The doorbell rang.
My stomach dropped a little, but I wiped my hands and went to the door with him.
Diane swept in first, wearing a cream coat and perfume you could smell from six feet away. Richard followed with a bottle of wine and a small pie.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” Richard said, hugging me. “Something smells fantastic.”
Diane sniffed. “It certainly smells… strong,” she said. “You haven’t burned anything, have you?”
I smiled. “Not yet.”
She walked straight into my kitchen like she owned the deed.
She opened the oven and stared at my turkey.
“Oh, honey,” she said. “Is this supposed to be the turkey?”
My heart did a little stutter. “Yeah,” I said. “I made a herb butter—”
