She made a face at him. “Who else? It would be impossible not to like your mother.”
He started the engine. “Don’t tell me my little matchmaker is feeling discouraged.”
“A bit overwhelmed by the challenge ahead of me,” she said. “But I’ve managed difficult feats before.”
He pulled away from the curb. “Exactly. And you’ll do it again.”
When she smiled, he knew she understood that he wasn’t referring to the challenges in his life.
*
“It’s gone.”
Kyle had just wrestled the tree through the door. He’d had to cut off another two feet at the base, and the top was crammed against the ceiling, which made it look like just the midsection of a tree. But at least he’d salvaged their efforts by finally getting it into the tree stand. For the first hour, he’d thought they’d have to scrap what he’d cut down and start all over. “What’s gone?” he asked absently, brushing the pine needles from his clothes.
“All the dishes,” Lourdes said. “Even the food.”
Now she had his full attention, because he had no clue what she was talking about. “What dishes? What food?”
“The meal your ex-wife brought. I planned to warm up the leftovers so we could eat before we decorate, but...there’s nothing left.”
His eyes darted to the kitchen table, where he’d begun to stack the empty containers. They were gone, just as she’d said. “She brought four chicken breasts, and we only ate two.”
Lourdes froze as she noticed something else. “Oh, boy...”
Thanks to the change in her voice, Kyle was fairly certain that oh, boy wasn’t related to his accounting of the leftovers. “What is it?”
She moved the gloves and hat she’d dropped onto the counter out of the way and handed him what she’d spotted—a note.
“Fuck you!” it read. There was no signature.
“That’s got to be from Noelle, doesn’t it?” she asked.
He didn’t know anyone else who was pissed off at him. And she had a key. “Has to be,” he agreed.
“Wow. What set her off? She was so friendly when I spoke to her.”
Kyle continued to stare at those two ugly words and at the deep indentations of the pen that showed how angry Noelle had been when she’d written them. “I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t do anything that would warrant this.”
“Is she angry that I’m here—staying with you? Does she think there might be something going on between us?”
At odd moments—last night, and then while they were getting the tree, and even when they were at his folks’ house—it did feel as if there was something going on. But he couldn’t say that. If Lourdes felt the same thing, she was in denial about it. Every time they accidentally touched, or their eyes lingered on each other a second too long, she’d bring up those women she’d found on Single Central.
“No,” he said. “She knows we’ve just met.” He remembered Noelle’s many attempts to hang out with him lately, the incessant calls, the suggestions that he drop by Sexy Sadie’s while she was at work—and then the more blatant offers that had come later. “She isn’t getting what she wants, so she’s throwing a tantrum.” He’d seen her do that before, plenty of times, hadn’t he? But they’d been married then. Or going through the divorce. This shouldn’t be happening now.
“And what does she want?” Lourdes asked.
“To get back together.”
“She came out and told you that?”
“She didn’t need to. I knew it. But yes, this morning she mentioned something about there being no need for us to grow old alone when we could have each other.”
Lourdes looked more closely at him. “Are you sure you’re not still sleeping with her? I can’t imagine a woman doing this unless—”
“Because you’ve never met anyone like Noelle,” he interrupted. “I haven’t touched her—despite her many offers. She asked me to come over today. I refused. That’s it. I’ve tried to let her down gently, but she makes that impossible. She pushes you until you have no choice except to be blunt.”