by Nora Roberts
The lights were too bright, the voices too loud.
“Sorry I’m late. The shoot ran over.”
He blinked as Mac slid into the chair across from him. “What?”
“You must’ve really been into your book.” She angled her head to read the title. “Lawrence Block? Shouldn’t you be reading Hemingway or Trollope?”
“Popular fiction’s a strong and viable force in literature.
That’s why it’s popular. Reading for nothing more than pleasure is . . . another lecture coming on. Sorry.”
“Teacher mode suits you.”
“I suppose that’s a good thing, in the classroom. I didn’t realize you were working when you stopped by. We could’ve made it later.”
“Just a couple of client meetings, and a shoot. I have a bride who for some reason wants every moment of her plans photo-documented professionally. Okay with me, as it’s money in the bank. I documented her fitting—wedding dress—with her mother in weeping attendance. The weeping added a little more time than I’d scheduled.”
She pulled off her cap, finger fluffed her hair as she gazed around the shop. “I haven’t stopped in here before. Nice energy.” She notched up the smile for the girl who came over to take her order.
“I’m Dee. What can I get you?”
“I think we’ll have some fun. How about a tall latte macchiato, double shot, squirt of vanilla.”
“Coming up. Another green tea for you, Dr. Maguire?”
“No, I’m good, Dee. Thanks.”
“Not a fancy coffee fan?” Mac asked as Dee went to put in the order.
“Just not this late in the day. But it’s good here—the coffee. I usually stop in for a cappuccino in the morning before work. They sell the beans, too, so if you like the coffee . . . I have to get this out of the way. I can’t think. And not being able to think, my inane conversation’s going to put you to sleep despite the double shot.”
“Okay.” Mac propped her chin on her fist. “Get whatever out of the way.”
“I had a crush on you in high school.”
Her eyebrows shot up as she straightened. “On me? Seriously?”
“Yes, well, yes, for me. And it’s mortifying to bring this up, a dozen years or so after the fact, but it’s coloring the current situation. From my side, that is.”
“But . . . I barely remember you ever actually speaking to me.”
“I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was painfully shy back then, especially in any kind of social situation. Anything, particularly that involved girls. Girls I was attracted to, that is. And you were so . . .”
“Tall latte mach, double with vanilla.” Dee set the oversized cup on the table, added a couple of mini crescents of biscotti on a saucer. “Enjoy!”
“Don’t stop now,” Mac insisted. “I was so what?”
“Ah, you. The hair, the dimples, the everything.”
Mac picked up the biscotti, leaning back to nibble on the end as she studied him. “Carter, I looked like a beanpole with carrots growing out of my head in high school. I have pictures to prove it.”
“Not to me. You were bright, vivid, confident.” Still are, he thought. Just look at you. “I feel like an idiot telling you this, but I keep tripping over it. I’m clumsy enough without putting up my own stumbling blocks. So, well. There.”
“Would the kiss the other night be the result of that old crush?”
“I’d have to say it played a part. It was all so surreal.”
She scooted forward again to pick up her coffee. “Neither one of us are who we were in high school.”
“God, I hope not. I was a mess back then.”
“Who wasn’t? You know, Carter, most guys would’ve used that high-school crush bit as a pickup ploy, or kept it locked away. It interests me, you interest me, because you did neither. Are you always so forthright over coffee dates?”
“I don’t know. You’re the only one I ever had a crush on.”
“Oh boy.”
“And that was stupid.” Flustered again, he raked his fingers through his hair. “Now I’ve scared you. That sounded scary and obsessive, like I have an altar somewhere with your pictures over it where I light candles and chant your name. Jesus, that’s even scarier. Run now. I won’t hold it against you.”
She burst out laughing, had to set her coffee back down before she sloshed it over the rim. “I’ll stay if you swear you don’t have the altar.”
“I don’t.” He swiped his finger in an X over his heart. “If you’re staying because you pity me, or because you really like the coffee, it works.”
“It is really good coffee.” She drank again. “It’s not pity, but I’m not sure what it is. You’re an interesting man, and you helped me out when I needed it. You give really good kiss. Why not have coffee? Since we are, tell me why someone who was painfully shy went into teaching?”
“I had to get over it. I wanted to teach.”
