He’d just finished a dinner of chili and cornbread—takeout from this very hotel—and had intended to settle down to a night of basketball on TV when she’d burst through the front door.

She held a note in her balled fist, and she tossed it at him. “I was going to leave this,” she shrieked. “I—I didn’t think you’d be home. I thought you’d be with her. Just like you’ve been for the last week and a half. Right?”

Oh . . . damn . . .

When he didn’t say anything, she’d glared at him. “Oh, what? No denials? Come on, James, give it a try,” she baited, eyes flashing. “You’re not going to try and lie to me and tell me you’re not cheating on me with that . . . that . . .”

“With Sophia,” he said.

“You admit it!” Before he could answer, she cried, “Oh, I get it! She’s here now, isn’t she? That damned slut is upstairs in your bed!”

“No.” He shook his head. “No one’s here.”

“But she was. I saw her car . . .”

“Here?” He was trying to keep up with her rant.

“At the inn!” She glared at him as if he were dense.

“She works at the inn.”

“But she could walk over here. Leave it there so no one would know and come here and . . . and . . .” Her voice broke, her anger abating at least for the moment. “You made me look like a fool,” she said, suddenly sobbing. “Rebecca warned me, but I thought she was just jealous. God, James, couldn’t you have at least had the decency to . . . to . . .”

He awkwardly stepped toward her. Reached out. “I was going to tell you.”

“When?” she spat, dashing her tears away with the back of her hand.

“I thought . . . after the holidays.”

“Oh, yeah, right. Carry on behind my back, so what? I can have a Merry Christmas? So we can ring in the New Year together, and then you were going to lower the boom and come clean? Oh, save me!” She violently shook her head. “You’re so clueless. What does Christmas have to do with us? With this?” She threw her hands up. “I loved you, James. I thought you loved me too!”

He didn’t take the bait, wasn’t about to step into that trap.

She was full-on crying now, sniffing and fighting sobs. “I thought we were going to get married.”

“What?” he asked, so loudly that Ralph, curled in his bed near the fire, gave off a startled “woof.”

“I thought you would propose to me at Christmas.”

“But, Megan, why would you think that? We . . . we’ve only been dating for . . . for . . .”

“God, you don’t even know, do you? It’s been nearly six months, James. June. Remember? I do. It was summer in Seattle. You were there for some builders’ convention.”

And to see Rebecca.

“In your display of the tiny house? Remember?”