t imagine being stuck in the same house with your ex.” She seemed to realize what she’d said and her face turned as red as a poinsettia. “Sorry, Ella.”

“It’s okay,” Ella said. “And I can tell you from experience, it’s going to be hard.”

“Hopefully your place will sell soon and you can move on,” Samantha told her.

Move on. Move. Ella’s holiday spirit suddenly moved on without her. “Hopefully,” she echoed.

She said goodbye to the others and returned to her empty dream house.

Jake was at an open mike at the Red Barn so the only one home was Tiny. He greeted her with a woof and a wagging tail.

“I know,” she said, rubbing the top of his massive head. “You’re ready for some exercise, huh, boy?”

Tiny woofed again and danced back and forth. She opened the front door and he darted out into the night.

Ella followed at a more sedate pace, wondering what it was like to be a dog. Did dogs ever worry? Did they ever question whether they’d made the right choice, done the right thing?

Silly thought, of course. All a dog had to do was enjoy being a dog. Someone else made the tough decisions.

If she and Jake had been Saint Bernards…

She shook her head at her own foolishness and whistled for Tiny to heel. Too bad she couldn’t have whistled for Jake to heel before he went bounding off.

Jake wasn’t the kind of man to heel. Instead of saying how sorry he was and asking her to forgive him after his fling with that keyboard player, he’d gotten combative. “I’m tired of this shit, Ella. If you can’t trust me, then we can’t be together.”

It had been all downhill from there.

“You don’t need a man to be happy,” Mims had told her.

Except Ella no longer had a man and she wasn’t happy.

She stewed over that for twenty minutes while Tiny sniffed and marked his territory. Then it started to snow and she turned them toward the house. By the time they got back she was in need of some bedtime hot chocolate.

She shed her coat and went to the kitchen to get her last packet of instant cocoa. She was pleasantly surprised to see that Jake had actually cleared his dishes from her vintage red Formica table. And then not surprised to find them in the sink. From the sink to the dishwasher was only one more step. How hard was that? He’d probably left them there, figuring she’d do it for him.

She opened the cupboard beneath the sink to get out the dish soap.

What was this? Water. A little pool of water. How had he managed that?

She mopped it up, then loaded the dishes. Now all that was left was a pot crusted with bits of burned chili. It didn’t take long to deduce that the chili was welded to the pan, so after a futile attempt to dislodge it, she added more soap and filled it to the brim with water to soak overnight. Then she rinsed out the sponge and the sink and opened the cupboard to put away the dish soap.

Oh, no. Here was a fresh puddle. Just what they needed right now, a leaky sink. She’d have to call a plumber first thing in the morning. Another bill to split down the middle.

She picked up the phone and called Jake’s cell. He was probably up on the bandstand singing about love with that man-stealing keyboard player or sitting at a table nursing a Coke and flirting with some cowgirl poured into tight jeans. That was his life—fun, glamorous and irresponsible. And while he flirted and played his guitar she dealt with leaky faucets.

She was well rid of this relationship. Next time she’d be smart when it came to choosing a man. Maybe she’d even find herself a plumber.

She’d expected her call to roll over to Jake’s voice mail but he answered on the second ring. “Everything okay?”

Why did he immediately think something was wrong? Oh, yeah. She was calling him. “The pipe under the kitchen sink is leaking. I just wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t use it when you got ho—back.” Home, that would’ve been the wrong word to use. This house wasn’t a home anymore. “I’ll call the plumber tomorrow.” Maybe he could squeeze her in that same day. It would make life simpler, since the shop was closed on Mondays.

“Don’t do that,” Jake said.

“We can’t leave it.” No one would want to buy a house that was falling apart.

“I know. I’ll fix it.”

Jake wasn’t the world’s best handyman. Last summer he’d gone through a pile of two-by-fours trying to fix one broken front-porch step. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Hey, any guy can fix a leaky pipe,” he said. “I’m not paying a plumber.”