“Always?”
“Practically. I did want to be a superhero previous to that. Possibly one of the X-Men.”
“Supermutant teacher. You could’ve been Educator.”
He grinned at her. “Now you’ve unmasked my secret identity.”
“So how did Shy Guy become the mighty Educator?”
“Study, practice. And some practicalities. I panic-sweated my way through the first couple weeks of a public-speaking course I took in college. But it helped. And I worked as a TA for several classes, as a kind of transition. I TA’d one of Delaney’s classes our sophomore year. Ah . . .”
He turned his cup in circles. “In case it ever comes up, I did—occasionally—ask him about you. All of you, so you weren’t singled out. ‘The Quartet’ as he called you.”
“Still does now and then. He’s our lawyer now. The business’s.”
“I hear he’s a good one.”
“He is. Del set everything up—the legal stuff. When their parents died, the estate went to Parker and Del. He didn’t want to live there. He had his own place by then. Parker couldn’t have maintained it as a house, I mean just a house. Just her home. Or even if she could, I don’t think she could’ve stood it, living there alone. The big house, the memories. Not alone.”
“No, it would be hard, and lonely. It changes that with all of you there. Living and working together.”
“Changed everything for everyone. She had the idea for the business cooking already, had all of us talking about it. Then she went to Del about using the estate for it. He was great about that. His inheritance, too, so he took a hell of a chance on us.”
“It looks like he made the right choice. According to my mother and Sherry, Vows is
the place for weddings in Greenwich.”
“We’ve come a long way. The first year was touch and go, and pretty scary because we’d all put our savings and whatever we could beg, borrow, or steal into it. The start-up costs, licenses, stock, equipment. The expense of turning the pool house into my place, the guest house into Emma’s. Jack did the designs for free. Jack Cooke? Do you know him? He and Del met in college.”
“Yeah, a little. I remember they were tight.”
“The small town that is Yale,” Mac commented. “He’s an architect. He put a lot of time into the transformation. And saved us God knows how much in fees and false starts. The second year we were barely treading water, with all of us still having to take side jobs to get by. But, by the third, we eased around the first corner. I understand working through the panic sweat to get what you want.”
“Why wedding photography? Specifically, I mean, for you. It doesn’t feel as if it’s only because it fit the bigger picture of the partnership.”
“No, not just that. Not even that first, I guess. I like taking photographs of people. The faces, the bodies, the expressions, the dynamics. Before we opened Vows I worked in a photography studio. You know the sort where people come for pictures of their kids, or a publicity shot. It paid the bills, but . . .”
“Didn’t satisfy.”
“It really didn’t. I like taking photographs of people in what I think of as moments. The defining moment? That’s the killer, that’s the top of the mountain. But there are lots of other moments. Weddings, the ritual of them and how those inside them tilt and angle the ritual to suit them personally—that’s a big moment.”
Smiling, she lifted her cup with both hands. “Drama, pathos, theater, grief, joy, romance, passion, humor. It’s got it all. And I can give them all that through photographs. Show them the journey of the day—and if I’m lucky, that one defining moment that lifts it out of the ordinary into the unique. Which is the really long way of saying I just like my work.”
“I get that, and what you mean by the moment. The satisfaction of it. It’s like when I can
see even one student’s mind open up and suck in what I’ve been trying to feed them. It makes the hours when it feels like routine all worth it.”
“I probably didn’t give my teachers many of those moments. I just wanted to get through it and out where I could do what I wanted. I never saw them as creative entities. More like wardens. I was a crappy student.”
“You were smart. Which cycles back to teenage obsession. But I’ll just say I noticed you were smart.”
“We didn’t have any classes together. You were a couple years ahead of me, right? Oh, wait! You were student teacher in one of my English classes, weren’t you?”
“Mr. Lowen’s fifth period American Literature. Now please forget I said that.”
“Not a chance. Now, I’m not running away, but I have to go. I have another shoot. Your sister’s engagement portrait, in fact.”
“I didn’t realize you were getting to that so quickly.”
“The doctor has the evening free, so we worked it out. But I need to go, get a sense of their place and the two of them together.”
“I’ll walk you to your car.” He took out bills, tucked the ends under the saucer of his cup.
