The cupcakes momentarily forgotten, I unearthed my laptop and powered it up, crossing my fingers that Violet’s was open on Sunday. It wasn’t. My search was going to have to wait until Monday. I was going to have to sneak off to search for a magical key on the same day I hoped to be promoted to manager. Perfect.

As I turned back to the morning’s cupcake distraction, I was conscious of the fact that I should call Beck. I knew she was waiting to hear from me, and I had plenty to tell her. But while I was confident she’d forgive me for rousing her so early on a Sunday, I didn’t really want to go into the whole business right now. I’d call her eventually ... or she’d call me.

I was assembling the cupcakes, my hands coated with gooey macaroon mixture, when the phone rang again. Of course it was Beck, a.k.a. Karma.

“Hey,” I answered, the phone jammed between my ear and shoulder.

“Hey! What are you up to today? Wanna meet up?”

“Um, sure,” I blurted, thinking fast. If I invited her to brunch, I’d only have to rehash the wedding details a single time. “How about brunch? I’m already meeting Gabe, and he’s as avidly curious about my one-night solo social whirl as you are.”

“Okay, sure,” she enthused.

“One thing, though—he doesn’t know about the journal.”

“So you want me to keep Fairy Jane on the down-low?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Not a problem. As long as you promise to fill me in later.”

“I’ll do you one better. I’m meeting Gabe at Moonshine downtown at noon. Meet me there ten minutes early, and I’ll catch you up.”

“Gotcha.”

With my afternoon satisfactorily arranged, I hung up the phone and returned to the task of forming little coconut caps on the cooled, ganached cupcakes, easily sliding into the unruffled calm that comes from mindless repetition. It didn’t even occur to me to call Gabe to see if he minded a third.


Beck made an entrance in a swirly red miniskirt and turquoise sweater, her hair pulled back in a sparkly barrette, causing me, in my jeans and nubby sweater, to feel just the slightest bit drab. Squelching that feeling, I waved from the bench seat beside the hostess station, and she hurried over, all giddy anticipation. She dropped a hug around my shoulders and then sat back, clearly ready to get right to it.

“So? Spill it, chick. Did you call the dude in Fredericksburg?” Seeing my nod, she continued, “Tell me about that first. Then the wedding, then whatever else you got.”

“Fine, but as soon as Gabe shows up, we’re nixing all journal-related conversation and sticking with the wedding replay, okay?”

“Got it.”

I relayed the general gist of my conversation with Elijah Nelson amid a great deal of gasps and the occasional wild-eyed comment: “Shit! There’s a key? Wow—and she never came back? Un-freakin’-believable.” When I finally finished, she seemed confused. “And you didn’t go back in to look for the key?” Her tone was distinctly accusatory.

“I waited to call him until this morning,” I said, speaking slowly. “And it turns out they’re closed on Sundays. Finding a matching key amid all that clutter seems like kind of a long shot, though. Unless the Nazi knows where it is and is willing to say.” I raised my eyebrows to indicate my level of confidence in that turn of events.

“I don’t know how you stand it. The suspense is killing me. Don’t you wish life could be like the movies, all action without the filler?”

“Um, no. I’m a big fan of the filler.” She cut her eyes over to me, clearly wondering if I could possibly be serious.

“What’s your Plan B, if the key doesn’t want to be found?” she said.

My eyebrows crinkled down in reaction to the ongoing LOTR analogy and I said, “A lot of the same: floundering around without a clue, hoping things start making sense on their own. But I’m not holding my breath.”

Leveling me with a hard stare, she seemed to have no better alternative. “We’ll deal with that later. Tell me about the wedding,” she insisted, edging closer on the bench.

It was quite the novelty to realize that for once I wasn’t the one living vicariously—I was the one with the exciting life. Or at least the exciting night. And already that one night was more than I could handle.

“So did it all come true? Did you meet him?”

“You don’t want to know about the cake?” I teased.

She shot me a dangerous “very funny, but get serious” look and I straightened up quickly.

“Would you believe that they had the ceremony outside, under the trees, at dusk? It’s March, for God’s sakes, and freezing!”

Glancing pointedly at her watch, Beck warned, “Time’s a-tickin’, girl. Start with him, and go from there.”

“Okay. Well, I definitely met him.” Lust shimmied up my spine just remembering, and I could feel my lips beginning to curl up.

