Bree Callahan was a proud vegetarian. And a florist, by default. And, as of recently, a homeowner, by inheritance. She was also thirty-two years old and dangerously close to becoming a spinster.
She wouldn’t feel that way if her prospects didn’t seem so bleak. In theory, she had time before her eggs dried up and her crow’s-feet took over. But Misty Point was small, and it wasn’t like she was leaving it anytime soon. She loved her hometown. She loved the cobblestone streets that ran through the quaint downtown lined with shops, and the smell of the salt water that lingered in the air, even now, when the first snow had already fallen. She loved that her family and friends were close by, and she loved her routine. Her life was simple. Perfect, really.
So why was she standing in the front hall of her aunt and uncle’s beautiful home, blinking back tears as she gripped a plastic container of leftover stuffing (that she was emphatically informed hadn’t been stuffed in the bird) in both hands?
“Are you on your way out, too?” Kate asked as she slid her feet into suede boots. “I think you’re parked behind us.”
Us. A word so short and concise and yet so full of possibility.
Bree managed a smile as she took her coat from her father, who would stick around for a while after the “kids” had left. Matt had been the first to leave, of course. He didn’t say where he was going, but then he rarely did. He was going to meet a woman, Bree was sure, but as with the others, he’d never bring her home to meet the family. The poor girl. Bree felt sorry for whoever it was.
See, Bree? Better to be alone than led on by a man like your brother, right?
She wished that thought was more comforting. Instead it just felt confusing and strange.
So Matt was off, having his fun. Charlotte had left in a hurry, too, promising to come back on Sunday, the day her parents were moving. She was upset, Bree could tell, but did her best not to show it. Her smile was just a notch too bright, her eyes a tad too shiny. It made Bree sad in a way. Sometimes she missed the old Charlotte, who spoke her mind and was a little bit selfish in an endearing sort of way, and who didn’t always seem like she was holding back some secret.
“We’re heading out, too,” Alec’s brother, William, called out. “You want to stop over for drinks?”
“Sure!” Kate nodded her enthusiasm and, catching Bree’s eye, said, “Want to join us?”
Us. Bree gave an apologetic smile as her mind spun to find a plausible excuse. Hanging out with two sets of lovebirds was hardly her idea of fun, even if Kate was her cousin and Elizabeth was a close friend.
“I have to do some paperwork tonight,” she said, wondering how many times she could pull out that excuse. “Brunch this Saturday?” In other words: girl time.
“I might have a fitting with one of my brides. I’ll double-check and get back to you tomorrow,” Kate said with a grin.
And then they were off. Out the door. Walking along the snowy, slippery path toward the driveway. William and Elizabeth in front, holding hands. Kate and Alec just behind, arms linked through thick wool coats. And Bree. Trailing behind. Clutching a pile of leftovers.
She managed to wave and smile and be downright cheerful as everyone went to their respective cars, and then, sweet relief, she was inside her own car. Alone.
She turned on the radio. Blasted the heat. Checked her rearview mirror to make sure William had pulled away before shifting gears and backing out. The road was paved, the street empty, and lights glowed in windows from the houses on either side.
It was a perfect late-fall night. Usually her favorite kind. But instead of feeling uplifted by a few hours spent with her favorite people, her heart was heavy at the prospect of going home to a dark, empty house that didn’t even feel like it belonged to her. It was her gran’s house, really. She had taken occupancy of it in September with the hope of starting over. But instead, she felt lost in all the rooms, like a visitor. Sometimes she missed her one-bedroom apartment that was walking distance to town.
And she was feeling sorry for herself again…
She knew it was foolish to be so upset right now, but she couldn’t help it. When Alec made that comment about her ever dating a carnivore, all her ethical resolve and strident stance on cage-free eggs and hunting for sport evaporated, and her mind was filled with the image of a square jaw, floppy brown hair, kind blue eyes, and, for some reason, wire-framed glasses. She had a thing for men in glasses.
Simon had worn glasses. Good God, she was picturing Simon.
She gave the rubber band on her wrist a quick snap. Sadly, she didn’t even flinch anymore. Instead, her skin was turning calloused from the number of times she thought of her ex. Physical evidence of the pathetic fact that she just wasn’t over him yet, despite the fact that he was well over her, and possibly hadn’t ever been all that interested to begin with.
More like probably. Actually, more like certainly.
But she…she’d adored him.
Her grandmother had given her a harsh piece of advice when Bree was only twelve or thirteen. She could still remember where they were when she’d said it. They were in the flower shop, and Gran was pulling together a big bouquet for a twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Suddenly, she’d stopped what she was doing, turned to Bree, and said, “Relationships work best if the man loves the woman just this much more than she loves him.” She’d drawn her pointer finger close to her thumb to demonstrate the distance, careful to leave a one-inch gap. Bree had been indignant, claiming that was hardly fair. “Fair has nothing to do with it,” Gran had remarked. “It’s just the way love works.”
Oh, Gran, Bree thought. She would have been so disappointed in her only granddaughter.
She shuddered when she thought of the flowers she’d sent Simon on what would have been their one-year anniversary last month, two months after they had split up. She sent a dozen perfect red roses to his office, so she wouldn’t have to deliver them to his door.
That’s right, Gran, you gave me your business, your home, and every bit of advice you’d ever saved up. And I went and sent a man flowers.
She could almost hear her grandmother’s squawk of horror over her granddaughter doing such a thing. Or buying ridiculously expensive tickets to a hockey game under the guise of having spontaneously come into possession of them, as desperation disguised as a casual excuse to get together when said man hadn’t called in six days.
Bree shuddered, imagining how the conversation would play out.
