by Holly Jacobs
"But what if they find out?"
"We've already introduced ourselves, honey. I guarantee who we are doesn't concern them a bit. They're wondering how much longer they have to stay before they can say goodnight and be on their way to a brand-new life. So have fun."
"But—"
Her mother just gave a quick wink and hurried to the other side of the tent and the dance floor.
Now what was she going to do? Morgan wondered. She'd known coming home would be a mistake.
The only time she'd been home in the last five years was for Uncle Auggie's funeral six months ago, and that hadn't gone well. Although maybe funerals, by definition, weren't supposed to.
But in her wildest dreams, Morgan could never have imagined that coming home to Pittsburgh would turn her into a party crasher.
An inadvertent one, but a party crasher nonetheless.
Morgan wandered off toward what appeared to be a quiet corner. She'd just hide until her mother was ready to go.
This was her last party with her mom, she decided as she took a seat. She didn't care how bored she was in the future. She'd never trust a night's activities to Annabelle. When they went out next, she'd make the arrangements herself.
Morgan watched the bride and groom, both looking so happy as they whirled around on the dance floor. They were ready to face a bright and shiny future together. Morgan couldn't help but reflect on how her own particular future was so very uncertain.
She was living in the house she'd inherited from Uncle Auggie, with only his two lurking cats and his rather geriatric dog.
She had no job, no significant other and no immediate plans.
This wasn't in her five-year goals.
Morgan sighed.
"I hope that was a happy sigh," an unfamiliar, deep voice said.
She turned and found an übermasculine man standing behind her. A Southern-belle-swoon-worthy sort of man.
Dark hair, dark eyes, dark complexion, killer smile. He was close enough that she could catch the faintest whiff of cologne, and added smells good to her mental list of macho-boy's characteristics. He was dressed all in black, and rather than look sinister, it just made him look striking. Handsome even.
"So what's a woman like you doing lurking in a dark corner?" he asked.
"Just enjoying the sights." The most enjoyable one happened to be the man in front of her.
"Conner Danning," he said, extending his hand.
Morgan took it and found her fingers enveloped by his much larger, warm ones. "Ah. . . Morgan Miller," she said.
It took a great deal of effort and thought to remember her name. One would think after introducing herself to people for over twenty-six years it would be easy, but as she stared at the man, this Conner Danning, there wasn't much room in her mind for more than thoughts of him.
Morgan realized her hand was still in his and she tried to withdraw it, but not only was she thinking with a muddy, befuddled mind, it seemed that she was moving through mud as well. Her hand slid from his with agonizing slowness.
"Enjoying the sights, eh?" he asked, grinning.
She realized that she might have let go of his hand, but she hadn't let go of the sight of him. She was staring.
She averted her eyes for a moment, but they were irresistibly drawn back to him.
What would Annabelle do in this situation? The question was so absurdly out of character that for a moment Morgan forgot to be embarrassed. "The sights have greatly improved in the last few minutes."
CONNER HAD COME TO the back corner of the tent where he'd stored some of his equipment. He needed a fifth roll of film in order to capture yet another wedding in photographs. He liked to use film in addition to digital photographs.
Preserving history for posterity.
That's how he phrased what he did. It was also how he tried to make himself feel better about his job. And he needed to feel better about it because taking pictures at weddings wasn't quite what he'd planned to do as a career.
He knew he was feeling particularly dissatisfied today because he'd recently heard from his buddy, Luke. Luke was in Sri Lanka working on a spread for National Geographic, taking the kind of pictures that Conner had always dreamed of taking.
Taking pictures of exotic locales was far more in line with Conner's once-upon-a-time aspirations than taking pictures of the Petersons and the Joneses.
Yes, Luke's call had more than likely led to Conner's current funk. But running into this brunette in the corner lightened his mood considerably.
Maybe his luck was changing.
At first she'd seemed a bit reticent, but as she shot him her feisty little "improved sights" comment, he realized she wasn't.
"Funny, I was about to say the same thing. I mean, about the sights improving."
"So what's a guy like you doing lurking in a dark corner, Conner?" she asked, a smile playing at the edges of her lips.
Lips he'd like to taste.
For the last two years he'd had little time for women. His life had been full to the point of overwhelming him without adding a woman to the mix. Though he had to admit, his monk-like existence left a lot to be desired.
He'd almost forgotten what it was like to feel instant chemistry with the opposite sex until he shook Morgan Miller's hand.
He opened his bag, took out a roll of film and held it aloft. "I needed to reload."
"Professional photographer, or just a friend of the happy couple?"
"Professional." The designation felt rather false.
Okay, wedding photographer wasn't the type of professional designation he'd dreamed of. And to be honest, he hadn't really wanted National Geographic jobs like Luke's either, although that job was closer than what Conner was doing.
No, what he'd dreamed about was a hard-hitting type of photojournalism that would take him around the world capturing important events as they happened.
He'd almost made it.
Instead, circumstances had led him elsewhere, and the only events he was capturing were the ones organized for happy couples in the greater Pittsburgh area.
Maybe coming to the realization that life sometimes just happened was what separated grown-ups from their childhood.
