Free The Snow Globe by Sheila Roberts Page A

Cheats” at the top of her lungs. Okay, all better now, she told herself. So what if Jeremy had dumped her, if Craig Peters hadn’t called. Her life was still good. She had…she had…What did she have?
    Furina. She picked up the cat, who was twining around her legs as she cleaned off her kitchen countertops, reminding Kiley that her cat food bowl was empty. “Who needs men, anyway, right?” she told the cat, running her hands through Furina’s soft fur. Of course, employment was another matter. “I am not going to get depressed,” she informed the cat, setting her back down on the floor. “And you are not getting anything more until tonight. You’re on a diet. Remember?”
    Furina rubbed against her leg again. Pleeease? You think you’ve got it bad? I haven’t had a man in years. The least you can do is let me enjoy a little extra tuna .
    Kiley gave in. “Okay, okay. But you’re not getting the wholecan. You have to have a little self-control.” Like Kiley had exerted over the last of the brownies? Good thing she’d gotten that run in.
    The job hunting was done, the condo was clean—what next? She plopped on her couch and frowned at her library book. Then she frowned at the TV. Finally, she glared at the phone. This was ridiculous. Pathetic. She was not going to sit around and wait for a man to call. She needed groceries. She’d go see what she could get for twenty dollars.
    She bought the makings for soup, which would get her through the week (and give her something to do when she got home), and all the while her cell phone sat silent and useless in her purse. That night as she readied herself for bed, she averted her eyes whenever she passed the snow globe. It wasn’t that she’d lost faith, she told herself. But there was no sense getting her hopes up.
    Who was she kidding? She had lost faith.
    The next day fell into the same familiar pattern. Go for a run. Feel great. Come home and check messages. Lose some of the great feeling. Job hunt, send out résumés, check e-mail, do the tweet ’n’ meet thing. Clean some more. Listen for the phone.
    Maybe she should call him. They had talked about her designing his Web site. Time was money. Every day he went without a Web site he went without business. She picked up her cell, started to thumb in the number, and then set it down again. She didn’t want to look pushy. Or desperate.
    She heaved a sigh. What else needed to get done? She’d clean out her closet and take some things to the Goodwill. Perfect.They could always use donations before Christmas.
    She not only found items in her closet to donate, she added several paperbacks she’d finished and knew she’d never read again. That was two bags’ full now. It felt good to get rid of the clutter, made her feel efficient and organized, like she was clearing the deck for new opportunties. Now, what else could go?
    Her eyes fell on the snow globe.

Eight
    Kiley picked the thing up and frowned at the little angel inside. “You made a fool of me, you know. I should give you away. Or sell you to some other sucker.” Of course, the angel had nothing to say for herself. Since she was holding the snow globe, Kiley had to shake it. After the blizzard subsided she saw, once again, Craig Peters and his toyshop. And herself.
    Okay, was she delusional? Why hadn’t he called?
    Who knew? One thing she knew for certain. She couldn’t get rid of her treasure, even though she suspected she’d make back at least some of her money if she put it up for auction on eBay. She set it down and resigned herself to hanging in limbo, just like the people inside that glass ball.
    Except hanging in limbo wasn’t acceptable. She had a life. To prove it she marched to the kitchen and baked some gingerbread cookies. And the next afternoon she went to the food bank and did data entry at the office. If a certain man called