“You look pretty healthy to me,” Ivy said.
Mr. Jones patted his stomach. “Ninety-six, and never spent a single day in the hospital.” He looked over at the fireplace mantel, at the photos of his departed wife and son. “But I never thought I’d outlive almost everyone in my family.”
“Same with me,” Ivy said softly.
“Surely not,” he protested. “A young girl like you?”
“I’m an only child. I have some cousins, but we’re not close,” Ivy said. “I got divorced last year.”
“And your folks?” he said gently.
“My dad died three years ago. It was very sudden. Heart attack.” She felt unexpected tears welling up and swallowed hard. “My mom died when I was seven.” She wiped at a stubborn tear. “Right after Christmas. So maybe that’s why this is not my favorite time of year. Too sad.”
“But you must have lots of friends,” Mr. Jones pointed out. “Like the young lady you told me about, who works at the courthouse?”
“Phoebe.” Ivy nodded. “Yes, she’s great. Do you know, she came out to my house on Saturday, and almost single-handedly rebuilt the chicken coop. And my real estate agent, he’s been an amazing help.”
She recounted the sad tale of the moving van collision and told him about her agent’s valiant assistance in making repairs at the farmhouse and removing and then returning the original furniture at Four Roses Farm.
“My wife and I moved nearly a dozen times back when I was working, and we never had a real estate agent do anything like that,” Mr. Jones remarked.
Ivy blushed a little.
“I’ve tried not to encourage it, but I do think maybe he has a thing for me,” she confided.
“A thing. Is that like a crush?” Mr. Jones asked.
“Yes.”
“And why wouldn’t you encourage a fella like that? He’s not married, is he?”
“Don’t think so,” Ivy said. “It’s hard to explain. But he’s really kind.”
“Good-looking?”
She blushed again. “Yes. Okay, yeah, he’s very cute.”
“Then what’s stopping you, for Pete’s sake?”
“It hasn’t even been a year since my divorce. I still feel so raw. So vulnerable. To tell you the truth, I don’t want to let down my guard. I’m not ready to let a man hurt me like that again.”
“Ohhhh,” he said, nodding. “It’s like that? With your ex-husband?”
“Yes.”
“I’m guessing he cheated on you?”
Ivy gulped. She took a deep breath. She hadn’t told a single soul about the level of Kyle’s betrayal. The loss had been too searing, too personal. And stupid.
“Yes. Kyle and I—that’s my ex—we owned a big marketing and public relations firm in Atlanta. The largest in the Southeast. Our most important client owned several high-end restaurants. Kyle and I became really close friends with the owner. Bianca. She was looking to expand into some new markets—Houston and Dallas and Birmingham. It was my account, but Kyle volunteered to help out on the project, scouting new restaurant locations, which meant lots of business trips. The next thing I know, he tells me he’s deeply unhappy in our marriage. Wants time to think and ‘find himself.’ That’s the short version of what happened.”
“I’m guessing when he found himself he found himself in love with this Bianca person?”
“Can you believe I was actually shocked?” Ivy asked.
“You trusted him,” Mr. Jones said.
“And her. She’d become my best friend. I’m the one who drove her to the hospital and stayed with her when she got her boob job!”
“Oh my.” The old man’s cheeks bloomed a bright red.
“Sorry.” Ivy laughed. “Too much information. I don’t know why I’m spilling all this tea.”
“Excuse me?”
“Telling you my darkest secrets. I didn’t even tell my therapist this part.”
Mr. Jones looked around the small living room. “It’s not like I’m going to spill the tea you just spilled,” he said. “I’m more or less confined to the house these days. My biggest excitement is when my neighbor takes me grocery shopping, or I have a doctor’s appointment.”
“You must have a very nice neighbor,” Ivy said.
“I surely do. There are lots of nice folks living in this town. And it sounds to me like this real estate agent is one of them. Maybe you should give him a chance to prove it to you.”
The old man’s pale blue eyes twinkled from behind his glasses.
“Maybe I will,” Ivy relented. “He wants to take me to dinner Wednesday night, before the Christmas Stroll.”
“You must go,” Mr. Jones insisted. “The Christmas Stroll is the best night of the year in Tarburton. My Polly and I used to take Ev when he was a kid. We’d have hot chocolate at the bonfire. I used to sneak a little flask in my pocket to add some Christmas cheer.”
“We’ll see,” Ivy said. She glanced at her watch. “Oops. Better go. I’m meeting Phoebe at the diner.”
He struggled to his feet. “It was such a treat to see you today, Ivy. Please come back anytime. And thank you for the candy. You can tell Nancy Bergstrom for me that she hit a home run with all those new flavors.”
“I’ll do that,” Ivy said. She looked over at Punkin, who was still lounging on the floor by the old man’s chair. “It just occurred to me. I can’t take Punkin into the diner, and it’s really too cold to leave him tied up outside for more than a few minutes. Would it be okay if he stayed here with you? I won’t be more than an hour.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Mr. Jones said, beaming.
* * *
Phoebe was clearly in a state. She was paler than usual, with dark circles under her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Ivy asked, sliding into her side of the booth.
“It’s Cody,” Phoebe blurted. “He called last night. He’s back in the states already!”
“But that’s good news, right?” Ivy asked.
“No! It’s terrible. I wasn’t expecting him to get back in the states this early. I still need to lose another ten pounds. I’ve been starving myself, but nothing’s happening.” She nibbled at her cuticle. “This is a disaster. I didn’t sleep at all last night, and I’ve been like a zombie at work. I’m just going to have to tell Cody I can’t see him yet.”
Ivy reached across the table and grabbed her friend’s hand. “Listen to me, Phoebe. You are a beautiful girl. Inside and out. You have those gorgeous dark eyes—and those lashes of yours, they’re like Bambi’s. You’re smart and you’re kind, and you’re loyal, and that’s what Cody must love about you.”
“No.” Phoebe shook her head. “You don’t understand. Cody doesn’t know the real me, because I’ve been lying to him.”
“About what?”
“Everything!” Phoebe wailed. She covered her face with her hands. “All of it. It’s all a lie. And now he’s going to see the real me, and when he does, he’ll break it off. And it’s all my fault.”