Life unfolds in its own way.
There was no way to direct its course. And Conner had learned all he could do was try and stay afloat.
That's about all he'd managed the last few years—staying afloat. But things were looking up. Maybe he could do more than tread water soon.
But soon wasn't now. So as much as he'd like to see this woman again, he'd best let it go. He didn't need any more complications.
"Well, I'd better get back to it," he said, feeling a stab of regret.
Morgan watched as Conner Danning popped his film into the camera. Before she had a chance to duck-and-cover, he'd snapped a couple pictures of her.
"Hey."
"Just making sure it was loaded correctly." He started toward the dance floor. "Nice meeting you, Morgan. Enjoy the wedding."
"You, too, Conner." Say something else, Morgan commanded herself.
Stop him.
Here was a man who sparked something in her that had been missing for a long time.
Lust. Pure and simple.
She wanted him.
But as much as she'd like to be straightforward and tell him so, it just wasn't in her. What she needed was an excuse. Even that was a stretch, so she did what her adventurous, party crashing mother would do, and called out, "Mr. Danning. Conner."
She wasn't sure what to say after that. Maybe he hadn't heard her and would just keep on walking?
But he had heard her and he didn't keep on walking. Instead, he turned and looked at her questioningly. "Yes?"
Think.
Think.
Think! she commanded herself.
"Any chance you'd consider getting some coffee with me sometime?"
If she were being forthright she'd explain she'd like to meet with him because she'd love a chance to
jump his bones. That she'd like to buy the newest issue of Cosmo and try out all fifty of their ways-to-please-in-bed tips on him. That she'd like to see if it really was possible to spend a whole day in bed.
"I'm doing some, uh, local business research about the area and would like to pick your brain."
Okay, to be honest, his brains weren't what she wanted. But it sounded better than explaining what she was after.
"I'll treat," she added with a grin. Her move wasn't nearly as bold as her mother might have managed, but still, Morgan was proud of herself.
For a minute, he looked as if he was going to say no. He gave just the barest shake of his head.
She felt a stab of regret. Her ex, Marvin, had been nice on occasion, a pain on occasion, but during their off-again, on-again relationship he'd never ignited the heat in her that Conner Danning had in just these few brief minutes.
She swallowed her disappointment and said, "Never mind. That's all right."
He reached into his back pocket and handed her a business card. "I'd love to. Call me and we'll set something up for next week."
"Great," she said. "I'll look forward to it."
He had a sort of puzzled expression, but it cleared and he smiled before he walked into the crowd of wedding guests.
Morgan felt a bit giddy.
She was going to see him again.
Of course, now she had to think of some sort of business research he could help her with.
Business? Where had that come from?
Monkey business, maybe. But business?
She was going to have to scramble to come up with something.
"There you are," Annabelle said. "Since you're hiding in the corner, I'm going to guess you're ready to go."
"If you are."
"Oh, I'm more than ready. There wasn't one eligible man my age at this party. It's not that I wouldn't consider dating a younger man, but these were all practically children. And since you're sitting here alone, I'm going to guess you didn't have any better luck."
Morgan thought about telling her mom that she had indeed met a man, but quickly decided not to. She had no idea what Annabelle would do if she knew. She'd probably try to help, and thinking of all the ways that could go wrong silenced Morgan in a hurry.
"Mom, about crashing future receptions. . ."
"Don't worry. My reception crashing days are over. Wedding receptions aren't what they used to be," her mother grumbled as they retraced their route toward the front of the house.
Morgan didn't say it, but she sort of thought party crashing was a bigger success than she'd ever anticipated.
Her impromptu trip home was suddenly looking much more interesting.
CHAPTER TWO
E.J., haven't heard from you yet. Of course, you know that. You must still be in the wilds of South America performing your medical miracles. Have I mentioned lately that I admire your volunteering for Doctors International? Don't let it go to your head. . .you're still the same doofus whose idea of a good time is torturing his interns with that silly Frankenstein practical joke. You're a sick, sick man. I guess that's why we get along so well. LOL
Mom was definitely up to her old tricks yesterday. She turned me into a party crasher. . . .
NOISE.
Incessant.
High-pitched.
Morgan's sleep-befuddled mind tried to pinpoint what it was.
Whatever the noise was, it was too much to sleep through, even for someone who was becoming more and more familiar with the concept of sleeping in.
Morgan's trip to Pittsburgh had at least given her that new skill. In fact, she'd discovered the hitherto unknown joy of late-night television, and developed a huge crush on Jon Stewart. And old movies. Spencer Tracy was her guy, which surprised her. He wasn't the type of man who attracted her in real life, but put him in a black-and-white film opposite Katherine Hepburn and Morgan got all warm and fuzzy over him.
The noise was interrupting her cute guy fantasies.
She whacked at the alarm clock, but that didn't quiet things down at all. Slowly, she woke up enough to realize that the noise wasn't from the clock, but rather from the phone.
Her eyes felt gritty as she opened them, thoroughly intending to glare at the offending device. But instead of looking at the nightstand, she found herself staring at Gilligan, her uncle's aging bulldog. And the view she had was definitely not his finest.
"Get down, Gilligan."
