"And what is it, exactly?" I asked, fighting the tears flooding the corners of my eyes. "Are we going steady? Are you going to give me an ID bracelet and a box of conversation hearts? Do you want to get married? Because I've been there, done that, and I don't know if I'm ever going to be ready to do it again. So what's the point, Monroe?"

"The point is that I love you. And it really p.i.s.ses me off that you don't want to hear that."

"Because it's got to be on your terms!" I yelled. "It's got to be on your timetable, your way. You know, maybe it's not that I don't want to be in a relationship, maybe it's that I don't want to be in a relationship with you. You're always pushing and judging and trying to make me change into the person that - I don't know - is worthy of you? I mean, you wouldn't even talk to we until I proved that I was low-maintenance enough for you. I don't want to be your pet project. I've already tried living with a man whose standards I couldn't meet and I'm not going to do it again."

"Stop making this about Mike. I am not your husband."

"You're right, you're not."

"Grow up, Lacey."

"f.u.c.k you, Monroe."

25 * A Step Back.

When everything imploded with Mike, I prided myself on the fact that I hadn't shown up at anyone's door crying hysterically and looking for a sympathetic ear, despite the fact that such a juicy piece of gossip would have made me welcome in any home in town.

After my fight with Monroe, I felt that I was due.

"Honey, what happened?" Emmett cried, opening the door to find me tearstained and disheveled.

"Monroe... fight... labels!" I sobbed as he took my suitcase.

"She had a fight over Marilyn Monroe and labels?" a low voice sounded from the dining room.

I opened my eyes and realized that there were three men sitting at Emmett's dining room table, sipping wine and staring at me like I had an extra head. The table was sumptuously spread with dim sum, rice noodles, and a couple of Asian vegetables I didn't recognize.

"Em, I'm so sorry!" I gasped. "I didn't know you had company."

"Oh, sweetie, you just made a rather bland evening that much more interesting," he whispered, tucking his hand through my elbow. "Seriously, Kirk just finished his fourth retelling of his entire cruise to Alaska ... with his mother. Can you imagine? I mean if he'd gone somewhere interesting, that would be one thing. But he spent fifteen minutes describing whales surfacing. You've saved us all."

He wrapped his arm around me and said in a much louder voice, "Now come in and have a good cry, and we'll sympathize."

"I'm sorry about this," I said to the guests, only one of whom I recognized - Emmett's on-again, off-again boyfriend, Peter. Emmett made the introductions. The guys stood and helped me to my chair as if I were the walking wounded. Thomas, a whippet-thin man with three earrings and a healthy head of silver-blond hair, poured me a gla.s.s of white wine and patted my head.

"Emmett told us all about you," Kirk gushed. He seemed very young and still had a bit of the baby-fat look around his chin. "You are so brave. I just don't know if I could ever hold my head up if something like that happened to me -"

Thomas cleared his throat and shook his head. "So what's got you so upset, Lacey? Emmett told us you were doing so well."

"Post-divorce stress disorder?" Peter suggested. "I know I only met Mike once or twice, Lace, but I just did not like that man. It's okay to be uptight and it's okay to be boring, but not at the same time."

"No." I sniffed. "Mike had nothing to do with it, really, even though he technically started the fight and then ran off, as usual. Monroe was just being such an a.s.shole, telling me how great I could be if I would just change. I'm really tired of people telling me what about my personality needs fixing."

"So we're not talking about Marilyn Monroe, then," Thomas said speculatively.

"Monroe's my... I don't know what to call him, which was part of the problem, really. He's upset with me because I refuse to put a label on us."

Peter nodded. "That makes more sense than what I had in mind."

"It's her neighbor up at Chez Divorcee. You should see this guy," Emmett said. "Legs that go on forever, biceps the size of my head, and his a.s.s -"

I frowned. "Let's just say he's doable and move on."

"Sooo doable." He sighed. When he saw my face, he flinched. "Crossing a line?" I nodded. "Sorry."

"So how long did you two date?" Will asked, seeming nonplussed by our "do-ability" sidebar.

"We didn't really date so much as just hang out all the time, talk, and make each other meals."

"Sounds sort of perfect," Thomas said, tilting his head.

"It was. It was kind of perfect. I mean, I was fortunate to have two functioning brain cells after the e-mail thing, although I suspect those cells spend most their time arguing. And I met this guy, and he was all p.r.i.c.kly and mysterious, but I dug that."

"p.r.i.c.kly could work," Peter conceded. "As long as it was paired with hot, p.r.i.c.kly could work."

