But in all that, I’d done something right. Something so right, it was the anchor of my life that kept me steady and whole instead of allowing me to get chewed to shit and spit out, bloody and beaten.

I’d made Ethan. I’d kept Ethan. And I made sure my boy knew he was loved right down to my soul.

Which meant he loved me that way right back.

“You know I love you, baby?” I whispered.

He turned his head and gave me a glare. “Jeez, Mom. Gag.”

I couldn’t help it, I burst out laughing.

The last couple of years, the love and hugs and cuddles I showered on my kid had had to dry up. He might allow it, in private and in moderation. But affection was not big on his hit list any other time.

“You done bein’ gooey?” he asked through my laughter.

“Yep,” I said, fighting that laughter back. “Just hit my weekly quota of gooey. But, just warnin’ you, kid, next week I’ll have to fit more gooey in somewhere.”

He rolled his eyes, but his lips were tipped up again and those eyes were shining. He then headed to the Pringles selection.

We bought four tubes.

I found time in the pasta aisle to text Merry, With Ethan. Talk later.

I got back, You on tomorrow?

He could find out easily; my shifts at the bar were hardly a state secret.

Early, I replied.

Catch you there.

Fabulous.

He was going to lay it on me while I was at work.

Morrie had talked Feb into putting a few TVs in, which meant Sundays at the bar, always steady but not busy, became the last—busy. Good for tips. Bad to have a bunch of folks around while I had to take the hit that Merry was going to deliver.

But Merry thought I was a woman who “got it.”

And I did “get it,” even if I didn’t want to.

So I’d take it, I’d understand it, and we’d carry on.

I just wasn’t looking forward to it.

Chapter Three

Guarantee

Cher

“All right! We’re rollin’ out!” I called to the house, walking out of my bedroom.

It was the next day and we were on our way to my mother’s so I could drop Ethan and then get to work.

In preparing, I’d managed to beat back the urge to go all out—or more to the point, not.

Part of me understood why Mia Merrick didn’t make an approach to her ex-husband (a small part of me), this being he had so far from remained celibate since their break it wasn’t funny. He’d tagged and bagged a lot of tail in the time I knew him, and although Mia rarely came into J&J’s and definitely didn’t attend any other events I’d been to when Merry was around, the amount of tail he’d hit in a town that small would be impossible to miss.

And I saw what he went for. Petite. Emphasis on hair. Talented hand with makeup brushes. Dressed like me, showing skin. They’d get their cling on, if not skintight, not much left to the imagination.