Emily's sixty-three, and finally making a new start now that she's retired from her elementary music teaching job. At last she can play the pipe organ full time--and with her daughter Amy well-launched in a career, she doesn't need the big barn of a place her late ex-husband restored anymore.
But there's a problem: the ghost of her ex has moved to the tiny house along with her. Theirs was an amicable divorce--civilized, good co-parenting. Al had realized he was gay and tried to make a new start of his own. Tragically, the AIDS epidemic cut his life short. For twenty years, he's been looking in on Emily's life, something she has mixed feelings about...even though part of her still does love him
Things get complicated when Brad Yates, Emily's bad-boy main squeeze from music school shows up. He's just been through his second divorce, is very much the worse for wear, still impossible--and still very interested.
Did I mention that Emily's boss at her church gig also has a crush on her? Or that her daughter has a complicated love life, too? Or that this book is--I know it doesn't sound that way--the funniest thing I ever wrote? There is an out-of-control funeral, a pot dealer named Santa Claus...a great, big pipe organ...and a blizzard. An Amazon Echo is also a minor character.
Here's a little excerpt, from when Emily reconnects with the old boyfriend...
“Brad?” she said.
He was silent.
Is he okay? “Brad?”
“Oh man,” he finally whispered. And then he sighed. “Well. Quite the little place you’ve got yourself here.”
“I like it,” she said. “Serves my…needs.”.
Brad nodded. “Wow, wow, wow. I didn’t even need one of my magic blue pills. Kudos, m’lady. Pardonez-moi a moment.” He got up.
“Thanks. I can’t imagine you’d possibly need to take…”
“Sometimes I do. Sure didn’t tonight!” He dropped something into the waste basket: splat.
Oh. Ew. So. Now what? She glanced at the clock beside her bed. It was twenty to seven. And she was incredibly hungry. Brad got back into bed beside her. Please, please, please don’t fall asleep, she thought. Just—um—go home. And then she couldn’t help it. She giggled.
“What’s funny?” he said.
“I don’t even know!” (But she did.)
He sat up, and reached for his shirt.
Emily suddenly felt very naked, too. “‘Scuse me a minute,” she said, and got up to get her bathrobe from its hook on the bathroom door. Downstairs, the air blower for the furnace kicked on.
“Ah, sweet, sweet Em. You’re going to think I’m a total cad,” said Brad.
“A cad?” She knew perfectly well what was coming next. Brad hadn’t changed, after all. Emily tied the belt of her robe, sat down beside him and smiled. What a relief!
“It’s almost seven, isn’t it?”
“Getting there,” said Emily.
“I have an unfortunate…prior engagement,” said Brad. “Hey, how about you and me and dinner next week at Le Bouchon, in Cold Spring?” he said. “Do you eat there ever? It’s really quite good. But now I’m afraid I have to…” He was pulling those ridiculous briefs back on.
Emily smiled. Of course you have a prior engagement. Of course! Exactly what were you planning on doing if we’d ended up back at your place? “Are you okay to drive, Brad? I mean, we did smoke and all.”
“I’ve been experimenting with the evil weed a bit since I retired. We didn’t have so much. I only live a couple of miles from here now. I’m loving Beacon; it’s right on the Hudson Line, so I can get into the City for music things.”
Yikes. So he really is local, now. Well, duh. The Y.
“Well.” Brad pulled on his jeans, got up, and fastened the belt. He leaned back over the bed and took Emily’s face in his hands. “That was wonderful, Em. Next week, then. Table for two. I’ll call you.” He kissed her.
If I un-block your phone number. We’ll have to see about that. She fought the desire to laugh again.
She walked him back downstairs, and watched from her window as he tip-toed his way across the ice patches in her driveway, got in his car, and drove off.
Reader, I signed the contract yesterday! Can't wait to get THE GHOST OF HER EX into your hands! Thanks again, Evernight Press!