She sure wasn’t going to foot the entire bill. “Okay,” she said. “But you’ll fix it first thing tomorrow, right?” Their Realtor, Axel Fuchs, had cautioned her to always have the house in tip-top shape. You never knew when a potential buyer would want to look at it.

“I’ll do it tomorrow,” Jake said. “Don’t worry.”

Don’t worry? That would be possible only if she were a Saint Bernard.

6

Richard was history. He needed to stay history, and that was exactly what Charley was going to tell him next time he popped up like the Ghost of Christmas Past. It wasn’t right to come back into a girl’s life after she’d worked through her anger (well, most of it) and gotten on with things. And she’d tell him that, she decided as she put on her makeup.

It was Monday and the restaurant was closed. She never bothered with makeup on Mondays.

She glared at her reflection. Why are you doing this?

Pride. She wanted Richard to see her at her best when she told him to set his boxers on fire and get lost.

“You liar,” she scolded herself. “You just want him to see you looking your best, period.”

Charley tossed her mascara in her makeup basket and left the bathroom.

She always stayed home on Monday mornings. She did her laundry in the morning and fooled around on Facebook. After lunch she’d read or watch the Food Network and then she’d take a run to Bruisers for a quick workout on the treadmill. Or go to the bakery for a little something—always more fun than the treadmill.

No hanging around the house this morning, she told herself. If Richard tried a surprise attack he’d find the fort deserted. She could finish her Christmas shopping. She’d hang out in Gilded Lily’s, Hearth and Home and Mountain Treasures. Oooh, and for lunch she’d indulge in a bratwurst at Big Brats. Then maybe she’d stop in at Sweet Dreams and say hi to Samantha. Or wander over to Gingerbread Haus and treat herself to a gingerbread boy.

She donned the knitted hat Ella had made for her and grabbed her winter coat.

And opened the door just in time to see Richard coming up the front steps, bundled up for winter in a parka and ski cap and carrying a thermos. She didn’t know which irritated her more, the fact that he’d ignored her command to bug off or that at the sight of him her heart lost its groove and gave a nervous skip. “What are you doing here?”

“Kidnapping you.”

“That’s against the law. Anyway, you’re not big enough to overpower me,” she added, and hoped that hurt. She shut the door after herself and started past him.

“Kidnapping you to go on a sleigh ride,” he said, ignoring her barb.

She stopped in her tracks. A sleigh ride. Other than chocolate, there was nothing more tempting. Sleigh rides were becoming a popular tourist activity in Icicle Falls. Ever since she and Richard had moved to town, Charley had wanted to take one, but somehow she’d never found time. There was something so romantic about a sleigh ride.

There would be nothing romantic about taking one with her ex. “Currier’s doesn’t offer sleigh rides on weekdays.”

“They do this week. I made special arrangements with Kirk Jones.”

Special arrangements. What strings had Richard pulled to get the owner of the Christmas tree farm to harness up his horses on a Monday?

Richard held up the thermos. “Hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps.”

“I don’t care if it’s champagne.”

“That’s for brunch. At the Firs.”

The Firs was an exclusive resort compound that extended for acres and included everything from hiking trails to outdoor hot tubs and pools surrounded by mountain rock. Cabins were outfitted with luxury furnishings and the dining hall provided feasts prepared by the kind of top chefs Charley only dreamed of hiring.

Now she was doubly tempted.

Don’t do it.

“All I’m asking for is a chance. Just give me today.”

One day, that was all he was asking.

She sighed. “Why did you have to come back?”

“Because I need you.”

“You didn’t need me a year ago when you were boinking Ariel in the bar.”

Richard grimaced. “Charley, I’ve changed. Let me prove it.”

Eating at the Firs was the equivalent of eating at Canlis in Seattle. She had no intention of getting back together with Richard, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t use him. Just deserts, she concluded. She’d use him like he’d once used her. Then he could see how it felt.

“Okay, I’ll go,” she said. “It’s not going to do you any good, but I’ll go.”

He grinned like she’d just offered to sleep with him. “It’s a beginning.”

