“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.