“I hope it’s a yoga studio or maybe a cycle gym. I could use some structured exercise again.” I wrinkled my nose at my lack of exercise.
“Did you give up your membership to the All Hours Fitness?” Pam asked.
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I’ve resorted to taking the dog on longer walks instead of enduring the poor-Elsie look that everyone gives me. Amie usually walks with me too. All Hours is just treadmills and a few elliptical machines and free weights. Nothing like yoga or cycling classes.”
“I hate that widowed sympathy look. I swear it doesn’t go away until you find someone new and everyone is convinced that you’re officially okay.”
Did I want someone new?
No.
Asking Craig for a divorce and the dull pain of my chronic unhappiness with my marriage had nothing to do with another man. It was me. I hit a point where to save “us” I would have had to let part of my soul die. Was anyone worth that? I didn’t know that answer. Maybe no one did. Maybe there was no distinguishable line between selfless and selfish—each required a sacrifice. We existed somewhere in the middle, but that middle was incredibly hard to find. Happiness wasn’t given; it was self-possessed. It had to come from within to be real.
I needed something real again.Chapter FourI love my husband, except when he gropes me at two in the morning.* * *Craig’s parents started Smith’s Specialties nearly fifty years earlier. It flourished as the go-to place for gifts and a few home decor items. However, in November and December, they made more money than the other ten months combined. Everyone went to Smith’s for gifts and specialty foods for their holiday parties. After my husband took over the business, he added things like monthly box subscriptions and free twenty-mile delivery on all gift baskets.
In a small Midwest town like Epperly, friendship and loyalty meant everything. And no one was friendlier than Ron and Mary Smith. In return, they had the most loyal customers. Craig carried on that great family tradition and nourished those relationships. When he died, I felt obligated to keep the business going—for him, for the children, for his parents, and maybe even for the loyal customers who I knew would be disappointed to see their favorite specialty store go out of business if I didn’t step up and take over.
“What Did You Expect? is having a soft opening today.” Amie floated into the store like an angel carrying lunch—chicken noodle soup and fresh sourdough from Spoons, a soup cafe and bakery three shops down from Smith’s in the quaint Epperly town square. A line of maple trees and a small sculpture park filled the center of the square. Photographers fought for space in the fall when the leaves turned brilliant shades of red and gold. In December, they constructed a skating rink, our own version of Rockefeller Center.
“I love you.” I opened the brown bag when she set it on the checkout counter as a few customers milled around, browsing the new holiday inventory.
“Hot soup. Warm bread. Of course you love me.” She grinned, eyeing the new display of holiday caramel corn tins. On Fridays, she closed her clinic at noon and brought me lunch. It was a tradition that started after Craig died. I felt certain it was her way of making sure I was emotionally still hanging in there. After all, she was one of the four who knew the truth and therefore knew my true level of grief and guilt.
So much guilt.
“So what is it? Is it what you expected?” I stirred the soup and blew at the steam.
“Haven’t gone in yet. As I was leaving Spoons with lunch, they were taking down the black paper. The lights weren’t on yet, but as Penelope was getting my order ready, she said Kael—the owner—stopped into her cafe yesterday and gave her some twenty-percent-off coupons to distribute to her customers if she wanted to help spread the word.” Amie tore off a piece of bread and dipped it into her soup.
I nodded for her to sit on the stool as I leaned my butt against the edge of the counter. “But she didn’t say what he’s selling?”
“He just said it was a mix of awesomeness and that he would be offering some classes as well.” She chuckled. “Not going to lie, I’m dying to know what he defines as awesomeness.”
“Classes.” I perked up a bit. “It has to be an exercise studio of some sort. That’s my hope. Did you get a coupon for twenty percent off? We should think about joining. We could do early mornings since you don’t open until nine and I don’t open until ten. As it gets colder, we’re not going to want to walk outside every morning.”
“I don’t know. Penelope said he’s pretty hot. I’m not sure I want to slide into tight, synthetic fiber and sweat a ton in front of some hot guy.”