Before she could shrug into her jacket, he’d taken it to help her into it. He opened the door for her, stepped out with her into the breathless cold.
“I’m a block and a half down,” she told him. “You don’t have to walk me to my car. It’s freezing out here.”
“It’s fine. I walked from my place anyway.”
“You walked?”
“I don’t live that far, so I walked.”
“Right. You like to walk. Since we are,” she said as they walked by cafes, restaurants, “I’ll mention something that got bypassed due to the path our conversation took. Dr. Maguire? You got your PhD?”
“Last year, finally.”
“Finally?”
“Since it was the major focus of my life for about ten years, ‘finally’ works for me. I started thinking thesis when I was an undergraduate.” Which probably made him Mayor Nerd of Nerdville, he supposed. “Are you going to see me again? I know that was a non sequitur but it’s buzzing around in my brain. So if the answer’s no, I’d rather find out.”
She said nothing until they’d reached the car, then studied him as she pulled out her keys. “I bet you have a pen and something to write on. I bet it’s pretty handy.”
He reached under his coat to the inside of his tweed jacket for a small notebook and pen.
With a nod, Mac took them, flipped to a blank page in the book. “This is my personal line, rather than my business line. Why don’t you call me?”
“I can do that. An hour from now’s probably too soon, isn’t it?”
She laughed, put the notebook and pen back in his hand. “You certainly boost my ego, Carter.”
She turned to open her door, but he beat her to it. Touched and amused, she got in, let him close the door behind her. She lowered her window. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Get out of the cold, Carter.”
When she pulled away from the curb, he watched her car until the taillights disappeared. Then he doubled back toward the coffee shop and walked the frigid three blocks beyond it, to home.
THE BRIEF JANUARY BUSINESS LULL GAVE MAC TOO MUCH TIME on her hands. She knew she could use it to organize her files, to update her various web pages. To clean out the embarrassing mess that was her closet, or to catch up on neglected correspondence. She could use it to read a good book, or fat-ass in front of the TV and gorge on DVDs and popcorn.
But she couldn’t settle, and so ended up plopping down on the loveseat in Parker’s office.
“Working,” Parker said without looking up.
“Contact the media! Parker’s working.”
Parker continued to tap her keyboard. “After this quick break, we’re booked solid for months. Months, Mac. This is going to be our best year. Still, we’ve got two weeks wide open in August. I’m thinking about a summer’s-end package, something that appeals to the smaller wedding. The put-it-together quickly style. We could really push that when we have our open house in March if it doesn’t book before.”
“Let’s all go out.”
“Hmm?”
“Let’s go out. All four of us. Emma probably has a date, but we’ll make her break it and destroy some poor guy none of us know. It’ll be fun.”
Parker stopped typing, swiveled her chair a few inches. “Go out where?”
“I don’t care. The movies, a club. Drinking, dancing, whoring. Hell, let’s rent a limo and go to New York and do it right.”
“You want to rent a limo, go to New York for drinking, dancing, and whoring.”
“Okay, we’ll skip the whoring. Let’s just get out of here, Park. Spend a night doing fun stuff.”
“We have two full consults tomorrow, plus our individual sessions.”
“So what?” Mac threw up her hands. “We’re young, we’re resilient. Let’s go to New York and break the hearts and balls of men we’ve never met before and will never see again.”
“I find that idea oddly intriguing. But why? What’s up with you?”
Mac pushed off the love seat, stalked around the room. It was such a pretty office. So Perfectly Parker, she thought. Soft, subtle color. Elegance and class polished over almost brutal efficiency.
“I’m thinking about a guy who’s thinking about me. And thinking about him thinking about me has me all worked up. I don’t actually know if I’m thinking about him because he’s thinking about me, or if I’m thinking about him because he’s cute and funny and sweet and sexy. He wears tweed, Parker.”
She stopped, threw her hands up again. “Grandfathers wear tweed. Old guys in old British movies wear tweed. Why do I find it sexy that he wears tweed? This is a question that haunts me.”
“Carter Maguire.”
“Yes, yes, Carter Maguire.
Doctor Carter Maguire—that’s the PhD type. He drinks tea and talks about Rosalind.”
“Rosalind who?”
