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Sophie squ
ealed. “Please tell me you were with Jake.”
“I was. And Steve has lost more hair.”
“Perfect,” Sophie said. Lauren’s ex-husband had sneered about her new relationship with his old friend, laughing that it wouldn’t last long. Not with a bitch like Lauren.
Lauren grinned. “He tried to act cool about it, offering Jake a beer like they were still good friends, but after that bitch comment, Jake doesn’t want much to do with him.”
They all toasted to that.
“Isabelle,” Lauren sang, “I bet you’ve got a good breakup story.”
“Nope.”
“Come on. You weren’t born a confirmed bachelorette. Who’s this guy?” She pointed behind her at the painting.
Isabelle smiled. That one she could talk about. It wasn’t Patrick. It wasn’t anyone who’d broken her heart. She glanced toward the kitchen and lowered her voice. “He replaced my roof a few years ago.”
The women howled and catcalled.
“Oh, my God!” Sophie yelled. “Was there porn music playing when he showed up with his big roofing hammer?”
“No, but there was porn music playing later.”
Poor Veronica spit out part of an orange, and Sophie patted her back before she pointed at Isabelle. “You’re a naughty girl.”
“Maybe, but only on occasion. It’s not easy to lure men all the way up here.”
Jill was the first one to look toward the kitchen, but eventually all the women glanced that way before turning their grins on Isabelle. She just shrugged and smiled back.
“Veronica,” she finally said to change the subject. “You must have some good stories. Didn’t you live in New York City? Was it just like Sex and the City?”
Veronica coughed again, shaking her head. “It was okay. I mean, don’t get me wrong—I had a lot of fun, but I ruined all my street cred by moving back to my hometown at twenty-five.”
“Are you kidding?” Isabelle asked. “I didn’t even go away for college. I lived at home the whole time. You’re doing great.”
“Oh, where’d you go to college?”
Isabelle realized she’d walked right into a question she didn’t want to answer. Panic flooded her veins, but she kept her face calm. “You’re not getting out of it that easily. Tell us a New York story.”
“I don’t have any big breakup stories. It was mostly a lot of dating. A couple of dumps by text, that sort of thing.”
“That’s something I’ve avoided,” Lauren chimed in. “There’s a distinct advantage to dating Wyoming men in their forties. They don’t text much. I am trying to introduce Jake to the joys of sexting, though. He’s at the firehouse quite a few evenings. Sometimes I need a little jerk material.” She nudged Veronica. “Maybe I’ll write to you to ask how I can convince him to do it. He’s worried he’ll send a text to one of his guys.”
Veronica nodded. “Now, that would be a good letter. Make sure he writes to me if that happens.”
“Dear Veronica,” Lauren intoned in a deep voice, “I’m the captain of a small-town fire department...”
Isabelle continued. “And I never thought something like this would happen to me.”
Veronica looked a little confused by the Penthouse reference, but she was the youngest of the group. Jill, on the other hand, guffawed and slapped the arm of her chair.
Lauren held up the fork she’d been using to spear fruit from her sangria. “We should all start sending Veronica fake letters asking for advice and see if she can ferret them out.”
“Please don’t,” Veronica said. “It’s hard enough to try to filter out the fictional ones.”
“How do you do it?” Lauren asked.
