“You were so in love with him.” Kris shook her head in a pitying fashion. “Like, gone.”
“Yes, thank you for that reminder.”
“What’d he look like?”
“Oh, you know. Tall, dark and handsome.”
“Ouch.” Her sister winced. “Who’s he here with?”
“No one. Not a single soul.”
“Really...because his wife and kids are in a Tuscan villa on holiday while he’s here writing his memoirs?”
“There is no wife. There are no kids,” Miriam said. “At least I don’t think there are any kids. We didn’t get past him mentioning he was single.”
“Sounds like you two had quite the conversation.” Her sister deftly raised one eyebrow.
“We mostly stood shivering in the cold while trying to find the balance between polite and concise. His parents and siblings are going out of town over Thanksgiving weekend, so he came here to enjoy his rarely used mansion and eat frozen pizza instead.” Miriam fingered the bent corner of the recipe card her mother had given her. “He said sweet potato pie was his favorite. I never knew that. Do you know why?”
“I’m assuming because in the short summer months you two spent boinking each other in the lake, you never broached the topic of pie preferences?”
“Fair point.” Miriam smiled. “I was going to say it’s because we ended before sweet potato pie season. It’s been ages since I’ve thought about him... I mean really thought about him. It was a silly summer fling and I was swept up.” Her gut pinged with warning at the lie. Miriam ignored that ping. She would rather make believe she never loved him than consider that she’d been right about them living happily ever after if he hadn’t discarded her so callously. Half kidding, she added, “I could invite him to Mom’s for dinner. Bury that axe for good.”
“Do it.”
She faced her sister’s wide-eyed gaze. “What? Why? I was joking.”
“Burying the axe for good would be cathartic. Once you’re around each other again you’ll both see that you are not the Miriam of ten years ago. You’re the Miriam of today. It’d do Chase good to see what he’s been missing.”
“Thanks, Kris.” Miriam was touched, but not sure she agreed. “He’s not missing much. Other than a job I love, I have no husband, children or Nobel Peace Prize to wave in his face.”
“None of that matters.” Kristine swept Miriam’s cell phone off the dining room table and offered it, but then frowned. “Unless... You probably don’t have his private number. I didn’t think about that.”
“Actually, I do. He handed me his card.”
“Bury the lead why don’t you! Why’d he give you that?” Kris was grinning, her eyes twinkling. “For like, a holiday hookup?” She blinked, then screwed her eyes toward the ceiling. “That’d be a great book title.”
Her sister the freelance editor never shut her brain off.
“It would be a great title for a work of fiction.” Miriam snatched her phone away and shoved it into her back pocket. “Remember that protest I did years ago with a conservation group in Houston?”
“Big oil, right?”
Miriam nodded and explained the letter that’d arrived last week. “He didn’t plan on seeing me while he was here, so I don’t know what the offer of calling him if I need anything was about.”
“Told you. Holiday hookup.” Her sister shrugged. “You should invite him for no other reason than we can skewer him at the dinner table about being a dirty politician while you’re the Snow White of Bigfork.”
Miriam had to laugh at her sister’s imagination.
“Plus, it’d be fun to watch Mom go from simmer to boiling over while she tries to make sense of a mayor at her table.”
“It was a dumb idea. Forget I mentioned it.” Miriam just hadn’t liked the thought of him alone on a holiday. How ridiculous was that? She wasn’t in charge of his well-being.
“Spoilsport.”
Topic dead, they went back to chatting about everything but sexy mayors and summer flings.
Two hours later, the pies had finished baking and were cooling on the stovetop. Miriam had poured herself a glass of red after Kristine left, and camped out on the sofa, laptop and charts spread on the coffee table for work. But the website she’d pulled up had nothing to do with work. It was the City of Dallas website, particularly Chase’s headshot. He looked merely handsome in that still frame. He’d been devastatingly gorgeous in person.
Chase’s business card in hand, she rubbed her thumb over his phone number.
One glass of wine was all it took to weaken her resolve. That and the smell of sweet potato pie in the air.
“Damn him.”
She swiped the screen of her phone, dialed the first eight digits of the phone number, then paused.
Why should she care if her ex-boyfriend ate alone on Thanksgiving? Shouldn’t she embrace the idea of the jerk who broke her heart spending the holiday alone in a way-too-big-for-one mansion? Except she’d always been horrible at holding grudges, and even the blurry, faded memories of her broken heart couldn’t keep her from completing the task.
She dialed the remaining digits and waited patiently while the phone rang once, twice and then a third time. When she was about to give up, a silken voice made love to her ear canal.
“Chase Ferguson.”
“Chase. Hi. Um, hi. It’s Miriam.”
“Miriam?”
“Andrix,” she said through clenched teeth. Was it that he’d had so many other women in his life over the last decade that he couldn’t keep track of them? Or was it that he’d forgotten her already even though she’d bumped into him yesterday afternoon?
“I know. I think of you as Mimi.”
That husky voice curled around her like a hug. He’d always called her Mimi, and to date had been the only person who had, save her best friend in the third grade. Her family either called her Miriam or Meems.
“Is everything all right?” If that was concern in his voice, she couldn’t place it. His tone was even. His words measured.
“Everything is fine. I, um.” She cleared her throat, took a fortifying sip of her wine and continued. “My mother lives about twenty minutes north of Bigfork. We make enough for Thanksgiving dinner to feed ten extra people. You’re welcome to join us tomorrow night.”
She pressed her lips together before she rattled off what would be served and how she’d baked two pies that were presumably his favorite. She wasn’t begging him to show up, simply extending an invitation as an old acquaintance.
Silence greeted her from the other end of the phone.
“Chase?”
“No. Thank you.”
She waited for an explanation. None came. Not even a lame excuse about having to work like she’d used tonight. Though she truly did have to work. She scowled at her laptop and his handsome mug before snapping the lid shut.
“Will there be anything else?” he asked. Tersely.
At his formal tone, ire slipped into her bloodstream as stealthily as a drug. Her back went ramrod straight; her eyebrows crashed down.
“No,” she snapped. “That concludes my business with you.”
“Very well.”
She