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“My attorney has a list. She said it’s mostly stupid stuff, like the cast iron skillet I gave him for Christmas three years ago and a quilt we got as a wedding present. Like the damned thing is an heirloom or something. It came from Target, for fuck’s sake.”
“Bastard.” Sloane swore, putting a much-needed arm around Carly. “He’s not getting away with this. We’ll go through all your stuff, right now. It shouldn’t be too hard to find what he’s looking for and get him off your back. Whatever we can’t find, we’ll just replace. Hell, I’ll buy him a hundred skillets if it’ll make him crawl back under his nasty old bridge.”
Despite Sloane’s attempt at humor, the tears Carly had kept at bay finally breached her lids and streaked down her face.
“It’s not that easy. Travis picked things he’s alleging can’t be replaced, knowing full well I don’t have a clue where half of them are. I can argue that I don’t have whatever I can’t find, but the paperwork to sort it out is going to take forever. And that’s not even the worst part.”
“There’s more?” Sloane’s hand froze, mid-rub on Carly’s back.
She nodded, blowing out a shaky breath as she wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Apparently, he’s petitioning to contest the divorce itself, saying he wants to try counseling to reconcile.”
Sloane coughed out a bitter laugh. “Like that’s going to happen!”
“It’s all a ruse. I can still proceed with the divorce because I filed on grounds of infidelity, and it’ll be granted. Travis can’t make me go to counseling. My lawyer will file a motion for something called…” Carly broke off to read what she’d written down on a sticky note. “A default judgment, and that’ll be that. But the hearing will take a while to schedule, and then I’ll have to go to New York once it is.”
“That’s not so bad. At least you know you’ll win,” Sloane said with optimism.
Carly shook her head. She had to hand it to Travis. He must’ve earned an advanced degree in underhanded scheming to have come up with this part.
“Yes, but you’re missing the bigger picture. What Travis wants is to wear me down, not win me back. The grapevine in our neighborhood is thick, Sloane. All he has to do is whisper this to the right people, and mymamais going to catch wind of it.” Carly shuddered, all the feelings of bliss she’d woken up with shredded down to dust.
A sympathetic smile washed over Sloane’s face. “Honey, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re thirty-one. And it’s not like your mother doesn’t know you’re getting divorced.”
“No, but she’s the only woman on the planet more stubborn than I am, andshewants me to reconcile with Travis. And even though you and I know it’s just on paper, he’s going to do all he can to convince her that he wants me back.” Carly blew out a defeated breath and threw her head back against the couch cushions.
“Which means that between the two of them, my life is about to become a living hell.”
* * *
Jackson palmedthe handles of the double-bagged Chinese takeout he’d picked up and reached across his passenger seat to grab a familiar, timeworn box. His plans for the evening were a bit of a gamble, but after tossing around the usual hangouts, keeping it simple had seemed like the best way to go. Carly had been agreeable to staying in when he’d called her earlier that day to firm things up, so he’d relied on the two things he knew would appeal to her.
Good food and healthy competition.
Walking up to the bungalow, Jackson took in the low-slanted shadows of early evening, enjoying the fact that the heat from the week before had broken into cooler, typical mountain weather for July.
“Hey.” Carly stood in the doorframe, her chestnut-colored hair tumbling down the back of her pale yellow tank top in loose waves, and Jackson promptly forgot his name.
“You didn’t let me ring the bell,” he blurted, and she gave a soft, throaty laugh he felt down to the soles of his shoes.
“Sorry. I’m hungry, and your Chinese food precedes you.” She gestured him inside, and he followed her into the bungalow.
“Okay, your sixth sense for food is starting to freak me out a little bit.” He slipped the box to an out-of-the-way side table before proceeding to the kitchen. Carly was good and all, but come on. Not even she could smell Kung Pao chicken through a frigging door made of solid oak.
A flash of mischief flitted over her face. “The name of the restaurant is on the bag.” Carly smiled as she took it from him and hoisted it onto the smooth granite countertop.
“Oh, right.” Of course he hadn’t realized that. “Well, I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I got a couple of things. There’s no tripe, though, so you don’t have to worry.”
“I’d say I’m grateful, but I bet that’s for you just as much as me.” She unloaded the cardboard cartons onto the counter, lifting a brow after unearthing the first three. “Either you like a lot of leftovers or you’re planning on feeding a family of ten.”
“What can I say? I’m a hungry guy.” He moved beside her at the counter, popping the cartons open to see what was what, looking at her with an impressed yet wary expression when she dug a pair of chopsticks out of the bag and pulled the paper wrapping off.
“You know how to use those things?” He eyeballed them with doubt.
Carly nodded, peering into a carton of Lo Mein. “I take it you’re a fork and knife kind of guy.”
Jackson looked down at his hands. While they were large enough to carry bundles of roofing tile with practiced ease, maneuvering chopsticks thorough his food without making an unholy mess seemed highly unlikely. “You got me.”
She padded over to a drawer by the coffeepot to get him a fork, and Jackson realized with a pleasurable start that she was barefoot. Same cute feet, same bare toes. Damn it, more than just his stomach was bound to perk to life if he didn’t knock it off.
