In Your Dreams

“His ex-wife is back in town,” Allison said. Em already knew this—Faith had stopped by the police station, presumably so Levi could kiss her and put his hand on her stomach and offer other married gestures of devotion, and spilled the news.

“His wife?” Grace asked. “The Southern belle? The blonde? When we did Sound of Music, I begged her to play Liesl, but she was...well. You know.” She dropped her voice to a stage whisper. “Not friendly.” This was about as mean as Grace got.

“Her name is Hadley,” Jeanette said. “And, yes, she’s gorgeous. She came in the gift shop at Blue Heron the other day. So stylish.”

Emmaline remembered Jack’s wife—tiny and blonde, as helpless and adorable as a newborn bunny. Once, they’d been at the grocery store at the same time, and Em had realized it was Mrs. Jack Holland because of the accent (small town, nothing else to talk about). Em had had her arms full of overpacked grocery bags, her Ben & Jerry’s threatening to topple out. Gerard Chartier had seen Em struggling, said an amiable hello, then practically trampled her to offer to carry Hadley’s one underfilled string bag, which seemed to contain an entire apple.

“Let’s just say it got really chilly, and fast,” Jeanette added with great relish. “Honor froze her out with that stare of hers, and Hadley got the point. She practically ran out the door.”

“Who in her right mind would cheat on Jack Holland?” Allison asked.

“If Jack had a vagina,” Grace said, “he could belong to our book club.”

“No more Sunrises for you,” Emmaline said. “Back to my problem, I don’t think Jack is up for it. He’s got enough on his mind.” Also, he was too beautiful for a mere mortal such as herself. “You guys know anyone else?”

“I’ll ask Charles’s cousin,” Allison said. The cookie jar–inspired divorce had not stopped Allison and Charles from talking every day. “He’s a man. He must know other men.”

Talk turned to what Emmaline should wear, if she should go on a crash diet beforehand, if she should color her hair and slut it up or, just to make Kevin feel guilty, wear smelly clothes and stop washing her hair a week beforehand.

“No, no,” Jeanette said. “You have to be extra beautiful.” She gave Em a hard stare. “Want me to send my daughter over? She knows about these things.” In fact, Colleen used to make the occasional appearance at the Bitter Betrayeds, mixing her fabulous cocktails, but she was back with the guy who’d dumped her and rosy with love and hormones, so they’d kicked her out.

“You know what?” Emmaline said. “I’ll just go alone and hang out with my family.” She paused, picturing that. “Actually, if anyone can come up with a guy willing to fly to California for a few days, I’d make all those parking tickets go away.”

* * *

AND SO IT WAS that two nights later, Emmaline kissed Sarge seven times, made sure Squeaky Chicken was with him and walked around the corner to O’Rourke’s to meet the man known to Allison’s ex-husband’s cousin. Mason Maynard.

According to Allison and the quick background check Emmaline had run, Mason was employed (score!) in marketing and didn’t live with his mother (double score!). Never married, forty-one and fairly nice-looking in an unthreatening way. “He likes dogs, eating out and French films,” Allison had said.

Emmaline had winced. “That’s a red flag. And why ‘films’? Why not ‘movies’?”

“Attitude, Em. I have to go. I want to sext someone I met online.”

“That’s how serial killers—Allison? Hello?” Her friend had hung up.

But Allison had a point. Em would forgive the French films and even sit through one or two if Mason Maynard would be so kind as to go with her to the Wedding of the Damned.

Em took a deep breath and went into O’Rourke’s, which was warm and quiet tonight, the gentle lights glowing with just the right amount of flattering ambiance. The usual suspects were here—the Iskins, Bryce and Paulie, Jessica Dunn and Big Frankie Pepitone. Lucas was smiling at his wife as she shook a martini shaker.

“Hey, Emmaline,” Bryce said. “How’s Sarge?”

“He’s so great, Bryce,” Em said. “I owe you.”

“Aw, no, you don’t. Just make sure he’s happy.”

“Hey, girl!” Colleen called. “Want to sit at the bar?”

“I’ll take a booth, if that’s okay. I’m meeting someone.” She grimaced.

“A blind date?” Colleen was psychic about these things, as everyone knew. “You looking for someone, Em? Why didn’t you ask me? I’m hurt.”

Colleen was noted for many wonderful qualities; discretion was not one of them. “I’m not looking. I just need a date for a wedding.” She took off her parka and hung it on the hook.

“Did you ask Jack Holland? He’s always good for that. Except with me, come to think of it.”

“Well, you’re married now.”

“True. But if you just want a date, ask Jack. He loves women in distress.”

“He’s got a lot on his mind these days, I’d think.”

Colleen nodded. “He looks tired, poor guy.” She handed Emmaline a menu. “Who’s getting married?”

“My ex-fiancé.”

“Holy Saint Patrick! Okay, we need someone extremely good-looking. When’s the wedding and where?”

“Ten days. Malibu.” Em had frittered away the two weeks since she got the invitation, debating whether or not to go, whether or not to scare up a date, whether or not to simply move to Alaska and date a crab fisherman.

Colleen gave her an odd look. “Uh...is this Naomi Norman’s wedding?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I’m going, too. Naomi and I went to college together. Same sorority.”

“Ah. Well, she was the other woman back when I was engaged.” Might as well tell her up front.

“No! You know, I never liked her. I think she asked me to be a bridesmaid because she doesn’t have any other friends.”

“You’re a bridesmaid?”

Colleen grimaced. “Sorry. I said yes because I thought it’d be nice to get out of this snowy hell with my husband before I’m too pregnant to travel. Well, we can hang out, anyway. The resort looks great.”

“Sure does.”

“So you have a date tonight, and you never know, he might be great. I mean, they never are, but let’s keep a good thought. Wait, hang on!” She slapped her forehead. “You could go with Connor. Pregnancy brain. I’m forgetting everything, even my twin. Connor!” she bellowed toward the kitchen. “You have to go to that wedding in California with Emmaline Neal!”

“No, I don’t!” came the answering shout. “Sorry, Em.”

“No worries.” Em felt her cheeks ignite.

“Yes, you do!” Colleen shouted. “Her ex-fiancé is the groom!” And hey, why not announce her romantic woes to half the town? But it was too bad, because Connor was nice and attractive and manfully gruff.

“Stop trying to hire me out,” Connor said, appearing in the door to the kitchen.

“Fine!” Colleen said. “You’re a jerk, Con.” She turned back to Emmaline. “Want a drink?”

“Sure. Blue Point Lager, I guess.”