it seemed like it was more taxing for me than for Justine.”
“How’d the girls do?”
“They were fine. Livvie said it made her very sad. They’re saying goodbye to a way of life. But I think my sister is glad to let it go right about now. She thinks her ex-husband is an idiot.”
Jake laughed. “Everyone thinks he’s an idiot.”
Addie burst into tears.
“Hey now,” he said, pulling her close, stroking her hair. “What’s got you upset? Was it the ordeal of dividing the property?”
She shook her head and wiped impatiently at her eyes. “Jake, Justine is going to take over my life. She’s going to pick the paint colors for my house, choose the furniture, probably select our meals. To her I’m no different than one of her daughters.”
“You might be worried about that, but it doesn’t have to happen,” he said. “I’m going to pour some wine and light a fire. Sit down and relax and tell me about your day.”
She watched from the sofa while he puttered in the kitchen and brought two glasses to the coffee table. Then he got to the task of lighting a fire, a real fire. He pulled logs from the caddy on the hearth and stacked them neatly on the grate. He added some starter pine cones.
She was reminded of something she’d always taken for granted—Jake was an attractive man. He was tall, fit, had a full head of dark hair and his dark eyes glittered when he smiled. His butt in those jeans was a perfect fit, and they were neither tight nor loose. He always wore a greengrocer’s shirt, and there was no belly spilling over the belt. He had big hands, and she imagined those hands on her and realized that he was patient and kind and quite sexy.
“I take you for granted,” she said to his back.
He glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t feel that you do.” The fire began to take life from the starter cones, and he sat on the couch beside her.
“Why do you suppose you never remarried?” she asked him.
“And exactly who would I marry, Adele?”
“Oh come on, you know half the women in town would leave their husbands for you.”
“And regret it, I’m sure. I think after a bad marriage and worse divorce, you get real picky about who you hang around with. I’d probably try it again if the right person came along. What’s your excuse?”
A huff of laughter escaped her. “I was a shut-in for eight years.”
“Not really. When you were helping with your dad, before your mom’s stroke, you didn’t get out a lot but you got out. I remember you worked at the Ridgemont Hotel for a couple of years.”
“Part-time,” she said. “But the last four years before Mom died I didn’t get out much at all.”
“You’re sure on the go now.”
“I’m almost too busy. And I’m going to add school to the schedule.” She sipped her wine. “I’m pretty excited about that. Except that I suppose I’ll be running into Hadley regularly.”
“The professor,” Jake said.
“But I’m thoroughly over him,” she said. “At last.”
“How do you know?” Jake asked.
“He was coming on strong, suggesting we give it another go. The nerve of that ass, after leaving me alone, pregnant, never once even calling to see if I was all right, after never offering to help in any way. If I see him walking across the campus, I might run him over with my car.”
“This is a change,” he said. “For a long time you were brokenhearted and grief-stricken, wishing things had worked out differently, that you’d met before he was married or after he was divorced.”
“I know. I should have gotten out more. It might have been lack of fresh air, all my common sense dried up. Brain atrophy. In fact, I’ll be honest. When I first ran into him and we sat down for a glass of wine and clearing the air, I had a slight relapse. He made good excuses for never reaching out. And he even seemed to be