Circle of Family. Mia Ross

to do with tomorrow’s date, would it?”

      As soon as he said it, she knew what had been eating at her all weekend. She hadn’t consciously realized it, but he was right.

      Eleven years ago tomorrow, she’d married Peter.

      Tears threatened, and she swallowed hard to keep them under control so she wouldn’t upset the kids. After so long, she was dismayed to discover that those memories hadn’t faded. They were lurking in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to burst free and hurt her all over again.

      “I guess,” she managed, forcing the words around the sudden lump in her throat. “I hadn’t thought of it until now.”

      He gave her a smile of encouragement. “Lisa’s working this afternoon. I’ll stay with the kids if you wanna go talk to her.”

      Marianne prided herself on being strong and competent. She hated asking for help, even when she probably needed it. Although she was no psychiatrist, she assumed it stemmed from becoming the Sawyers’ mother hen when she was only seven.

      The kids’ laughter got her attention, and she looked over at them. Tucker was paws-up on the table, nosing through Kyle’s enormous pile of money.

      “I’m fine,” she repeated.

      “Come on,” John scoffed, tilting his head with a doubtful look. “This is me you’re talking to.”

      Lisa was such a great sounding board, Marianne was tempted to take him up on his offer. But she seldom left the kids with anyone, even family. It felt wrong somehow. To avoid insulting him, she hedged. “I don’t know. The diner might be busy.”

      “On a gorgeous day like this? Everybody’s off fishing or having a picnic somewhere. That place is probably a ghost town. She’ll be glad for the company. And when was the last time you went out on your own?”

      “Christmas,” she shot back.

      “Sure, to shop for presents for all of us.”

      Again with the tilted head. He was reminding her more of Tucker by the second, but she had to admit that John’s suggestion made sense. Times like these, she really wished she could talk to her father. Even if he didn’t have a solution, Dad had always listened, reminding her that she didn’t have to manage everything on her own.

      “Kids, I have some errands to run in town. Will you keep an eye on Uncle John for me?”

      They agreed enthusiastically, and he grinned. “That reminds me, can you stop by Gerber’s and pick me up some socks?”

      “What happened to all your socks?”

      “Tucker.” He nudged the Lab’s belly with his bare foot. “He goes nuts over ’em.”

      “You shouldn’t let him in your house.”

      “That’d be no fun at all.” Reaching into one of the cargo pockets on his shorts, he pulled out a very thin nylon wallet and opened it. After rummaging through, he looked up and gave her one of his gotta-love-me grins. “I’ll pay you back.”

      “If you and the kids stay out of trouble while I’m gone, we’ll call it even.”

      “Done. I’ll handle supper, so you don’t have to come back till after that.”

      “Yay! Uncle John’s making supper!” Emily approved, clapping her hands. “Can we have chocolate cake?”

      John let out a groan. “Are you trying to get me in trouble?”

      “As if you needed any help with that,” Marianne teased.

      “We’ll do something your mom would be okay with.”

      He flashed Marianne an angelic smile she wasn’t buying for a second. But after they shook on their deal, she went into the pantry to get her purse from its hook. The newspaper on top of the recycle bin caught her eye. The book reviews were showing, and she tore the page out. Gerber’s sold everything, including the latest bestsellers. Instead of wallowing in memories of her failed marriage, maybe she just needed some time to herself to read more than a few pages of a book. A piece of one of Ruthy’s blue-ribbon desserts wouldn’t hurt, either.

      It wasn’t like her to be so impulsive, and the prospect of breaking loose for a while definitely appealed to her. Feeling better already, she kissed the top of Emily’s head, fist-bumped Kyle and headed out the door.

      * * *

      “Ruthy, this isn’t peach cobbler,” Ridge insisted as the first forkful practically melted in his mouth. “It’s a dream.”