Currier’s Tree Farm was rustic and picturesque. The snow-frosted split rail fence along the property was draped with cedar swags and red bows. The big tree in the yard was adorned with lights and huge colored balls and a shawl of snow. Behind the house, the tree farm stretched out with every imaginable kind of holiday tree. Off to the left she saw a stand where visitors could enjoy complimentary hot cider and to the right sat a big, red barn. There, in front of it, stood an old-fashioned sleigh decked out in cedar swags and ribbon. The chestnut draft horses looked equally festive, with jingle bells in their harnesses, their manes and tails braided with red ribbons. One of them stamped a foot. Another let out a soft nicker.

A lean, gray-haired man in winter garb came out of the barn and waved at them. “You’re right on time,” he called to Richard, and motioned for them to join him. “Got a perfect day for a sleigh ride,” he greeted Charley.

“It was nice of you to open for us,” Charley said.

He grinned, a big, broad smile that filled his face. “Anything for lovers.”

Lovers! Was that what Richard had told him? “Not exactly,” Charley said, frowning. “We’re exes.”

That made Kirk Jones’s bushy gray eyebrows shoot up and Richard’s mouth turn down.

“Oh, well,” Kirk said, and then cleared his throat. “It’s a great day for a sleigh ride.”

“No matter who it’s with,” Charley said, ignoring Richard’s helping hand and climbing into the sleigh.

Kirk had provided a plaid wool blanket and Richard spread it across her legs.

“Thanks. Lover,” she said with some asperity.

“You can’t blame me because people jump to conclusions,” he said.

“Did you give him a little push?”

“No. I told him the truth.”

Charley cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? And what was that?”

“That this is for a special lady. No lie.” He uncorked the thermos and pulled two disposable cups from his coat pocket.

As he poured she remembered how good he’d always been at romantic gestures—creating a dish and naming it after her, taking her over the mountains to Seattle one year to look at Christmas lights and then spending the night in a downtown hotel, hiding a bit of anniversary bling under her pillow.

What romantic things had he done for Ariel?

He handed over her hot chocolate. Then he poured himself a cup and capped the thermos. “To new beginnings,” he said, and raised his cup to her.

She said nothing in return, just took a sip and looked away.

“Or the hope of new beginnings,” Richard amended.

In your dreams, Charley thought, and downed some more.

Kirk was up in the sleigh now. He clicked his tongue and gave the horses’ rumps a gentle slap with the reins and they lurched forward.

Good thing her cocoa was half-gone, or she’d have been wearing it. And that would have been a shame because it was delicious. This was no instant stuff, she could tell. It had been made with cream and fine Dutch chocolate. Chocolate, the way to a girl’s heart.

But not this girl’s. Richard would never find his way back to hers, not even with a GPS made of solid Sweet Dreams dark.

Still, she decided, she might as well enjoy the ride.

There was plenty to enjoy. The sleigh ride was everything it should be. They wooshed past fir and pine trees clad in frosty white and open fields that beckoned them to come play in the snow, and all the while the sleigh bells on the horses’ harnesses jingled. The air was crisp and Charley could see her breath but the cocoa and the blanket kept her warm. Meanwhile, Richard was looking at her like he was a starving man and she a six-course meal. The best salve in the world for wounded pride.

Except it had been Richard who’d wounded her pride in the first place. Starvation was too good for him.

“This is perfect, isn’t it?” he said, and placed an arm around her shoulders.

She slid out from under it. “Almost.”

He was smart enough not to ask what kept it from being perfect.

They turned onto a path that led down a small incline and took them under a canopy of snowy tree boughs. This was magical. Charley sighed and leaned back against the seat cushions.

Up front Kirk was crooning a song about lovely weather for a sleigh ride.

“With you,” Richard whispered. “Aw, Charley, there’s no one like you.”

“You’re right,” she agreed.

“I’m just sorry I had to learn that the hard way.”

“Yes, you are a sorry man,” she said, making him frown. And that made her snicker.

* * *

After a brunch that involved several glasses of champagne she’d switched from snickering to giggling.