“That’s what I said!” Vindicated, Mac spun around. “Shakespeare’s Rosalind.”
“Oh,
As You Like It.”
“Bitch, I should’ve known you’d know that. You should go out with him.”
“Why would I go out with Carter? Besides the fact he’s shown no interest in me.”
“Because you went to Yale. And I know damn well that doesn’t apply, but the fact that I’d say it speaks volumes. I want to go out and get crazy. I
refuse to sit around waiting for him to call. Do you know the last time I lowered myself to waiting for some guy to call me?”
“Let me see, that would be about never.”
“Exactly. I’m not doing this.”
“How long have you waited in this case?”
Mac glanced at her watch. “About eighteen hours. He had a crush on me in high school. What kind of man tells you that? Puts the power in your hands that way? Now I have the power and it’s scaring me. Let’s go to New York.”
Parker swiveled back and forth in her chair. “Going to New York to drink and break the hearts of strange men will solve your current dilemma?”
“Yes.”
“Well, let’s go to New York.” Parker plucked up the phone. “Go get Laurel and Emma on board. I’ll handle the details.”
“Woot!” Mac did a quick dance, rushed over to grab Parker long enough to plant a loud kiss, then raced out of the room.
“Yeah, yeah,” Parker muttered as she speed-dialed the limo company. “We’ll see if you and your hangover dance and sing in the morning.”
IN THE BACK OF THE LONG BLACK LIMO, MAC STRETCHED OUT her legs, highlighted by the short black skirt. She’d kicked off her heels at the start of the two-hour drive to Manhattan. She sipped from her second glass of the champagne Parker had stocked.
“This is so great. I have the best friends ever.”
“Yeah, this is a hardship.” Laurel lifted her own glass. “Riding in a limo, drinking the bubbly, heading to one of the hottest clubs in New York—thanks to Parker’s connections. The sacrifices we make for you, Mackensie.”
“Em broke a date.”
“I didn’t have a date,” Emma corrected. “I had a Maybe We’ll Do Something Tonight.”
“You broke that.”
“I did. You so owe me.”
“And to Parker, for making it all happen. As always.” Mac toasted her friend who sat at the far side of the limo, talking to a client on her cell.
Parker sent her friends a wave of acknowledgment as she continued to pour oil on troubled waters.
“I think we’re almost there. Come on, Park, hang it
up,” Mac said in a stage whisper. “We’re almost there.”
“Breath, makeup, hair,” Emma announced as she flipped out a pocket mirror.
Mini Altoids were passed, lipstick freshened. Four pairs of shoes were slipped onto four pairs of feet.
And Parker finally hung up the phone. “God! Naomi Right’s maid of honor just found out that her boyfriend—the brother and best man of the groom—has been having an affair with his business partner. MOH is on a rampage, as one might expect, and is refusing to serve unless the cheating bastard is banned from the wedding. Bride is frantic and sides with MOH. Groom is pissed, wants to strangle cheating bastard brother, but feels unable to bar his own brother from his wedding, or replace him as best man. Bride and groom are barely speaking.”
“The Right wedding.” Laurel narrowed her eyes. “That’s soon, isn’t it?”
“A week from Saturday. Final guest count is one-ninety-eight. This one’s going to be a headache. I’ve calmed the bride down. Yes, she’s right to be upset, yes, she’s right to support her friend. But to remember the wedding’s about her and her fiance, and what a terrible spot the man she loves is in, through no fault of his own. I’m meeting with them both tomorrow to try to smooth it out.”
“Cheating bastard and cheated-on MOH both attend—much less remain in the wedding party—it’s going to get ugly.”
“Yes.” Parker acknowledged Mac’s observation with a sigh. “But we’ll handle it. It’s just a little bit worse, as the business partner’s on the invite list—and the cheating bastard’s insisting if she’s removed,
he won’t attend.”
“Well, he’s an asshole.” Laurel shrugged. “The groom needs to have a serious come-to-Jesus talk with his brother.”
“Which is also on my list of suggestions for tomorrow’s meeting. But in more diplomatic terms.”
“That’s tomorrow’s business. No business calls during therapeutic drinking, dancing, and heartbreaking.”
Parker didn’t give her word on Mac’s decree, but she did tuck her phone back
