A Man for All Seasons

“Convince me. Get a tree.”

“Okay! I’ll get a tree. Is pre-lit okay, or do you have rules about that, too?”

“Pre-lit?” Ty looked as though she’d suggested serving one of Santa’s reindeer for Christmas dinner. “You’re talking about an artificial tree?”

“Well, yeah.”

He stared at her.

“My house, my tree,” she said. “Do not call my mother.”

“Okay. I won’t call your mother. I’ll call my mother. All I have to say is that you’re not yourself and I’m concerned about what will happen when I’m not here to check on you.”

Marlie’s blood ran cold.

“And you know if your mom hears about it from my mom, it’ll be ten times worse.”

“It would be a thousand times worse.” Marlie had visions of her parents canceling their cruise and arriving on her doorstep. “You win. I’ll get a tree. A giant, needle-dropping, fire-hazard of a tree.”

Ty hadn’t said anything about ornaments.

THE NEXT DAY, MARLIE received flowers from Axelle. Before noon. Which meant Ty must have gone straight from blackmailing Marlie over the Christmas tree to discussing her with his girlfriend.

Good times.

Marlie held the heavy, square glass vase and searched her office for an empty flat surface. Eventually, she had to clear off the top of a file cabinet and set the exotically chic arrangement there, where she could see it while looking up the names of the flowers on Google. They were bright, beautiful and out of the ordinary. Like Axelle.

Not a carnation, rose or daisy in the bunch. Like Marlie. If she hadn’t gone to seed.

If anyone should have been sending flowers, it should have been Marlie, but now that Axelle had outclassed her, Marlie had no choice but to dig out her good stationery, ordered for her wedding thank-yous, and write a charming, lively note to Axelle.

Charming and lively did not come naturally to Marlie, so writing the note took some time. She was not helped by staring at her given name, Marlene, written across the top of the stationery. Her mother had insisted on it, just as she’d insisted that Marlene be on the wedding invitations. They’d never looked quite right to Marlie, as though it was someone else marrying Eric. And look how that turned out.

She had to access the U.S. Post Office website to find out what a first-class stamp cost these days, and then walk down to the mailbox cluster at the end of the block and drop it in the slot.

No wonder people emailed everything.

WHEN TYLER ARRIVED HOME that evening, the bed was leaving. He felt a pang, because it was a stupendous bed, but it came with baggage and Ty didn’t need baggage. To be honest, he was still a little freaked that he kept picturing Marlie when he thought of the bed. Adult Marlie was bad enough, but as he was mentally planning an evening with Axelle, the Marlie that had intruded was the eight-year-old Marlie. He couldn’t help it. Even now, when he thought of Marlie, her sweaty little red-cheeked face came to mind. It was the ponytail. Marlie may have changed, but the messy, bushy lump hadn’t. Ty just couldn’t have sex in a bed he associated with an eight-year-old.

Marlie had moved fast. Four men were dismantling the frame and carrying pieces downstairs to a pickup truck. Ty stepped aside as two of them passed him carrying the screen that had been at the foot of the bed.

He consoled himself with the thought that he would have replaced the projection system with a flat screen anyway. Newer technology.

Marlie was in her office—no surprise. Except that she seemed remarkably sanguine about getting rid of a bed she’d kept as a shrine to a failed romance.

Ty leaned against the doorway. Marlie wore headphones and didn’t see him at first. A bouquet of bright flowers partially obscured her from view. He waved a hand so the movement would attract her attention.

She saw him and removed the headphones as she raised her eyebrows. “What’s up?”

She looked the same as always, maybe faintly curious, since it wasn’t his habit to interrupt her when he came home. He seemed more affected by last night’s discussion than she was.

“The bed.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I guess the carpenters wanted it.”

“Yeah. They couldn’t get here fast enough. I don’t think they’ve decided who gets to take it home, though.”

“Did you go shopping for a new one?”

“I haven’t had time.” She indicated the arrangement of colorful exotic blooms that she’d set on a file cabinet. “Your girlfriend sent me flowers.”

Ty smiled. “She’s great like that.” Axelle’s impulsive generosity was one of the things that attracted him to her. It was also how she’d ended up in charge of the Midtown Business Mentors Charity Auction this Friday. And how he’d been corralled into helping. And how Marlie had ended up doing a website for them. It was difficult to say no to Axelle.

“I broke out my expensive wedding stationery and wrote her a thank-you note for the ‘day brightener.’” Marlie looked at him. “I wonder where she got the idea that I needed a ‘day brightener?’”

“You mind that I told her about your jerk of a fiancé?” he asked. “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed, but it was almost three years ago,” Marlie said. “I’m more embarrassed about walking in on you last night and seeing Axelle half-naked.”

“You said your eyes were closed.”

“They were. After I saw you both.”

Ty drew a long breath. “I should have sent her flowers.”

“You’re in luck,” Marlie said. “As it happens, I’ve got some right here.”

“I’m not going to take your flowers.”

“Why not? I feel I owe her.”

“She’d rather have you do a little extra on the auction website.”

“It would be cheaper to send her flowers.” Marlie nodded toward the computer screen. “They’ve had twice as many donations as Axelle anticipated. Each one means I have to put up a picture and a description and a link to the company or person who donated it,” she told him. “I’m setting the whole thing up so I can stream the auction and take online bids Friday night. It’s taking a little more time than I’d estimated.”

Ty came over to look at the screen. “It’s for a good ca—what the heck is that?”

“That,” Marlie said, “is why I don’t mind the extra time.”

A shirtless man wearing suspenders and a fireman’s hat grinned at him from the monitor. “What’s he donating?”

“A date,” Marlie answered.

“Did he have to look like he was posing for a calendar?”

“Actually, he did. You’re looking at Mr. May.” She smiled. “And I’m sure the lucky winner hopes he will.”

Ty raised his eyebrows.

Marlie typed a caption to the picture and then read it aloud. “Oh, yeah. I’d like to see the partridge in his pear tree.”