“Oh, wow. Wow. Would he go for that?” she asked her future mother-in-law.

“He’ll go for anything you want, honey. Personally, I love the idea. We’d want to find vintage dresses, or the vintage style for the bridal party.”

Emma studied the photo when it came to her. Fluid, she thought, Deco-inspired lines, with a sheen that said silk. She lifted her gaze to study Mandy, and decided the new bride would wear the gown as beautifully as her grandmother had. “I can replicate the bouquet,” she said half to herself.

“What?” Mandy cut herself off in midsentence and swung her attention to Emma.

“The bouquet—if you wanted—I can replicate it. Look how clever she was, how smart to offset the long, fluid lines of the gown with the oversized crescent of calla lilies. Do you have the veil and headpiece?”

“Yes.”

“From what I can see, she had it trimmed with lily-of-the-valley. I can do that, if it appeals to you. I just wanted to mention that before Seth comes back. Something you can think about.”

“I love it! Mom?”

“My mother will be a puddle. So will I. I love it, too.”

“We’ll talk about it in more detail when we do our individual consult. Meanwhile, when you select the dresses for the bridesmaids, if you can get pictures then I can get copies made or you can scan them and send them in an e-mail so I can see what kind of flowers she chose for them.”

Emma handed the photo back to Mandy. “You’d better put that away.”

“Mac, why don’t you give Mandy an overview of the photography?”

“First, I want to duplicate the pose in your grandmother’s formal portrait. It’s classic and gorgeous. But tonight, we should talk about what you’d like for your engagement portraits.”

They moved from stage to stage, step to step, with a rhythm they’d developed over the years. As they discussed photography, cakes, food, Emma jotted down key words that would help her create a picture of the bride, the groom, and what they envisioned.

And if her thoughts veered in Jack’s direction a few times, she reminded herself she excelled at multitasking.

By the time she and her partners walked the clients to the door, she was ready to duck out and see if Jack had answered her e-mail.

“Good job,” she said. “I’m going to go home and start a file for the event. So—”

“There’s something else,” Parker interrupted. “When I was at the boutique today, I found Mac’s dress.”

“You what?” Mac blinked at her. “

My dress?”

“I know you, and what you’re looking for. And since it was right there, saying I’m Mac’s, I used our connections and brought it home for approval. Maybe I’m wrong, but I thought at least you’d want to try it on.”

“You brought home a wedding dress for me to try on?” Eyes narrowed, Mac pointed at Parker. “Aren’t you the one who’s always telling brides they might try on a hundred dresses before they find the one?”

“Yes. You’re not most brides. You know immediately what works and what doesn’t. If it doesn’t, no harm done. Why don’t we go take a look? It’s up in the Bride’s Suite.”

“Oh, we have to see.” Thrilled with the idea, Emma grabbed Mac’s hand and tugged. “Wait, we need champagne. Which Parker would have thought of already.”

“Mrs. G will have it up there by now.”

“Champagne and a potential wedding dress?” Mac mused. “What are we waiting for? No hurt feelings if I don’t like it,” she added as they started up the stairs.

“Absolutely not. If you don’t it would only tell me how vastly superior my taste is to yours.” With the faintest of smirks, Parker opened the door to the Bride’s Suite where Mrs. Grady poured flutes of champagne.

“Heard you coming.” And she winked at Parker as Mac simply stared at the gown hanging from the hook.

“It’s beautiful,” Mac murmured. “It’s . . .”

“Strapless, which I think will suit you,” Parker continued. “And the slight A-line will flatter your build. I know you were leaning toward something completely unadorned, but I think you’re wrong. The tissue organza over the silk adds romance, softens the lines. You’re angular. And the back?”

Parker lifted it off the hook, turned it around.

“I love it!” Emma pushed forward. “The ruffle train, out of the organza! It’s fabulous, just a little flirty. Plus the way it should drape over your butt—”

“Will actually give you one,” Laurel finished. “Try it on, or I will.”

“Give me a second, this is a moment. Okay, there’s the moment.” And Mac unhooked her pants. As she stripped down, Emma circled a finger.

“Turn your back to the mirror. You don’t want to see yourself putting it on. You want the pow effect once you’re in it.”

“Dropping your clothes where you stand.” Mrs. Grady shook her head as she scooped them up. “Just as you always have. Well, help her into it,” she ordered, and stood back, smiled.

“Oh. I’m going to cry.” Emma sniffled while Parker fastened the gown in place.