“And?” Beck’s lips parted slightly in anticipation.

“And I had a very nice night,” I admitted, my smile fully in place now. “But I definitely don’t trust the journal’s ability to make sensible decisions.”

Beck’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “Kinda seems like you skipped all the good stuff, Nic.”

“Just wanted to make that clear.”

“Okay, let’s put him on hold for a minute. What happened? What’d Fairy Jane say now?”

“That ... fairy ... is a menace! The latest leftover was ‘change of Plan—pencil him in,’ but that’s only part of it.”

“I assume that ‘him’ is him, who, I might add, I’ve yet to hear anything about?” Her eyebrows crinkled down in annoyance.

“Seems pretty damn likely.”

“Him who?” said a familiar voice a few feet in front of us.

Naturally it was Gabe, dressy casual in dark denim and a sharp-looking green polo, his hair gelled up into some sort of style. He reminded me of a blade of grass nudging his way in.

“No one important,” I quipped, shooing the moment away and earning a smirk from Beck. Gabe and Beck had met previously but had had little time to get to know each other, as Beck’s hours at Micro were a little sporadic. I refreshed the introductions, gesturing first to Beck. “Rebecca Connelly—Beck for short—intern extraordinaire and über-hip chick, meet,” and then over to Gabe, “Gabe Vogler, longtime coworker, self-professed geek, and all-around good guy.”

With the introductions finished, I stood to catch the hostess’s eye. When I turned back, Gabe was staring, quite possibly hypnotized as I’d once been, by the winking, blinking pink stud in Beck’s nose. I snapped my fingers quick and hard as near his face as I dared, and Gabe whipped his head around in my direction, his eyes dark and distracted. I glanced at Beck, smudging her lips together, eyeing Gabe in all his nerdiness, and I couldn’t help but wonder if my one wild night had already become old news. Not a problem.

Further conversation was put off until we were seated, Beck and I sitting on one side of the booth sipping Moonshine mimosas (both ordered by my just-barely-legal mentee) and Gabe on the other, sticking with iced tea.

“UT engineering, huh? What year?” Gabe asked, cautiously curious.

“Junior,” Beck answered with a nod and a dimpled smile.

Judging by the tiny movements of Gabe’s lips, I assumed he was doing the math, calculating that Beck was a good five years his junior. Evidently he wasn’t spooked by the nose stud or the magenta hair—good for him. I smiled at him and kept one eyebrow raised, waiting for the numbers to click. When they did, he flicked a quick glance at me before determinedly turning his attention back to Beck.

“So how goes the mentoring?”

“I’m gonna let Beck answer that,” I said, sliding out of the booth, heading for the buffet, and crossing my fingers that Beck could dodge the question.

The booth was empty when I got back, toting a syrup-doused waffle topped with strawberries and pecans. I glanced toward the buffet line to see Gabe leaning down to speak into Beck’s ear, her shocking pink hair skimming the edge of his face. She looked up at him, her face glowing. It would definitely be interesting to see how this played out.

Once we were all settled back at the table, it was only a few bites before Gabe remembered what we’d arranged to discuss.

“So how was the wedding last night?” he asked, forking up a bite of chicken fried steak and letting his eyes stray to Beck, who was concentrating rather intently on buttering her cranberry orange muffin. I made a note to snag one of those on my next trip to the buffet.

“I left early.”

“That can’t be the best you can do,” Gabe insisted. Beck’s thigh bumped up against mine in an obvious I-told-you-so.

I bumped her right back, resisting the urge to turn and glare. Then I took a deep breath and launched right into things.

“I did meet a guy—a stranger,” I added, preempting Gabe. “We talked, we danced, we had cake. Then he walked me out, he kissed me on the cheek, and that was that.” It seemed a shame to encapsulate the evening like that, but also very sensible, all things considered.

“Did you give him your number?” The question came out slightly muffled, having dodged Beck’s mouthful of muffin.

“Not exactly.”

Suddenly it was a two-flanked stare-down as both Gabe and Beck stopped chewing to gaze at me, wide-eyed.

“What does that mean?” I imagined this was a joint question, but it was Beck who voiced it.

“He invited me out Thursday night, I said okay, we said good-bye.”

“But no phone number?” Gabe fired this one, and it occurred to me that I was being tag-teamed.