"We ignored each other completely for a while, or at least Iignored him, while he tried to figure out why I was ignoring him. And then he just started being nice to me. We became friends. We hung out, talked about stuff we were interested in. We had athletic, spontaneous, no-strings-attached s.e.x."

"Baby's first booty call. I am so proud," Emmett said, wiping a mock tear from his eye.

"We continued to have the friendship. Then I met his family, he met my ex, and everything got weird."

"Emmett, you said she sucked at relationships!" Kirk exclaimed. "That doesn't sound so bad."

"Emmett!" I yelled. "That's not fair! I've only had two relationships in the last decade!"

"Sounds healthier than my last three relationships," Peter said.

"I was at least one of those relationships," Emmett said. "a.s.s."

Peter shrugged. "I'm just saying."

"So what went wrong, Lacey?" asked Thomas, who seemed to be the group moderator.

"He found out that I'd been offered a job writing e-mail newsletters for other woman like me, and he told me he thought it was a bad idea. He got really upset about it, thought it would damage my soul or something. I told him I'd drop it, but I was still considering it. I mean, the woman who offered me the job kept upping the salary -"

At that, the tribe winced collectively, making a unified "ooooh" sound, as if they'd been kicked in the gut.

"So you, basically, lied to him," Peter said.

"Well, it sounds really bad when you put it that way," I protested. "Don't I get a say in how I'm going to make my living?"

Thomas poured more wine. "Sure. Claim your personal power. Be the master of your destiny. But expect some fallout when a man tells you that it's really important to him that you don't do something and then you go behind his back and do it anyway. Whether it's going after a job you want, or say, cheating, when you use deception, you have to accept the consequences."

I frowned. This conversation was not going the way I'd expected. I thought Emmett's friends were morally obligated to fuss, ply me with regional wines, and make me feel better. This whole mirror of truth exercise was not as fun.

"So how did Mike play into all this?" Emmett asked.

"He came up to the cabin in his usual way, trying to bl.u.s.ter his way through and act like nothing happened. He had the nerve to get p.i.s.sy and territorial with Monroe."

"That must have been hilarious," Emmett hooted. "Like a Pekingese going after a pit bull."

I chuckled. "Mostly it was just sad. I didn't like Monroe acting like he owned me now and when I told him that -"

"Oh, honey, no." Kirk shook his head. "Even I know you're not supposed to do that. You don't defend the old flame to the new flame. Even indirectly."

"You know that because I told you that," Peter retorted. "So let me guess, Lacey, you started arguing about ownership. You brought up the job issue. He exploded because you lied to him."

Emmett interjected, "He told you a bunch of stuff you didn't want to hear about being a grown-up and a better person, and then you flounced away."

"I wouldn't use the word 'flounce... " I grumbled.

"Fail," Kirk said. "Epic Fail."

"Kirk, we've agreed that you do not tweet during polite conversation," Emmett warned him. "It dates you. And it's obnoxious."

"Fine." Kirk huffed. "It was a fail-ure."

"What is going on here?" I cried. "I thought you said you would sympathize!"

"That was before we got all the details," Emmett said dismissively. "He introduced you to his family, Lace. That means something. Do you know how long it took Peter to introduce me to his family?"

"Don't bring that up again, Em," Peter sighed, sinking back on the couch and crossing his arms.

"Two years!" Emmett exclaimed. "And I had to pretend to be his roommate."

"I dated a guy who didn't care what I did for a living as long as it meant he could sponge off of me and write Grey's Anatomy fan-fiction all day," Thomas said, his lips twisted into a wry expression.

"I still live with my mother," Kirk said. "That should tell you about the kind of guys I date. So I think it's safe to say that any of us would have killed to be in your position."

"Wait." I sipped wine to fortify myself before ranting. "So, according to you guys, I was wrong, then followed it up by being more wrong. Then I finished up by being unreasonable and unappreciative of what I had?"

After a moment's consideration, they all nodded. "That just about sums it up, yes," Thomas said.

"This has not been helpful, at all."

Thomas took my chin in his hand and made me look him in the eye. "Sweetheart, if you want someone to cuddle you and stroke your ego, get a dog. But we will always tell you the truth, which is why a lot of people don't spend time with us. You've screwed up. And you've screwed up big. Own it, apologize for it. Either make up with him or move on."

I frowned, draining the last of my wine. "Can I get a second opinion from a panel of lesbians?"

"No," Emmett told me. "All verdicts are final, no appeals. Who wants dessert?"

Emmett was never one to let me dwell. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

Instead of being a decent brother, he allowed me only two days of wallowing in the intensely cheerful comfort of his guest room before forcing me to come in to work with him.

