From the Moment We Met(2)
“Yes, I was trying to locate my estranged husband so that I could”—she paused, her face heating again, but this time with anger—“Wait. Don’t tell me that the son of a bitch is trying to sue me for defamation of character? It was an ad. That I had to take out because he refused to show his cheating face so I could serve him with divorce papers.”
Richard had successfully managed to elude her, her family, and the law for the past seven years. By Abby placing the ad, which qualified as a divorce by publication, Richard had six months to come forward, otherwise the divorce would be granted.
Richard hadn’t come forward, which meant the divorce was granted today.
Rodney raised a brow. “The headline reads, HAVE YOU SEEN MY DICK?”
“It was the question of the hour for women everywhere, I assure you.”
“I’ll take that as a yes, you are Abigail Moretti, who married Richard Moretti in St. Helena, California, eight years ago.”
When Abby only crossed her arms, Rodney gave a decisive nod. Turning around, he waved his hand, signaling—signaling to who, Abby had no idea, but her stomach sank all the same when he hollered, “Bring it on in. This is the right house.”
Before Abby could process what was happening, a loud beeping echoed throughout the cul-de-sac, announcing the ginormous truck backing up—right over her lawn, crushing the garden bunny one of her piano students had painted for her, and straight through the center of her dahlia garden. Her beautiful dahlias that she’d planted and nurtured into a masterpiece of horticulture supremeness.
It was the centerpiece of her yard. Hell, it was the centerpiece of the whole damn neighborhood.
“What are you doing?” Abby raced down the steps, waving a signal of her own. “Stop!”
“Sorry, but we only get paid if we make the delivery as per the instructions. And we had some pretty specific instructions on this here delivery.”
“But my dahlias!”
Rodney at least had the decency to look apologetic, but the truck didn’t stop, not until it had torn up a good half of her lawn and smashed every last bloom in her garden. Then the beeping became more alarming as the open flatbed of the truck lifted—and that was when Abby knew officially, without a doubt, that there couldn’t possibly be lower scum on the entire planet than Richard.
Before she could say a word or throw herself in front of the oncoming disaster that was quickly becoming her life, a nude, Adonis-inspired statue slid down the ramp of the truck, landing gracefully on her lawn with a small thud.
“Oh my,” Nora sighed with an expression of sheer appreciation. “Isn’t that an eyeful?”
Eyeful indeed. Standing well over six feet tall, and except for the embellished bulge and generous amount of hair, the marble statue was a spot-on replica of her ex. Even down to the smarmy smile and trademarked wink.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Rodney asked, and Abby realized she was staring.
“I’ll say.” Nora fanned herself while a series of impressed grunts came from the two men who exited the delivery truck to take in the sight.
“He wasn’t that big,” Abby felt the need to point out, then realized how that sounded and clarified. “Tall. I meant he wasn’t that tall. The man was only five ten. With lifts.”
Looking extremely satisfied with himself, Rodney extended a pen and a clipboard. “I need you to sign here, here, and here.”
“And I need you to remove that”—Abby waved a hand at the statue—“monstrosity, before I call the cops.”
“No can do.” Rodney rocked back on his heels. “I got paid for a delivery. It’s been delivered.”
“Then I’ll pay you to deliver it somewhere else.”
Mulling over her request, Rodney sized up Abby, then took his time sizing up the statue, finally shaking his head in pure male awe. “You sure? It’s a statement maker. Really brings out the character of your yard.”
“My yard has plenty of character and that is not the kind of statement I want to be making.”
“Plus it’s in violation of GN Code Twenty-Seven C,” Nora said, crossing the lawn and pointing her trimmers at the violation in question. “Garden art can’t be more than three feet tall with a base not exceeding half the height, unless it has a water element to it, and then you must get board approval of the fixture.”
“Oh, it’s got a water feature all right,” Rodney explained ever so seriously, raising his hand to rest it on Richard’s shoulder. “All Mrs. Moretti’s got to do is run a water line to the base and then water shoots out his—”