“I don’t think so. What do we do next?”

Christopher shrugged. “If you want the money back, there’s only one thing to do: sue Mrs. Dittmeyer’s estate.”

“How long is that likely to take?”

“It could take years,” he admitted. “But I also know that the estate has enough to repay the embezzled funds. Hell, I helped her invest a large chunk of that money.”

“But you said she’d left the bulk of her estate to charity.”

“The Chamber will want to be at the top of the list of creditors who’ll all want to be reimbursed.”

“Could you take on the case for the Chamber?”

He shook his head. “It might be construed as a conflict of interest.”

“Can you direct us to someone we can trust?”

“I’ve only been in the area for a few months, but the least I can do is find you someone with similar credentials.”

“Thank you.” Okay, you can now leave, Tricia thought, but Christopher didn’t seem like he was in a hurry to go.

“Nice place you’ve got here, Trish.” He let his gaze travel around the room until it came to rest on the open door to Tricia’s bedroom.

“Can I offer you a cup of coffee or perhaps some cocoa to warm you up before you head for home?” she asked in hopes of distracting him.

He turned to face her. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Not at all. I just figured we’ve both worked a long day and that you might want to turn in early.” And not with me!

He mulled over the invitation. “I haven’t had cocoa in ages. Do you have any marshmallows?” Tricia shook her head. “Whipped cream in a can?” Again she shook her head. “Plain is fine,” he said with what sounded like defeat, and got up from the chair to follow Tricia and Miss Marple back to the kitchen.

Tricia put the kettle on, took out two mugs, two packets of cocoa mix, and two spoons, just as she’d done with Ginny the day before.

Miss Marple immediately jumped up on the stool where Christopher had dropped his jacket, folded her legs under her, closed her eyes, and began to purr louder than ever.

Traitor! Tricia thought. She stepped away from the island and leaned against the counter, waiting for the water to heat. She couldn’t think of anything to say to Christopher. They’d said it all several years before.

“Nice loft,” Christopher said, taking in the exposed brick and the custom cabinetry.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing like what we had in the city.”

“I made a conscious decision to avoid reminders of the past,” Tricia said.

“So I see.”

“How are you getting on in Stoneham?” she asked, more out of politeness than curiosity, or at least she wanted to believe it.

“Well. Very well, in fact. It’s not too crowded. It’s actually just what I’ve been looking for.”

“In a couple of months the town will explode with tourists. They’ll be pounding the streets from ten until seven. Maybe even longer now that the Dog-Eared Page is open. You might wish you’d never come back East.”

“I don’t think so. I was here at Christmas. How much more crowded can it get than that? And the soundproofing in the building is terrific. I never hear the music that’s playing down below.”

Tricia nodded and turned away, wishing she hadn’t asked. Instead she concentrated on emptying the cocoa packets into the mugs.

Christopher cleared his throat before speaking again. “The word circulating around the village is that the girl who runs the Patisserie is pregnant.”

“She’s a woman in her thirties, not a girl,” Tricia admonished.

“So she is,” he said, nodding.

“And she’s not the only one around here who’s having a baby.”

“Do I know the other girl—er, woman?”

“I’ve been asked not to talk about it until after she’s had a chance to tell her family.” That was mostly true.

Christopher smiled. “The fact that you even mentioned it means you must trust me implicitly.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” The kettle began to whistle, so Tricia unplugged it and poured hot water into the mugs and then stirred them.

“Do you ever wish we’d had a child?” Christopher asked.

Tricia sighed, resigned. This was not a conversation she wanted to have, but ignoring the question might just force him to ask again. And yet, she decided to keep her back to him when she answered. “It wasn’t going to happen. Not the way we lived. I had my career and you had yours, although when I lost my job at the nonprofit I thought we might talk about it. But at nearly forty, the odds weren’t in our favor, and then . . . well, you made the announcement that you were leaving me.” She sighed yet again, but decided it was time to let him know just how much she’d suffered because of his selfishness. She faced him, looking him straight in the eye. “Rehashing what might have been isn’t a productive use of time. And it’s heartbreaking, too. I’m sorry, Christopher, but I’ve had more than enough heartache for one lifetime.”

“No, Trish, I’m sorry. I was a fool. I—”

She laughed mirthlessly. “Don’t flatter yourself. You broke my heart, but you weren’t the only one, and even though I sometimes have to fight the urge to weaken, I will not allow it to happen again.” At least she hoped that last part was true.

Christopher looked crestfallen. “Does that mean you’ve given up on love?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. But I refuse to rush into any relationship ever again. Angelica tells people that this is her time in life to do as she pleases. I’ve decided to adopt the same philosophy.”

“And what will that entail?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure. Yet.” But not you. She felt a pang of something . . . regret? Most likely.

Tricia picked up one of the cocoa mugs and plopped it in front of Christopher. “Careful. It’s very hot.”

He lifted it and blew on it to cool it. “You know, we would have been great parents,” he said at last.

Tricia didn’t acknowledge the comment. Why did he want to talk about it now, when it was far too late? She picked up her own mug and took a tentative sip—and burned her tongue. It served her right for inviting him over in the first place. And now how was she going to get rid of him?

They drank their cocoa in silence, with Tricia avoiding his gaze. Christopher had the most beautiful, mesmerizing green eyes, and she knew if she looked at them she’d melt. He still had that much power over her.

Finally, Christopher drained his mug and stood. “I guess I’d better get going. It’s really cold out there. The wind chill makes it feel like it’s forty below.”

She didn’t doubt that.

“A man could suffer from hypothermia, and all for nothing, since the girl he loves—excuse me, woman—has a nice warm apartment and a queen-size bed, just the right size for sharing on such a bitter cold night.”

“You only live across the street and I’ll bet you have a perfectly fine bed.”

“But it’s lonely sleeping by yourself.”

“From what I understand, you’ve been doing it for four years now. I would have thought you’d gotten used to it by now. I certainly have.”

He frowned. “I don’t remember you being so coldhearted.”

“I’m a businesswoman. I’ve had to grow a thicker skin just to survive.”

Christopher shrugged, stepped around the counter to remove a sleepy Miss Marple from his coat, and put it on. “You’d better walk me downstairs and lock up.”

At last! Tricia held out a hand to usher him to the door. He complied and they went back down the stairs to the shop in silence.

At the door, Christopher turned. “Can I kiss you good night?”

“No.”

“Please?”

Tricia stood her ground. “No. It seems you have a poor memory. We’re divorced. You initiated the separation. Why on earth would I want to kiss you?”

Christopher stood that much taller. “Because you still love me.”

Tricia was determined not to dignify that fantasy with a reply. “Thank you for looking at the Chamber’s files. Feel free to bill them for your time. I’m sure Angelica will approve the expenditure, and if not—then I’ll pay you.”