Warming up now, Mac noted as she chatted Rosa up along with Emma. She tossed in quick directions. Tilt your head to the right, shift your shoulders. Halfway through she handed Rosa one of Emma’s long-stems, tried shots with the flower as a prop.

She got a full roll of what she considered very nice, very ordinary pregnant woman shots.

“Let’s try something else. A different angle, a different top.”

“Oh, I didn’t bring another top.”

“I’ve got something.”

Rosa patted her mound. “You couldn’t possibly have anything that would fit me.”

“It’s not about fit. Trust me.” Mac pulled a plain white man’s shirt out of the prop room. “We’re going to leave it unbuttoned.”

“But—”

“The contrast of the sharp lines of the shirt against the round curve of your belly. Trust me. And if you don’t like the look, no harm.”

“Oh, that’ll be fun.” Emma poured out enthusiasm. “Baby bumps are so cute.”

“I’m at thirty-eight weeks. The bump is Mount Everest.”

“It’s a beautiful shape,” Mac told her. “And you have great skin. The tone, the texture.”

“It’s just us girls,” Emma reminded her. “I’d love to see how it looks. The lighting’s so pretty, so flattering.”

“Well, maybe. But I’m just going to look fat.” Reluctantly, Rosa pulled off the sweater.

“I want one!” Emma exclaimed, and stroked a hand lightly over the baby. “Sorry. But it’s just . . . magnetic. It’s us, you know? We’re the only ones who can do it.”

“Celebrating the female.” Mac slipped the shirt on Rosa, fussed with the lines, turned up the cuffs a couple of times. “Let’s let your hair down. Contrast again, and it’s more womanly. I’m going to add a little more gloss to your lips, okay? So they read a little deeper.”

Flustered now, Mac thought as she worked. But that was all right. She could use that. “More a three-quarter angle for this, shoulder more forward. Good! Maybe cup your hands under your belly. Very pretty. I just need to adjust the light.”

“Are you sure I don’t look stupid? Sloppy? I feel like a cow who’s gone way past milking time.”

“Rosa.” Emma sighed. “You look sexy.”

Mac captured the surprise, the pleasure—and finally, the pride. “Big smile, okay. Straight at me. I mean, jeez, look what you did! That’s good. Okay? Need a break?”

“No, I’m fine. I just feel a little silly, I guess.”

“You don’t look silly, trust me. Emma, dress the sleeve a little, right side. See where it’s—perfect,” she said when Emma stepped over and adjusted. “Now, Rosa, turn a little more toward me. Little more. There. Hands on the sides of your belly. Good.”

She could see it coming together as she shot. See the moment, the magic. Nearly there, she thought. “I want you to look down, but lift your eyes—just your eyes to me. Look at the secret you have, the power. Think, for just a minute, how that secret got in there. Pow! Rosa, you’re fabulous.”

“I wish I’d worn a nicer bra.”

With that door cracked open, Mac lowered her camera. “Take it off.”

“Mackensie!” Rosa released a horrified giggle.

“We’re going to try a figure study. You’re going to love it.” Voice brisk, Mac gestured. “Sit down, relax, rest a minute. I need to set up.”

“What does she mean, figure study? Is that naked?”

“I guess we’ll find out.” Emma took Rosa’s arm. “Come on and sit. We might as well see what she’s up to. Mac!” Emma called when the phone rang. “Should I get that?”

“No!” Mac rushed out, carrying a low stool. “It might be . . . I’ve got this game going on.” She set her stool on the mark, began to drape it with another ivory sheet as Carter’s voice came on.

“I imagine you can guess who this is. Saturday, starting with dinner and then, well . . . hmm. Seven o’clock. So that’s good. That’s great. I, ah, don’t know if there’s anything you particularly like to eat—or really hate, for that matter. You’d have mentioned if you were a vegan, right? I think you’d have brought that up. And I’m overthinking this again. So, I guess this concludes our game of tag. I’ll see you Saturday. Unless you need to call me about . . . I’m shutting up now. Bye.”

“He sounds so cute.” Rosa turned back to where Mac refined the drape of the sheet.

“Yes, he does.”

“A first date?”

“Technically the second. Or possibly, unofficially, a third. It’s very unclear. Rosa, there’s another sheet in the bathroom. I want you to go in, take your clothes off. You can wrap yourself in the sheet if you’re shy. But from what I hear labor and delivery dispenses with all modesty. So, this should be a breeze.”

“I can’t do a nude, Mac. It’s just not . . . What would I do with it?”

“You can decide that after I’m done, but I promise it’s not going to be embarrassing or suggestive. It’s just the next step in the theme. It’s about what you are, Rosa, what’s inside you.”

“I just don’t know if I can—”

“It’s about the journey you’re on, and the knowledge of it. It’s the life, and the light in you. And the love.”

“Oh.” Rosa’s eyes went damp as she crossed her hands over her belly. “I guess I could, at least, try it. You’ll delete the pictures if I’m not comfortable with them?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, all right. I have to pee anyway.”

“Take your time.”

Emma waited until Rosa went inside the bathroom and shut the door. “You are good, Elliot. You are damn good.”

“Yes, yes, I am.”

“And a Saturday night date.”

“Apparently. Am I out of my mind, Emma, for starting this up?”

“It’s already started up, honey. And I’d say you’d be out of your mind not to see where it ends up. I wish I could stay and see the rest of the shoot, but I have to get back.”

“I’ll show you the prints.”