“They didn’t have your size, so it’s a little big.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Mrs. Grady picked up her pin cushion. “We’ll nip and tuck a bit here and there so it shows better on you. It’s a shame you’ve always been such an ugly thing.”

“Insult me, but don’t stick me.”

“That’ll do for now.” Mrs. Grady stepped around to fuss a little with the bodice, then reached up to smooth Mac’s bright red hair. “We have to work with what we’ve got.”

“Count to three, Mac, then turn and look.” Emma pressed both hands to her lips. “Just look at you.”

“Okay.” Mac took in a breath, let it out, then turned toward the cheval glass where she’d watched so many brides study their reflections. The only thing she could say was “Oh!”

“And that says it all.” Laurel blinked at tears. “It’s . . . it. You’re it in it.”

“It’s . . . I’m . . . Holy shit, I’m a bride.” Mac’s fingers fluttered up to her heart as she angled herself. “Oh, check out the back. It’s fun, and female, and I do have an ass.” In the glass, her gaze shifted to Parker’s. “Parks.”

“Am I good or am I good?”

“You’re the best. This is my wedding dress. Aw, Mrs. G.”

Mrs. Grady dabbed her eyes. “I’m just shedding a tear of joy that I won’t have four spinsters on my hands.”

“Flowers in your hair. A wide floral headband instead of a veil,” Emma suggested.

“Really?” Pursing her lips, Mac studied herself, imagined. “That could work. That could work well.”

“I’ll show you some ideas. And you know, I think with the lines of the dress, I’d like to see a long sweep of a bouquet, probably hand tied. Maybe arm-carried.” Emma angled one arm, swept her hand down to demonstrate. “Or a cascade, but with a waterfall effect. Rich, warm autumn colors, and . . . I’m getting ahead of myself.”

“No. God, we’re planning my wedding. I think I need that drink.”

Retrieving Mac’s flute, Laurel stepped to her. “It sure looks better on you than any of our old Wedding Day costumes.”

“Plus, it doesn’t itch.”

“I’m going to make you one hell of a cake.”

“Oh man, I’m watering up again.”

“Turn around, all of you,” Mrs. Grady ordered as she took a camera out of her pocket. “Our redhead’s not the only one who can take a picture. Glasses up. There’s my girls,” she murmured, and captured the moment.


While the ladies drank champagne and discussed wedding flowers, Jack popped a beer and prepared to fleece friends at Texas Hold ’Em.

And tried not to think about Emma and her latest e-mail.

“Since it’s Carter’s first official Poker Night, let’s try not to humiliate him.” Del clapped a friendly hand on Carter’s shoulder. “Taking his money’s one thing, embarrassing him’s another.”

“I’ll be gentle,” Jack promised.

“I could just watch.”

“Now where’s the fun and profit in that. For us?” Del asked.

“Ha,” Carter managed.

They mingled around Del’s lower level. A boy’s dream space, in Jack’s opinion, with its antique bar that had once served pints in Galway, its slate pool table, its flat-screen TV—an auxiliary to the even bigger one in the media room on the other side of the house. It boasted a vintage jukebox, video games, and two classic pinball machines. Leather chairs, sofas that could take a beating. And a Vegas-style poker table just waiting for action.

No wonder he and Del were friends.

“If you were a girl,” Jack said to Del, “I’d marry you.”

“No. You’d just have sex with me then never call me.”

“You’re probably right.”

Since it was there, Jack snagged a slice of pizza. Skinning friends was hungry work. As he ate he considered the group. Two lawyers, the professor, the architect, the surgeon, the landscape designer—and as he watched the last player come through the door—the mechanic.

Interesting group, he thought. It fluctuated from time to time with a new addition, like Carter, or when one of them couldn’t make it. The tradition of Poker Night had begun when he and Del had met in college. The faces might change off and on, but the foundation remained.

Eat, drink, tell lies, talk sports. And try to win money from your friends.

“We’re all here. Want a beer, Mal?” Del asked.

“I’m breathing. How’s it going?” Mal said to Jack.

“Well enough. The new blood’s Carter Maguire. Carter, Malcolm Kavanaugh.”

Mal nodded. “Hey.”

“Nice to meet you. Kavanaugh? The mechanic?”

“Guilty.”

“You towed my future mother-in-law’s car.”

“Yeah? Did she want me to?”

“No. Linda Barrington.”

Mal narrowed his eyes. “Okay. Yeah. The BMW convertible. The 128i.”