“How many numbers have you collected so far?”

Emma carefully applied fresh lip gloss. “I haven’t counted.”

“Approximate?”

“About ten, I guess.”

“And how will you tell them apart later?”

“It’s a gift.” She glanced over. “You’ve got one on the line, I noticed. The guy in the gray shirt. He’s got some moves on the floor.”

“Mitch. Smooth on the floor, great smile. Doesn’t strike me as an ass**le.”

“There you go.”

“I should get the tingles for Mitch,” Mac considered. “But I’m not getting them. Maybe I’ve been detingled. That would be seriously unfair.”

“Maybe you’re not getting them for him because you’ve got them for Carter.”

“You get the tingles for more than one guy at a time.”

“Yes, yes, I do. But I’m me and you’re you. I figure men are there to make me tingle, and if I can do the same for them, everybody’s happy. You’re much more serious about such matters.”

“I’m not serious. That’s a mean thing to say. I’m going out there and dancing with Mitch again, open to tingles. You’ll eat those words, Emmaline. With chocolate sauce.”

It didn’t work. It should have worked, Mac thought as she settled at the bar with Mitch after another dance. The man was great-looking, funny, built, had an interesting job as a travel journalist but didn’t bore her senseless with countless stories about his adventures.

He didn’t get pissy or pushy when she turned down his suggestion they go somewhere more quiet. In the end they exchanged business numbers, and parted ways.

“Forget men.” At two A.M. Mac crawled back into the limo, and sprawled. “I came to have fun with my best pals in the land, and said mission was accomplished. God, do we have any water in here?”

Laurel passed her a bottle, then groaned. “My feet. My feet are screaming like voices of the damned.”

“I had the best time.” Emma slid onto the limo’s side bench and pillowed her head on her hands. “We should do this once a month.”

Parker yawned, but tapped her purse. “I have two new contacts for vendors, and a potential client.”

And so, Mac thought as the limo streamed north, we each define ourselves. She toed off her now very painful shoes, shut her eyes, and slept the rest of the way home.

CHAPTER SIX

IN THE MORNING THE SUN WAS JUST A LITTLE STRONGER THAN it needed to be, in Mac’s estimation. But otherwise, all was well.

See, she told herself. Young and resilient.

In her pajamas she ate a mini Hostess coffee cake with her coffee and watched the birds swoop and dive at the feeder. Ms. Cardinal enjoyed breakfast this morning, too, she noted. Along with her brightly plumed mate, and some unidentified neighbors.

She’d need her zoom lens to get a closer look and identify them. Probably some sort of book or guide, too, as the visual wouldn’t tell her anything unless it was a robin or a blue jay.

Catching herself, she stepped away from the window. What the hell did she care? They were just birds. She wasn’t going to sideline into nature photography or birdography.

Annoyed with herself, she crossed into her studio to check her appointment book and her messages. She had an afternoon appointment with a former Vows bride, now an expectant mother for pregnancy portraits. That, Mac thought, would be fun. And a nice stroke for the ego that her wedding photos had been so well received, the mom-to-be wanted this follow-up.

It gave her the rest of the morning to complete some work already ordered, to take the meeting at the main house, and to review the client’s wedding portrait for ideas on baby-in-waiting.

An hour or so toggled in, either side of the studio shoot for website work, she determined, and that was a good day.

Shifting, she pressed Play on her answering machine, business line. She followed up when necessary, congratulated herself on being a good girl, then checked her personal line.

Three messages in, she got the tingle.

“Damn it,” she said under her breath as Carter’s voice hit her straight in the belly.

“Ah, hi. It’s Carter. I wonder if you might want to go out to dinner, or maybe the movies. Maybe you like plays better than movies. I should’ve looked up what might be available before I called. I didn’t think of it. Or we could just have coffee again if you want to do that. Or . . . I’m not articulate on these things. I can’t use a tape recorder either. And why would you care? If you’re at all interested in any of the above, please feel free to call me. Thanks. Um. Good-bye.”

“Damn you, Carter Maguire, for your insanely cute quotient. You should be annoying. Why aren’t I annoyed? Oh God, I’m going to call you back. I know I’m going to call you back. I’m in such trouble.”

Calculating, she decided the odds were strong in her favor that he’d already left for work. She preferred the idea of talking to his answering machine in turn.

When his clicked on she relaxed. Unlike Carter, she was articulate on answering machines. “Carter, Mac. I might like to go out to dinner, or the movies, possibly a play. I have no objection to coffee. How about Friday, as it’s not a school night? Pick the activity and let me know.

“Tag, you’re it.”

See, it doesn’t have to be serious, she reminded herself. I can set the tone. Just having some fun with a perfectly nice guy.

Satisfied, she decided to indulge by working the first hour of her day in her pjs. Nicely on schedule, she dressed and took the consult at the main house, breezed back to her own with time to spare before her shoot.

Her message light blinked at her.

“Uh, it’s Carter again. Is this annoying? I hope it’s not annoying. I happened to check my messages at home on my lunch break. Actually, I made a point to check them in case you called me back. Which you did. I’m afraid I have a faculty dinner to attend Friday. I’d invite you but if you accepted and attended, you’d never go out with me again. I’d rather not risk it. If another night would do, even—ha ha—a school night, I’d like very much to take you out. If you’d like that, maybe we could do dinner and a movie. Is that too much? It’s probably too much. I’m confusing myself. I’d like to add, though it may not seem possible, I have asked women out before.