She set the plate down. “There’s white chocolate.”

“So I see.” Silently, Parker studied her friend’s face. Even if she hadn’t known Mac nearly all of her life, she’d have seen the signs of a recent crying jag.

“You’re just going to come in here and say you’re sorry after I did all this work so we could fight it out and I could make you crawl?”

“Yes.”

Considering, Parker picked up a white chocolate heart. “I assume you’ve already been through this with Laurel.”

“Yes. Hence the chocolate. I blubbered all over her. I got most of it out, but if you don’t eat that so I know we’re okay, I’m going to start up again. It’s like a symbol. Men shake hands after they beat each other up. We eat chocolate.”

With her eyes on Mac, Parker bit into the heart.

“Thanks, Parker.” Mac dropped into a chair. “I feel like such an idiot.”

“That helps. Let’s just clear the air. If you’ve got a problem with how I’m managing Vows, we have to be able to discuss it, one-on-one or as a group.”

“I don’t. Parks, how could I? How could any of us? Sure the repetition gets old sometimes, but we all know the reason for it. Just like we all know that you hammering out and handling a zillion details frees the rest of us up to focus on our specific parts of the whole. I can do what I do—and the same for Em and Laurel—because you think about everything else. Including thinking about everything the rest of us do so we can all kick wedding ass.”

“I didn’t bring it up so you could stroke my ego.” Parker took another bite of chocolate. “But do go on.”

And we’re back, Mac thought with a laugh. “It’s a fact. You’re anal, obsessive, and a little bit scary with the memory you have for minutiae. And it’s a fact that’s a big part of the reason we kick that ass. I don’t want to do what you do, Parks. None of us do. And because I opened the box of stupid and put my ass hat on, I hit you where I knew it would hurt most.”

Mac glanced at the files. “You put reports together, didn’t you? Documentation, cost analyses and other really mean stuff.”

“I was prepared to squash you like a bug.”

Mac nodded, chose a dark chocolate heart. “Eating candy’s better.”

“It really is.”

“So . . . how did the tour go?”

“They brought their mothers, and an aunt. And a toddler.”

“A toddler?”

“The aunt’s granddaughter. She was cute—and really, really fast on her feet. They toured Felfoot Manor yesterday, and the Swan Resort last week.”

“Hitting the big ones. How’d we measure up?”

“They want a Saturday in April of next year. An entire Saturday.”

“We got it? On a tour and a pitch? A double booking?”

“No booty dance yet.” Parker lifted her water bottle and sipped. “MOB—the one with the gorgeous Prada bag on her arm with the checkbook inside it—wants to meet with all of us. Full consult before commitment. She’s got ideas.”

“Oh-oh.”

“No, she’s got

ideas, the sort that would make this a major event. The kind of event that generates serious attention. Father of the bride is Wyatt Seaman, of Seaman Furniture.”

“The ‘We make your house your home’ Seaman Furniture?”

“The same, and his wife has deemed us potentially worthy. Not capital

W worthy, yet. But we’re going to give her the presentation to end all presentations.”

Challenge lit Parker’s face, fired in her eyes. “After which, she’ll be taking her checkbook out of that gorgeous Prada bag and giving us a deposit that’ll have our hearts singing hallelujahs.”

“Then we dance.”

“Then we dance.”

“When’s the presentation?”

“A week from today. You’ll need new packages. We want it very fresh. They took a look at Emma’s space, and she did a quick pitch. Since you were wearing the ass hat, I steered them clear of the studio.”

“Very wise.”

“But we had your samples here, so we could give her the feel. Next Monday, we’ll want to highlight every shot you’ve had in a magazine. And . . . you know exactly what to do.”

“And I’ll do it.”

Parker pushed over a file. “Here’s a rundown of who we’ll be dealing with. I did some Googling. And here’s bullet points and the latest schedules for the three upcomings.”

“I’ll cram.”

“Do that.” Parker passed Mac a bottle of water. “Now tell me what happened.”

“Just Lindaitis, again. Fever’s broke, and I’m fine.”

“She couldn’t have wanted money. You just . . .” Parker trailed off as she read Mac’s expression.

“Already?”

“I said no—repeatedly. Then Del hung up on her.”

“That’s my brother.” The pride came through. “I’m glad he was there when she called. Still, Del could probably do more than hang up on her. Something legal. It may be time for that, Mac.”

