place. I’ll bring the wine.” He opened the door and stepped out, reaching back to assist her.
She didn’t take his hand. “Wait. You’re asking me out and you expect me to cook?”
“Would you rather I take you to some froufrou restaurant so you can complain about how you would have done things differently?”
She opened her mouth and then closed it.
“Face it, you’re a food snob. Plus, you always have more fun when you cook the meal.”
She frowned, and he silently smiled. He’d nailed it, and she knew it, and that made her nervous. Hell, it made him nervous. “How do you know that?”
“Cream puff.” He stepped into her, making her knees part a little in the process. “There isn’t much about you that I don’t know.”
Lexi pulled her car into Stan’s Soup and Service Station. She needed gas, a glass of wine, and a bowl of Stan’s soup du jour—unless it was chicken noodle. Her day had started off with a coffee date. Mr. Wednesday Morning was a nice enough cork-machine operator from Yountville who loved cooking and foreign films and knew his way around an engine—a bonus since Lexi’s car had picked up a strange pinging sound in Chicago that had turned into a high-pitched squeal by Salt Lake City. Unfortunately, Mr. Wednesday Morning also had a thing for Velcro sneakers and still lived with his parents, which should have made it easy to decline when he invited her to his mom’s Tupperware party. But saying no would have been rude, especially since he’d had his mom on speakerphone when the invite was issued.
Lexi hopped out of the car and had just started the gas pump when her phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Morning, Lexi. It’s me.”
She waited for the gut-wrenching pain to hit, but when all she felt was growing irritation, she thunked her head against the side of car. Five times. Once for every time “me” had called since she’d left New York nearly three weeks ago. “Jeffery, why are you calling?”
There was an amused pause where she could almost hear his head wagging from side to side, and she just knew he wore that silly-Lexi playacting smile. “You promised you’d call when you got settled.”
“No, you told me to call. I reminded you that we are no longer married and accountable to each other.”
“That hurts, Lexi. We may not still be married, but we’ll always be friends. And friends look out for each other. I just wanted to see if you were all right, how the patisserie is doing, and if you needed anything.”
What she needed was for him to stop calling. Maybe it was immature, but being friends with the man who’d traded her in for an eco-friendly model wasn’t something she was interested in. She understood that many people managed to keep a relationship with their exes, but Lexi just couldn’t stomach the thought. She finally had the chance to follow her dream, and she’d be damned if she was going to run her plans, or life, past anyone this time.
“You’re on your honeymoon. Shouldn’t you be”—she couldn’t say it—“with Sara?”
“She’s right here.” Of course she is. Sara not only stole Lexi’s husband, her kitchen, and her life—she was apparently the bigger person. “She agrees with me. Maintaining a healthy relationship is important for everyone involved.”
Instead of explaining in great detail exactly where he could stick his healthy relationship or warning that the only thing he should worry about maintaining was the three thousand miles between them, she explained the facts, hoping they would sink in. “Listen carefully, Jeffery. We are no longer involved. We are divorced—from each other—no kids, no ties, nothing in common.”
“That’s hurtful, Lexi. We have a past, fifteen wonderful years, and the restaurant.”
“You have the restaurant, and I—” Lexi paused. A glimpse of a tailored suit with a briefcase caught her eye from across the street. Crap! “I have to go.”
She ended the call, dropped to all fours, and held her breath, stuffing her phone in her back pocket when it rang again. Jeffery hadn’t been the only annoying caller this week. Chad Stevens had called her cell, the apartment, even the bakery asking for her. She’d hidden behind a crate of watermelons at Picker’s Produce, Meats, and More when she saw him walking from aisle to aisle, as though hunting her down. She’d also ended her second Monday-night date early, right in the middle of chocolate-hazelnut fondue, when she spotted Chad, in the parking lot, writing down her license plate number. When Chad