The dog turned around and gave her a long, lazy look, then flopped down on the bed, not budging so much as an inch from his original position.
Morgan reached around the overweight beast and picked up the phone.
"Hello?" Though her vision was still a bit sleep-fuzzed, she was pretty sure the clock next to the phone read eight thirty-six.
Eight thirty-six?
Whoever this was had best have a good excuse for calling this early on a Sunday. The reason had better involve at least the possibility of hospitalization, because nothing less would save them.
"Morgan, it's Sunny."
"Sunny?" she croaked as she stared at the clock again.
She'd known that news of her homecoming would get out, but didn't expect welcome-home calls quite so early in the morning. She did the math and realized how much earlier it was in San Diego, and felt even more exhausted.
"It's Sunday," Sunny said, way too perkily. "We thought you might like to meet us—"
"For brunch," Morgan stated. How could she have forgotten Sunday morning brunches at the diner? Then she remembered who else came to the brunches and said, "I don't think it would be wise—"
"She won't be there," Sunny said quickly, still able to read Morgan's thoughts after all these years. "Just me, Tessa and Nikki. We'd love to see you and have a chance to catch up."
"I'd love to see you all as well."
"Great. In about an hour and a half, then."
Morgan hung up and snuggled into the pillow, trying to collect her rather tenuous wits.
She hadn't been lying. She did want to see the old gang. But. . .
That but was followed by others.
Buts that had made it easier to leave Pittsburgh for San Diego. To leave all her history behind.
Yet here she was, back home, with nowhere to hide.
She punched her pillow and noticed that Gilligan was standing on the floor, his pelvis wiggling. The poor old dog had been a terror in his younger years. He'd humped everything and anything. But Morgan suspected he'd developed doggy arthritis due to his advanced age. Now all he did for the most part was wiggle his pelvis. Part of her felt sad for the old dog, who was now deprived of his favorite pastime.
"Want out?" she asked.
He stopped midwiggle and barked. He sounded as if he were a lifetime smoker, his bark was so raspy and wheezy.
Morgan eased herself out of bed, let Gilligan into the backyard, then padded into the master bathroom. The black-and-white tiles and huge, cast-iron, claw-foot tub made it an inviting space, unlike a few of the other antique-stuffed rooms in the house. But even those had potential. Though she was going to put the house on the market, Morgan found herself itching to do a bit of redecorating.
She hoped she wouldn't be in Pittsburgh long enough to have time to indulge that whim.
She made short order of dressing, then took Uncle Auggie's vintage black BMW to the diner. It was so hard to believe it had been years since she'd gone to a Sunday brunch. The weekly meal with her friends used to be such an important part of her life, and now years had drifted by without her seeing them.
Oh, Morgan had seen Sunny at the funeral six months ago, because she worked at Uncle Auggie's store, Oakland Chair and Dish Rental. But Tessa and Nicole hadn't known him, other than in passing, and hadn't been there.
Unfortunately, Morgan's louse of an ex-fiancé had known Uncle Auggie and had felt the need to pay his respects. Thomas had worked at OCDR throughout college and she knew he'd liked the older man.
That's how Morgan had met hi
m.
She'd gone into the store to visit her mother one day, and there he was. Tall, beach-boy blond and beyond gorgeous. At two years her senior, he'd been the older boy that every girl dreamed about.
And by every, she meant herself and Gina, her ex-best friend, the skanky fiancé stealer.
Morgan remembered the day Thomas and Gina had broken the news to her. She'd thought it was wonderful, her fiancé and her best friend giving her a surprise evening out so they could all plan the wedding together. Instead of a happy wedding-planning dinner, Thomas and Gina had sat her down and explained that they'd fallen in love.
That was the last time Morgan had talked to either of them.
After they'd declared their undying love for each other and apologized to her, she'd simply got up from the table and walked out.
Within weeks, she'd packed up and moved to California. She'd worked at a Starbucks and applied to grad school. She'd been accepted at UCLA, where she finished her degree.
She thought she'd moved on.
But here she was, in Pittsburgh, parking the car and heading to a Sunday morning brunch with the old gang and wondering if she'd ever really moved at all.
She asked herself the question again as she reached the door of the small restaurant they had gathered at every Sunday morning in the past. The Fifth Avenue Diner was one of those places that always stayed the same.
The green awning might have faded from a dark hunter shade to a fall-grass hue, and there might be a few more cracks in the sidewalk, but otherwise, it looked as it had in her college days.
Morgan opened the door and walked in. There was still a board to the left with the day's specials listed, and the tables were arranged exactly as she remembered them.
She walked toward the far corner table, where two women were sitting. Before she joined them, Morgan stood a moment, staring at her friends, enjoying the wave of nostalgia. She'd missed this connection. She hadn't realized how much until this very moment.
She cleared her throat and the woman with her back toward her turned, the one in the corner looked up.
"Geez, Nikki, tough night?" Morgan asked the sunglasses-wearing brunette.
Nicole Hastings pushed the glasses up, revealing eyes alight with warmth and recognition. She plopped the glasses back into place and sprang to her feet even as Sunny squealed, "Morgan!"
