I stopped loading and looked to Mia Merrick, who was standing by my cart, holding a potted poinsettia curled in each arm.
Shit.
Why?
Really.
Why?
Why couldn’t I just have an excellent day?
A day where I woke up in Merry’s arms, my kid safe and snug and warm under his roof in his new awesome lake house that had new double-paned windows and a new furnace.
A day where Merry made us pancakes and teamed up with my kid to give me shit, which I would for eternity (if I had the shot) make them think annoyed me when I secretly loved every second of it.
A day where Merry said he wanted Christmas and he wanted us to move in with him.
A day where I could buy a bunch of Christmas crap that (best case) Merry was going to think was hilariously me or (worst case) Merry was going to hate. For the former, he’d just tease me, and if it was the latter, he’d still let me have what I want.
Why, from the parking lot of Bobbie’s Garden Shoppe, couldn’t I go to the grocery store, buy a tube of premade Christmas cookie dough (cookie dough was not candy, so it didn’t count) and some Pringles (because we were low), go home, make Christmas cookies for my boys, and decorate a tree my man (and maybe my kid) were gonna hate?
Why?
Why couldn’t all that just be without anything fucking with it?
“Mia, really, today’s been a good day and I’m not—” I started.
She got closer to me (something I liked even less than her being there at all) and cut me off. “Today’s been a good day? Has it, Cher? Has it been a good day for you? Well, how lucky you are. Because today and yesterday and the last three months have been shit for me…” Her face twisted before she finished, “Because of you.”
No wonder Merry scraped her off. She was a pain in the ass.
“If you think I’m lucky, babe, then—” I tried again.
I didn’t get far.
“Do I think you’re lucky?” she sniped. Her gaze cut inside my car and back to me, and her voice degenerated significantly when she asked, “Merry needs Christmas decorations for his new house?”
Okay, right.
I was done. I didn’t need this and I wasn’t going to have it.
So I was going to end it.
“If you’ve deluded yourself into thinking I’m the cause of all your problems, that’s your gig, Mia. It has nothing to do with me. Take it elsewhere,” I stated.
“Deluded?” she asked, coming even closer. “Isn’t it you who’s fucking my husband?”
“No. It’s me who’s fucking Garrett Merrick, who isn’t your husband. Now, step back,” I demanded.
She didn’t step back.
“He’ll come back to me,” she declared.
“Whatever,” I muttered, grabbed the handles of the last bag in the cart and put it into my car.
“He will. He’ll come back. It’s him and me and everyone knows it,” she pushed.
“Really? Are you that deep in the fantasy? How sad.”
I didn’t say that.
My head turned at the new voice.
And when I saw who was behind it, I stopped dead.
I did this because, joining our tableau, was Susie Shepherd.
And her catty, bitch-from-hell eyes were aimed at Mia.
I didn’t know Susie. Not at all. She never came into the bar partly because she was Colt’s ex, partly because she was kidnapped by Denny Lowe and shot by him during her time as a hostage, and partly because everyone in town knew she’d sold her story, which made the residue of Lowe’s journey of lunacy last a lot longer.
She was also known ’burg-wide as a soulless, selfish, spoiled bitch.
This was evidenced by the fact that she and her partner in crime, Tina Blackstone (who did come into J&J’s, regrettably, since the bitch didn’t tip), wreaked havoc countywide in a variety of ways they were committed to to the point it seemed like a mission.
These included targeting married men with their charms (and unfortunately, since Susie was very attractive, she was successful with this). They gossiped viciously with the few friends they had, spreading that gossip as far and as wide as they could, even if it was all lies. And they threw down easily and frequently whenever the spirit moved them (even to the point of Susie going at it with Vi right in front of Cal, who Susie had fucked, a fact she’d shared with Vi right in front of Cal).
Everyone in town hated her.
I only knew her because I’d seen pictures of her in conjunction with reports about Lowe’s mayhem and I’d seen her around town here and there.
But in the grand scheme of things in the ’burg, I knew one thing for certain: if your day was filled with happiness and light or it was the worst kind of crap, Susie Shepherd could darken it exponentially.
Shit.
“Your input isn’t needed here, Susie,” Mia snapped.
“You aren’t needed here, Mia,” Susie snapped back, then looked at me, throwing out a disgusted hand. “I mean, seriously. Normally? Rude. But it’s Christmas.” She shook her head. “Some people.”
I stared at Susie in shock.
Mia didn’t.
She turned fully to her and shared, “I was having a private conversation with Cher.”
“You were staking your claim to Merrick. Again. I don’t get it, Mia. The man’s so over you, it’s embarrassing. I mean,” she jerked her head to me, “she’s all but shacked up with him, in Bobbie’s parking lot with a trunk full of Christmas decorations they’re gonna put on a tree in his new house and probably fuck under, and you get in her face.” She shook her head and concluded, “It’s not embarrassing, it’s plain sad.”