“Flowers! Sent to a man!”
“Not just any man, Gran. My ex-boyfriend. I sent him one dozen perfect red roses and then I sat clutching my phone and waited for three days to see if he would call to…” To what?
“In all my days running that shop, I never once fulfilled such an outrageous request.”
“But you’ll be proud of me, Gran.”
A snort, followed by a hesitation.
“I resisted calling his office to check up on the order. I could have.” In fact, she’d rehearsed the script. She’d call during the lunch break, when the usual gossipy receptionist whom Bree had always suspected had a thing for Simon took her lunch break, and old Hazel McClain, who had been the assistant to the founder of the law firm since it first opened its doors back in the forties, took over. Hazel was practically blind, didn’t know how to operate a computer, and had no interest in office drama, especially when half the time she couldn’t remember anyone’s names. She’d never remember that Simon, who was tucked away in patent law, far down the hall from the senior partner’s office that Hazel guarded, had just ceremoniously broken another girl’s heart. Or that this girl worked in a flower shop, namely, the one that was calling to check up on the order.
Bree could hear Gran tsk her disapproval. “Flowers to a man.” She couldn’t stop muttering it. No doubt, if there was a bridge club in the afterlife, the entire club would be aghast in no time.
“It was my birthday,” Bree protested, out loud. Because yeah, she talked to herself now, frequently, and had imaginary conversations with Gran. And sadly, Simon. “Thirty-two.” She cringed at the reminder. As if anything more needed to be said.
“Thirty-two! At that age, I had six children and was already a widow,” Gran would have said, as she had been keen to point out every chance she had.
Now Bree was gripping the steering wheel. Sure, it wasn’t conventional to send a seventy-dollar bouquet to your ex-boyfriend, but surely it couldn’t be that shocking.
She imagined Simon finding them on his desk. The surprise in his eyes. The expression when he read the card.
The card! Dear God, she hadn’t considered that piece of hard evidence. Had it been passed around? Discovered in the trash by the gossipy receptionist? Oh my God, oh my God…
She was thirty-two. She’d spent the better part of a year dating that man, dreaming of a future together.
This was never how it was supposed to go.
“My birthday wasn’t the happiest one, Gran. So you can understand why I freaked out. I…I snapped. I thought…” She didn’t frankly know what she’d been thinking. But she’d clearly had one too many glasses of pinot grigio.
Gran was giving her one of those knowing looks, down the length of her nose, her gray eyes a little hooded, her mouth a thin line of complete disapproval. “You were thinking he may have had a change of heart. That he just needed a nudge.”
Gran knew her so well. “Yes, Gran, that’s exactly what I had been hoping.”
Pinched lips. Here it came. “Interested men don’t need a nudge, Bree.”
No. They didn’t. And respectable women didn’t try to woo them, either.
It been a lapse in judgment. A moment of crazy. Well, it wouldn’t happen again.
Up ahead, William’s car was turning onto Thackeray Lane. Behind her, Alec’s would soon do the same. She could join them, of course. Forgo the imaginary paperwork and sit on Elizabeth’s lovely overstuffed slipcovered couch, complete with the chunky chenille throws in soft neutral colors and everything else that felt so adult and accomplished in comparison with Bree’s own meager belongings, most of which were handed down from good old Gran. There would be carols playing in the background from their surround-sound system. She’d have a glass of eggnog in one of the mugs Elizabeth had registered for. Christmas had officially launched now that Thanksgiving was behind them.
And wasn’t that depressing? She’d dared to think perhaps this Christmas she and Simon might be engaged. And instead, she had nothing to look forward to but a poinsettia delivery tomorrow. And she didn’t even like poinsettias. In fact, she rather hated the look of them.
Right. The slippery slope. No going there. After all, the night was hers! She could fill it however she wished! She could slip into her least flattering yet comfiest pajamas, heat up a mug of cider, add of splash of something extra, and watch a movie.
Or…she could do a drive-by of Simon’s parents’ house.
It wasn’t that outrageous, after all. She was practically passing by it on her way back into town, give or take a mile or two.
She pulled up to the stop sign and flicked her blinker. Soon, she was cruising down Glen Oak Drive, at roughly four miles an hour, her eyes scanning the left side of the street. Her breath caught when she spotted his car, a black newer-model Volvo, and in panic, she pressed her foot on the accelerator, barely managing a look-see as she whizzed past at a rate that wasn’t common on residential streets.
Her heart was still pounding when she turned onto the next street, which carried her back to the main road. He was there. At his parents’ house. Of course he was. It was Thanksgiving!
But was he alone? Or had he brought a date? Last Thanksgiving they hadn’t felt that they knew each other well enough to share the holidays. But that wouldn’t stop him from having a change of heart this time around.
She turned back onto the main road, in the opposite direction of home, and this time, kept her slow pace as she turned back down Glen Oak, her tires crunching on the frozen pavement, the radio on low.
The lights were on in the house, and she could make out some people in the back room. The dining room, perhaps? Most likely. There was a man and…
Damn it! She’d passed the house. Too late to see now. Still, she felt reassured with her findings. Nothing wild going on in there. Simon was probably in the kitchen, helping his mother clean up. Or in the study, having a drink with his dad.
Or in his childhood bedroom, getting busy with her replacement.
She followed the street up to the main road and stopped at the stop sign. She flicked her signal in the direction of home, chewing on her bottom lip as she waited for the traffic to clear.
The radio switched over to a Christmas song, one of the sad ones designed to remind people that merry Christmases weren’t for everyone.
She switched it off and gripped the steering wheel tighter.
Well, maybe just one more lap around the block.