“Tell me what’s going on.”
She pulled out a chair for her sister at the table in the back alley near a small oak tree. Diane plopped down in it, her shoulders sinking. Her heart ached for her sister and all she’d been through in the last year. Her ex had put her through hell and back.
Diane shook her head and sniffled. Jamie reached into her pocket for a tissue, handing her one.
Diane wiped her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re such a nut about carrying tissues everywhere you go,” she teased.
“You know me. I like to be prepared for anything,” she said, because you simply never knew when you might need one. What if a public restroom, for instance, had run out of toilet paper? What if it was windy out and your eyes watered? Or what if someone you cared about needed to shed a few tears?
Diane blew her nose, a loud honking sound. “I found out there were more women,” she said through broken sobs, and Jamie rubbed her back as she cried. It was supposed to be the other way around. An older sister taking care of a younger one. But, in their case, Diane was the one hurting. She then went on to detail the affairs she’d just learned of—apparently he’d been messing around with someone he used to visit during his shifts at the firehouse, among other extracurricular conquests. “But here’s the worst part. He screwed my favorite barista at the coffee shop down the road. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a good latte? And now, thanks to my ex, I need to search for a new coffee shop.”
She was trying so hard to protect herself with anger, but Jamie knew how much this really did hurt. And not because Diane had placed the cafe on her blackball list, and with good reason. But because each new revelation of her ex-husband’s infidelity must have made her feel like her already-broken marriage was shattering yet again. Like being kicked in the gut when you’re already down.
“Well, then I am just going to have to learn to how to make the perfect mocha.”
“You’d do that for me, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course. You know I’d do anything for you. I’ll sign up for barista classes or get myself one of those fancy silver machines from Bed, Bath and Beyond this weekend just for you,” she said, and that earned her a sliver of a smile.
“Well, here’s the one thing I want you to do,” Diane said, back to the big sister role.
“What is that?”
“Don’t make my mistakes, promise me?”
Jamie’s heart sputtered, and she felt as if Diane’s big sister radar was so sharp she knew what had happened last night. And while last night was only a fling, the warning was loud and clear. Only get involved with someone reliable, serious, steady. She glanced at her hands so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact. What would her sister think of her if she knew what had happened with Smith? Worse, if she knew she’d been contemplating going there again with him just for sex?
“I mean it,” Diane said, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. “Don’t fall for someone because he’s fun and friendly, like my ex. I was all hook, line, and sinker for that carefree, happy-go-lucky man, and now look at me. Only give your heart to someone you can depend on.”
Jamie crossed her heart, the gesture as much for Diane as for herself. “I promise.”
“I should let you get back to work now. And I need to stop by the winery to sign forms for the new employees. We just hired some part-timers and they’re working out well,” she said, referring to their parents’ winery that she managed.
“That’s great to hear. I’m glad it’s all working out. Want me to come over later? I’ll get some ice cream and we can watch Anchorman again,” she said, since that was her sister’s favorite movie, and she was pretty sure Diane needed a Will Ferrell–induced laugh tonight.
“Yeah. That would be great.”
Anchorman would help Jamie keep her mind where it belonged, too. Smith might be thoughtful, he might be fun to play Skee-Ball with, and he certainly could deliver mind-shattering orgasms, but he was also a recipe for late-night cries in a tub of ice cream.
What a difference the last twenty-four hours had made.
Her sister was feeling a smidge better from the double comfort of Ron Burgundy and Ben & Jerry’s, and Jamie spent the next morning rereading some of her favorite Robert Browning poems to recalibrate her heart. Because she wanted a relationship like poetry, like her parents had. She was heading over to their house on Pine Crescent Road later this week for a regular dinner. Her sister and niece would be there, too. A nice family gathering, one where they all turned off their cell phones and were present in the moment.
Now, she walked from her little house to the nearby town square to pop into the local bookstore. She was an ereader gal, but she also loved the feel and smell of real pages for poetry and for children’s stories, so she was a regular at An Open Book, directly across the wide grassy square where the festival would be held. She passed The Panting Dog, spotting Smith’s truck a block ahead, a flashy silver number with the name of his construction company in bright red. He’d mentioned his business was booming and that he needed to expand. She wondered if he’d gotten around to finding help yet.
She headed straight for the kids section to grab the newest Skippy Jon Jones picture book as a gift for her niece.
After she paid for the book, she spotted Smith…in the frigging kids’ section of the bookstore? She stopped in her tracks and knitted her brow, as perplexed as if she’d just seen him walking on his hands through the town square. “Um, hi?”