Just before Blue and Dean left, the Chris Rock lookalike bartender, whose real name was Jason, agreed not to serve either Ronnie or Karen Ann more than one drink a night, not even during Wednesday’s All You Can Eat Italian Buffet, which was Ronnie’s favorite.

The smell of scotch tickled April’s nostrils as she took a seat at the bar. She needed a drink and a cigarette in exactly that order.

Just for today.

“Club soda with a twist,” she told the hunky young bartender as she sucked in the secondhand smoke. “Thrill me and serve it in a martini glass.”

He smiled and let his boy-child’s eyes roam. “You got it.”

Not so much anymore, she thought. She gazed down at her salmon Marc Jacobs flats. She was getting a bunion. My Life in Shoes, she thought. Five-inch platforms; boots of every size and shape; stilettos, stilettos, more stilettos. And now, flats.

She’d needed to get away from the farm tonight, away from Dean’s disdain, but mostly, she needed to get away from Jack. She’d driven to the next county to find solitude at this upscale steak house. Although she hadn’t planned on stopping in the half-empty bar before she ate, old habits had drawn her in.

All day, she’d felt like a homemade sweater unraveling inch by inch. She hadn’t imagined anything could be more difficult than Dean’s appearance, but spending hours painting that kitchen with Jack today had sent too many ugly emotions struggling to break through the surface of her hard-earned serenity. Fortunately, Jack hadn’t been any more anxious to talk than she, and they’d kept the music loud enough to make conversation impossible.

Every man in the bar had noticed her arrival. As bad elevator music played, two Japanese businessmen studied her. Sorry, guys. I don’t work in pairs anymore. A man in his late forties with more money than taste preened for her. Not your lucky day.

What if, after all her hard work, all the healing she’d done, Jack Patriot once again managed to cast his spell over her? He’d been her folly, her madness, the beginning of her ruin. What if that happened again? But it couldn’t. She controlled men these days. They didn’t control her.

“You sure you don’t want a double?” hunky bartender said.

“Can’t. I’m driving.”

He grinned and added a fresh shot of club soda. “You need anything else, you let me know.”

“I’ll do that.”