By Wednesday, she actively entertained the thought of reporting her car stolen. But then she’d just have to bail her mother out of jail.

So she went over to the main house to mooch breakfast.

“Parker’s on an emergency house call. Saturday’s bride woke up with a zit or something. Emma’s waiting on an early delivery, so it’s just you and me.”

“Does that mean there won’t be pancakes?”

“I don’t have time for pancakes—and God, I wish Mrs. G would shake off the island sand and get home. I’ve got to make foliage and flowers. Have a muffin.”

“Did Parker have any idea when she’d get back?”

Laurel glanced up, stopped rolling out her flower paste. “Your car’s not back?”

“Both it and Linda are MIA. I’ve left a dozen messages. Her ears are going to bleed and fall off when she gets them. I threatened to report it stolen.”

“Do it. There’s the phone.”

“I’ll probably be arrested for sheer stupidity for giving her the keys. I’m going to go by her place. I have another shoot, and I need to pick up some custom paper that wasn’t ready Monday. And I think I want some shoes.”

“Haven’t heard from Carter?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you’re going to buy shoes, which is comfort food for you. Have you called him?”

“To say what? I’m sorry? I already said that. I was wrong? I was, I know I was wrong, but it doesn’t change what I feel.”

“Which is?”

“Confused, afraid, stupid. Double all of that because I miss seeing him,” she admitted. “I miss talking to him. So I think it’s better if I don’t see him or talk to him.”

“Your logic doesn’t resemble the logic of humans.”

“He probably doesn’t want to see or talk to me anyway.”

“Coward.”

“Maybe. I’m a coward without a car.” She waited in silence while Laurel rolled out her paste. “You could lend me yours.”

“I could. But that would be enabling, which is what you continue to do with Linda. I love you too much to do that.”

“It’s not enabling. It’s business. I could cram my equipment into her ridiculous little toy, but funny, she left the car and not the keys. It’s not the client’s fault I caved or she’s so self-centered she hasn’t brought it back.”

“No, it’s not.” With care, Laurel used a template and began cutting out the first flowers.

“I’m so pissed off. I admit the pissed off portion helps balance out the sheer misery of the Carter situation, but at this point I’d rather be miserable about him and have my wheels. Why does she

do this? And don’t say because I let her. I swear, and I’ll swear it in blood, I had no intention of lending her the damn car. I never would’ve put myself in this position again if it hadn’t been for those exact circumstances.”

“I’d like to believe that, but here you are, Mac, paying the price as usual. While as usual she pays nothing. No consequences for Linda. She’ll bring your car back when she’s damn good and ready. You’ll confront her, bitch, complain. She’ll pull out all her usual crap. Then she’ll forget the whole thing because she’ll have gotten and done what she wanted, and topped it off by being the center of your world while you bitch and complain.”

“What am I supposed to do? Beat her to death with my tripod?”

“I’ll help you hide the body.”

“You would.” Mac sighed. “You’re a true friend. I’m not a coward or a pushover about most things.”

“No, you’re not. Anything but. I guess that’s why it irritates me down to the marrow when you are. When she causes you to be both. Make her pay for once, Mackensie. I bet once you do, the next time will come easier.”

“How? Believe me when I say I want to. I can’t actually call the cops. I gave her the damn keys. And maybe I think—know,” she corrected, “it was passive-aggressive bullshit that she didn’t leave me hers, it still . . .”

“I like that look. That is not the look of cowardly pushover. What?”

“She left her car.”

“Oh, oh, we’re going to smash the toy. I’ll get my coat and Del’s old baseball bat.”

“No. God, you’re a violent soul.”

“I like smashing. It’s therapeutic.”

“We’re not going to beat up the car. It’s an innocent bystander in this. But I am going to have it towed.”

“That’s not bad, but having it towed to her house just means she doesn’t have to bother to come get it.”

