Hot Mess - Elise Faber Page 0,2

through the front door, her red hair flowing behind her like a cape. Her hat was huge—in deference to her pale, sunburn-prone skin, so unlike Shannon’s, which darkened to a rich brown in the summer. “I took this from the delivery woman after she grabbed the last box of the Evil One’s things”—she started to hold up a paper then froze—“oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company. I—”

“Mom says we need to build another turret,” Rylie said, grabbing the redhead’s hand and tugging her toward the front door.

A red brow lifted, a weighted glance over one slender shoulder. “She did, did she?”

For the first time since Thomas had shown up at her door, the sinking feeling in her gut faded. God, she loved her baby, her friends.

“For the record, she didn’t,” Shannon said, then asked, “Will you be okay? I’ll be out in just a minute.”

Pepper froze, expression growing concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Shannon forced a smile. “Go on. I’ll bring down a glass of wine for you as payment for that tower.”

“Red?”

“Do we drink anything else?”

Pepper laughed. “No, we don’t.” A beat, serious green eyes alighting on hers. “Holler if you need me.”

“Thanks, babe.”

A nod and Pepper disappeared out the front door, leaving it deliberately propped open behind her after a narrow-eyed glance at Thomas.

See? Her friend was the shit.

Throat-clearing had Shannon turning to face the realtor, pushing her hair out of her face, stifling a sigh. “Tell me again, why you’re here,” she said, each syllable carefully enunciated.

Thomas set his sheaf of papers on the kitchen island and said, “I have a contract to sell this house.” Her throat constricted. “And I’m supposed to do it as quickly as possible.”

Three

Of All the Low-Down, Dirty Things

Shannon glanced down at the papers in front of her and read, her horror growing by the moment.

The house was in Brian’s name.

In only his name.

And he wanted to sell it, as quickly as possible, to upend her and Rylie’s life further, to take away the one thing she’d asked Brian for.

She’d given up her half of the bank accounts, her half of their retirement. She’d shouldered the high car payment for the SUV she hated driving, but that Brian had to have . . . at least until his new woman had to have a brand new one and he couldn’t afford both. She’d needed a car, and while she should have gone out and bought a cheap hybrid sedan, she’d been trying to play nice.

Which had gotten her this far.

All she’d asked for was to be able to keep the house so that Rylie and she could easily stay at their elementary school—she because she was tenured, Ry because she was starting first grade.

And he’d sent a real estate agent to the house to sell it, without mentioning anything, without asking her, and she might as well admit it, without giving a shit about her, about her daughter, about the future security of their lives.

Already things were tight, since she was trying to rebuild her savings with extra money coming out of her paycheck for health insurance—since he’d taken her and Rylie off his plan—and without Brian’s salary . . . no, without The Ex Who Should Not Be Named’s income.

Yes, she was fully aware that she couldn’t call Brian that in every instance. First, she wasn’t going to ruin what little of a relationship he already had with Rylie, and second, frankly, it was too clunky to use on a regular basis.

Ha. She was a real comedian.

Turned out, having a man who’d made her every promise under the sun—happily ever after, safety and security, love holding strong throughout all the hills and valleys—one who then broke every one of those promises, gave a girl a streak of dark humor.

Or at least, plenty of snark and sarcasm.

Just what she always wanted.

Go her!

Shannon sighed, setting the papers aside then picking up the card from the real estate agent.

Thomas Franklin, Realtor

If she hadn’t met the man, she would have thought for sure the name was made up. But, unfortunately, she had met him.

He’d shown her the contract that Brian signed, the papers in his file.

Then he’d wanted to look through the house, to take pictures for the listing, after which, she could admit, she’d gone a little crazy, all but shoving him out the front door and locking it securely behind him.

And she had been left reeling, a sinking sensation in her stomach, faking that everything was fine, all while knowing she