Melanie pulled her attention back to the table and took a sip of wine, putting the glass down in front of her. “I didn’t know he’d arrived yet. He’s here looking for me.”
“Oh?” Angelina raised her eyebrows, a smile tickling her lips. “Did you want to go talk to him?”
“No, no. We’re here for dinner. I’m sure I’ll see Logan soon,” she replied, trying to sound more casual than she felt.
“So...he’s heard you’re divorced, then?” Angelina asked.
“No!” Melanie shook her head. “I mean, I mentioned it. But it isn’t like that. He needs access to my lake house. He’s got his own stuff he’s dealing with. Besides, I’m already reeling from my divorce. The last thing I need is—” She didn’t finish the statement. She wasn’t sure what she was running from. The last thing she needed were the memories. To be reminded what that kind of love had felt like back when she was artless and young and thought that her youthful beauty would be enough to secure lifelong happiness.
“Although, for the record, there’s no harm in moving on,” Angelina said.
“I’ve been married once,” Melanie replied. “I’m in no rush to jump back into it. It was harder than I thought. Besides, two months postdivorce is rebound time. I’m not interested in mangling my heart for kicks.”
“That’s where I’m at,” Belle said, holding out her glass for Angelina to fill. “Here’s to being single. I only want to worry about myself right now.”
“I think I’d like to meet someone else,” Gayle said quietly, and they all turned to look at her. “I would. A nice man...but a man who was actually attracted to me. I’ve never had that. I thought it was normal that he spent more time with his golfing buddy than he did with me. I’d like a chance to be with a man who’d rather cuddle up with me than golf. It might be nice to be thought of as more than Mother.”
That was something Melanie could sympathize with. Maybe she wanted to be more than Stepmom, too. When color tinted Gayle’s cheeks, Melanie leaned forward.
“You can have that,” Melanie said earnestly.
“I think so. I’m not exactly dead yet,” Gayle agreed.
“Yeah, me neither,” Melanie said, meeting Gayle’s eye with a smile.
“Here’s to being more than Mother,” Renata said, raising her glass. “And I think we should order another bottle. What do you say?”
Melanie chuckled. Forty was a far cry from dead, too, but that didn’t mean she wanted another romance. Right now, all she wanted was some semblance of control. Leaving her cheating ex had given her some of that, but she had less control than she liked over the healing process after a divorce, and a few girlfriends in the mix might be just what she needed to get back on her feet.
LOGAN MCTAVISH SANK into a chair on the balcony of his room. His room didn’t have a lake view—those had all been filled, so his room overlooked the parking lot and the mountains, a full moon hanging low over the peaks. The cool evening breeze felt good after the heat of the day. He leaned back and took a sip of ice tea.
He’d arrived in Mountain Springs that evening. He’d tried finding his father, Harry Wilde, from Denver, but the man’s phone numbers had changed, and so had his address, apparently. So he had moved on to the next option—tracking him down through mutual acquaintances. That was where Melanie had come into the picture. He knew she owned the old lake house now, and he figured she might have heard some gossip, at the very least. And he wanted to see her—was that stupid of him? Probably.
The thing was, he’d been hanging on to this box his late mother had left his biological father for the better part of a year. Logan had been struggling with some personal issues since his mother passed away, and he was finally willing to face a few of them. To try to do the right thing by some of the women in his life. Mom had wanted his father to have this box—and it was his duty to deliver it.
Logan’s phone blipped, and he picked it up. He had a new text from his son, Graham, who was traveling with some friends in England for the next two weeks. It was another photo of food. It looked like a melted cheese sandwich to him. Another text came. Welsh Rarebit.
Rabbit? he texted back.
Rarebit. It’s like grilled cheese—but with beer.
Beer? Logan shook his head. He had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but Graham was obviously alive and well if he was texting pictures of food, and as a dad, he liked the reassurance. His son might be old enough to vote and drink, but Logan worried all the same. He should probably be worrying about locating his own father so he could deliver that albatross of a box.
Instead, he was sitting up here in the relative darkness, thinking about Melanie Banks...right downstairs.
He’d seen Melanie in the dining room. It might have been twenty-odd years, but there was no doubt about her identity. She had the same bright eyes, the same playful lift to her lips. She sparkled. How did she do that? Whatever youthful sex appeal he used to ooze had dried up, he was pretty sure, but she still had it... He hadn’t been able to hear her voice from where he’d stood just outside the dining room, and he’d been transfixed until she spotted him. But she obviously wasn’t there to see him, so he hadn’t interrupted her evening.
How does it taste? he texted his son. There was a lengthy pause, and he almost put his phone down and gave up on an immediate reply when his phone blipped again.
Amazing. Who do I have to fight around here for the recipe?
Logan grunted an amused laugh. Graham had hopes of opening his own restaurant one day.
