He was the kind of guy that, when he stepped up to the bar, no matter how many people were ahead of us, the bartender looked right at him. It was like a freaking superpower.
He let me cut his favorite tie in half and jumped in that fountain, and when he kissed me…I saw stars.
And I married him and woke up alone. Not even a number. His last name on our marriage license was a scribble and whoever had keyed it in had spelled it Krumble… Who had the last name Krumble?
The kind of guy Trudy Colfax had been warning me against my whole life.
I really thought I’d known better.
“Mom, I’ve looked for him. There’s no Ethan Krumble on social media.”
“And you don’t remember where he’s from?”
“I’ve told you all this.” Why did we have to go over the embarrassing details?
“Then get the annulment, honey.” Mom pulled a tissue from her knockoff Prada Saffino. “Go out with that dentist who likes you so much. Dentists make good money.”
Ugh. The dentist. I didn’t see stars with him. Not even a little.
But Mom was right. I’d been living in some kind of la-la land.
The first few months I’d dreamed of him coming back. But now, if he came back, well, I’d punch him. Right in his dimple.
Mom’s salad was delivered and the moules frites I’d ordered was set down in front of me. I’d been so excited about those frites, and now Mom and my life had ruined them. I had to face facts.
Ethan wasn’t coming back.
I had one more week of paid sick leave
My ankle wasn’t getting better.
I wasn’t destitute. I dated an accountant two years ago and followed his advice. I had two months rent socked away in case I needed it. And I could get a job in just about any bar or restaurant in town. Vegas locals came out of the womb knowing how to split a check. I just…well, I was a showgirl. That was all I wanted to be. It was my whole thing. Who was I without a glitter bra?
“Yeah,” I said, pouring water on my fries so I didn’t eat them. “You’re right. I’ll get the annulment.”
I was paying the bill. Because when it came time to pay bills at restaurants, Mom always went to the powder room to freshen up. Mom wasn’t paying many bills much at all, and my checks from Caesar’s Palace were supporting both of us. Sooner or later we were going to have to talk about it, but Mom would probably go to the powder room.
“Lex!” Henny, my best friend since middle school who worked lunch shifts at Ohlala, caught me in the foyer where I was waiting for Mom.
“Hey!” I said, giving her freckled cheeks real kisses.
“Have you seen it?” she asked.
“Seen what?”
“The internet, Lex.”
“Well, like in general—”
Henny turned to another hostess at the front table. “I need five,” she said and pulled me out the front door onto the crowded strip. Vegas was all dressed up for Christmas, which used to be my favorite time of year until I married an asshole.
“Look at this.” Henny pulled her phone out of her back pocket, tapped it, and shoved it in my face.
It was a video. Some giant hockey player guy was at an airport talking about his groin. A lot.
“What—”
“Wait for it, Lex.”
A man leaned forward into the frame and said something into the microphone. He flashed a smile, a dimple in his cheek. He pushed his blond hair back off his forehead. And my hands went numb.
It was Ethan.
My husband.
He was handsome. Thank god I hadn’t been wrong about that.
I was just that kind of shallow. He had swoopy blond hair and dimples. A smile that could…well, get a girl to marry him. He was tall and lean and hot, even in that stupid hockey thing he was wearing.
There was a roaring in my ears.
I had a picture of him on my phone from our wedding night. A lot of pictures, actually. But my favorite had been taken in the fountain he jumped into and I followed. I told Henny I deleted it three months ago, but I lied. It was such a good picture. Not just because we were fucking gorgeous but because…I was happy. And the guy in the picture looked happy, too. Like we’d found something we needed. Like we were the two luckiest people on Earth to be standing together in a fountain.
“The asshole’s name is Ethan Kringle,” Henny said.
“Kringle,” I said stupidly. “Not Krumble. I mean…that’s almost funny.”
Nothing was funny.
Henny grabbed my shoulders and gave me a little shake. “He lives in Salt Springs, Colorado. His family owns some kind of Christmas farm.”
“Who owns a Christmas farm?” That didn’t make any sense.
“Your husband!” Henny said.
He’d been in Vegas to get a green energy company to build a factory and office in his town, hoping to bring some jobs and industry.