Mac brooded into the fire. “Could you do that, if it was your mother?”

“I don’t know. But I think I probably could. I’m meaner than you.”

“I’m pretty mean.”

“I’m mean, Laurel’s hard-assed, Emma’s a pushover. And you fall between Laurel and Em. We run the gamut,” Parker said, closing her hand over Mac’s. “It’s why we work so well as a team. Why did you tell Del not to tell me?”

“How do you know I told him not to tell you?”

“Because otherwise he would have.”

Mac blew out a breath. “I didn’t want to suck you guys into the Linda vortex. Then I sulked and brooded, woke up Bitch Queen, and ended up sucking you in anyway.”

“Next time avoid the middle part and remember we’re always willing to get sucked in.”

“Got it. Now before I go back to earning a living and being a productive member of the team, I have a question. Would you sleep with Carter Maguire?”

“Well, he hasn’t asked me. Will he be buying me dinner first?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. He can’t expect me to hop into bed with him without even springing for a meal. But if we were talking about you,” she said, gesturing with the water, “I’d have to ask if you find him attractive, sexually.”

“You can’t just sleep with every guy you find sexually attractive. Even if dinner’s included.”

“True, we’d never get anything else done. Obviously you like him, and you’re thinking about him, spending time with him—and considering having sex with him.”

“I’ve had sex before.”

Parker gave up and ate the other white chocolate heart. “I’ve heard that.”

“I don’t know why I’m so hung up on this one issue when it comes to Carter. I should deal with it. I should just have sex with him, get it done, and move on.”

“You’re a romantic fool, Mackensie. Stars always blinding your eyes.”

“It’s what I get for being in the wedding business.”

IT WASN’T OUT OF HER WAY, EXACTLY, TO DRIVE BY THE ACADEMY en route to the next client. In any case she had a little time to kill before her appointment. In any

any case, she hadn’t returned Carter’s call, which was rude, so what was the harm in doing a quick drop by?

He’d be in class, she supposed. She’d take a quick peek—check

that out, then leave him a note at the front office. She’d think of something amusing and breezy, thereby putting the ball they kept batting around back in his court.

Had it been this quiet in the corridors back in the days she’d gone here? Had the air been this echoey, shooting her footsteps off like gunfire?

The stairs she climbed were the same she’d climbed a dozen years before. A lifetime before. So long before she couldn’t quite picture herself as she’d been, only a vague image, like a print that had been softened to a blur.

It seemed she walked with a ghost of herself, one full of potential and possibility.

One who was fearless.

Where had that girl gone?

Mac walked to the classroom door, peeked in the porthole window. The pensive mood vanished.

He wore the tweed jacket again, with a shirt, tie, and V-necked sweater under it. Thank God he wasn’t wearing his glasses or she’d have been a gooey puddle of lust on the floor.

He leaned back against his desk, a half smile on his face and his attention centered on a student who—if the expression on her face and her gestures were any indication—spoke passionately.

She watched him nod, speak, then shift his attention—all of it—to another student.

He’s in love, she realized. In love with the moment, and all the moments that made up what happened in that room. He was so completely there. Did they know it? she wondered. Did those kids understand they had all of him?

Did they know, could they know—the young and fearless—what a miraculous thing it was to have all of anyone?

She jolted when the bell rang, pressed a hand to her heart when it thumped in surprise. Chairs scraped, bodies sprang into motion. Mac barely skipped out of the way before the door slammed open.

“Read act three for tomorrow, and be prepared to discuss. That goes for you, too, Grant.”

“Aw, come on, Dr. Maguire.”

She stayed out of the way of the stampede, but managed to angle herself to see three students stop at his desk. He didn’t rush them away, then—God help her—he put his glasses on to check a paper one of them handed him.

Mackensie, she thought as her hormones twanged, you are toast.

“You made some good points today, Marcie. Let’s see if we can expand on them tomorrow when we discuss the third act. I’ll be . . .”

Mac watched him glance over as she moved into the doorway. Watched him blink, then take off his glasses to bring her into focus. “I’ll be interested in your take.”

“Thanks, Dr. Maguire. See you tomorrow.”

As the classroom emptied, as the corridors filled with noise, Carter set his glasses down. “Mackensie.”