"Come on. Up and at 'em, kid," he called as he poured himself a cup of coffee at his kitchen counter. "There are no free lunches in this house - what the h.e.l.l are you wearing?"

I looked down at my usual daytime ensemble of yoga pants and a hoodie. "What? This is what I've been wearing during the day."

"Well, then, my darling sister, it wasn't luck that landed you Monroe. It was a miracle."

"Keep the gloves above the belt, Em," I muttered. "You're the one who's told me for years that I dress like a Junior League fembot. I've just taken your advice and relaxed a bit."

"You left 'a bit' behind a long time ago, Lacey," he said, dragging me into the guest room and going through the dresser drawers. "We need to find you a happy medium."

I flopped down on the four-poster canopy bed, wallowing in the mussed white eyelet spread. Emmett's guest room was a 1950s teenager's dream come true. Candy-striped pink-and-white wallpaper, the princess bed, and a picture of Elvis in his army uniform on the refurbished nightstand. He didn't even like Elvis. He just loved a good theme. Emmett's own room was a little less innocent, a lot more Pier 1 Imports. I loved my brother, but he was a throw-pillow junkie. I'd been planning on an intervention before Cherry Click came along and derailed the course of my existence.

That seemed so long ago now, like it had happened to someone else. And yet, the idea of going into town with Emmett was exhausting. So far I'd managed to dash into town to visit Sam's office without encountering any of my former Singletree friends and neighbors. Once people knew I was helping Emmett at The Auctionarium, they'd make up any excuse to come by for a chat, just to get a look at me.

I could probably deal with being a sideshow attraction if I wasn't busy throwing myself a big Monroe-based pity party. At the moment I just wanted to go back to bed and pull the covers over my head.

"Come on, Lacey, out of bed, this stopped being cute about five minutes ago," he said, tossing dark jeans and a tomato-red sweater at me. "If you're going to stay with me, you're going to pull your weight, which means coming into the store and humoring the cranky techno-phobic geriatrics who insist they could get ten thousand dollars for their mothers' china if they took it to Sotheby's."

"Well, you make it sound so attractive," I snarked, tossing the sweater back at him. "Why do you even have women's clothes here?"

"Merry Christmas," he said, opening the guest room closet to show me several color-coordinated, accessorized outfits in my sizes. "When you left Mike, I figured there would be a makeover at some point. Though, I'll be honest, I thought it would be sooner. I like to be prepared."

"Emmett, were you not listening last night when I was drunkenly ranting about men who keep pushing me to do what they want?"

"Yes, but I don't count, I'm family," he said, frowning.

"Bulls.h.i.t!" I exclaimed. "Being family means you count twice. I don't want a makeover. I don't want you laying out outfits for me like I'm six years old. I'm perfectly comfortable in what I have on, thank you, and old enough to pick out my own d.a.m.n clothes."

"Fine," he said icily, dropping the sweater on the bed. "You have ten minutes to do something with your face and get your poly-blend-covered a.s.s in the car, woman, or I'm calling Mama and telling her you chose to stay here instead of with her."

I gasped. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me," he said, before sweeping out of the room. "No. No dramatic exits this time. I have something to say to you. So your life didn't turn out exactly as you expected? Well, boo f.u.c.king hoo, sweetie. You think this is how I saw my life turning out? Despite dating every eligible man between here and New Orleans, I don't know if I'm ever going to have someone to share my life with. Dad doesn't have anything to do with me. Even though I have plenty of acquaintances, including that coven you met the other night, my baby sister is my closest friend, which is just f.u.c.king sad. The only thing I have going for me is my keen eye for breakables made fifty years ago and the fact that you occasionally let me boss you around, even if it's just about your hair. But that's my life. It's what I make of it."

"I'm your closest friend?" I asked. "That is flicking sad."

He ignored me. "But you want to know what p.i.s.ses me off more than anything? That in the end, Mike gave you something most of us would kill for."

"A vulnerability to STDs?"

I made an "uhhf" sound when he threw a pillow at me. "A second chance! Thanks to his boffing the secretary, you found a man who loves you and is just waiting for you to stop being a moron so you can make a life together."

"No, I have a man who thinks I'd be great if I just tweaked my personality a bit here and there to suit his needs," I countered. "Look, I opened myself up to someone completely. And I got burned for it. I'm afraid now that I won't be able to love anybody else. And part of me thinks that's okay, that maybe it's worth it if I don't have to hurt like this anymore."

Emmett sighed. "Lace, let's not romanticize your time with Mike. We both know -"

"I'm not talking about Mike; I'm talking about Monroe."

"Oh." Emmett chewed his lip for a moment. "Well, then, that was a valid and well-constructed argument."