“Not to her house.” Mac’s eyes narrowed as she thought it through. “Remember a few months ago, that guy rear-ended Del’s new car. It had to be towed. The guy, the mechanic guy who took care of all that. He’s got the tow truck, the garage, the lot. Damn it, what’s the name? Where is Parker with her magic business cards?”

“Call Del. He’ll remember. And let me just say this is why we’re friends. When you get your teeth into it, Mac, you’re beautiful.”

“So lend me your car.”

“Make the calls, and it’s yours.”

SHE FELT RIGHTEOUS. SHE FELT STRONG. BY THE TIME SHE’D completed her shoot, run her errands, stopped off to buy more twenty-gauge wire for Laurel, she decided she deserved new shoes. Maybe, considering the trauma and triumph of the last few weeks, she deserved new earrings, too.

Earrings for Linda, she decided. Shoes for Carter. Celebration and commiseration.

Maybe she’d go by his place on the way home. While she was feeling strong and righteous. They were two smart people who cared about each other. Surely they could find a compromise, some middle ground, some solution.

She didn’t want to lose him, she thought. She didn’t want to go through her life Carter-less.

She wandered through the mall until she hit the Holy Grail. The shoe department at Nordstrom.

Maybe she needed new boots, too. You could never really have too many boots. New shoes

and new boots would give her that firm sense of self-reliance she needed to go to Carter’s. She could pick up a bottle of wine, like a peace offering. And they’d talk, and he’d look at her that way he looked at her. And . . . that would be pulling a Linda, she decided, as she had Laurel’s car.

But she could still go by, still take the wine. She could ask him to dinner at her place. It could be a kind of joke, an icebreaker. Hey, I brought you this wine. Why don’t you come over for dinner later tonight and bring this with you? Of course then she’d have to stop off and buy something to fix. Or she could just raid Mrs. G’s supply.

No, no, she thought as she picked up a pair of electric blue ankle boots that sang her name. She had to

cook. Had to show him he mattered enough for her to make the effort. He mattered. It all mattered.

Which was why she was so screwed up over it in the first place.

“It’s . . . Meredith, isn’t it?”

Mac turned, glanced at a vaguely familiar blonde. “No, sorry.”

“But aren’t you the wedding photographer?”

“Yes. It’s Mackensie.”

“Of course! Sorry. I’m Stephanie Gorden. I met you at my cousin’s wedding last Saturday.”

“Oh, right. How are you?”

“Surrounded by shoes. I’m great. What fabulous boots! Corrine and I are playing hooky this afternoon. Corrine! Come over and meet Mackensie.”

Oh God, Mac thought. How could fate hand her fabulous boots and a kick in the ass at the same time?

“Corrine, this is Mackensie. She’s a wedding photographer, and a

very good friend of Carter’s.”

“Oh?”

And Corrine was perfect, Mac thought. So make that a kick in the ass along with a slap in the face. She glided over in exquisite red peep-toe pumps with her glossy dark hair spilling in romantic curls to her shoulders. Eyes, deep and sultry, scanned Mac as her soft, shapely lips curved in a cool smile.

“Hello.”

“Hi. Great shoes.”

“Yes. I think they’re going to be mine.”

Even her voice was perfect, Mac thought bitterly. Low and just a little throaty.

“So, you know Carter Maguire.”

“Yes. We went to high school together. For a while.”

“Really?” Absently, Corrine picked up a pair of kitten-heel slides. “He never mentioned you. We were involved for quite some time.”

“Corrine and Carter,” Stephanie said cheerfully. “It was practically one word. It’s so funny running into you like this. I was just telling Corrine I’d heard Carter was seeing someone, and that I’d seen you together at Brent’s wedding.”

“Funny.”

“And how is Carter?” Corrine asked, as she set the slides back down. “Still buried in his books?”

“He seems to have time to come up for air.”

“Haven’t been seeing him very long, have you?”

“Long enough, thanks.”

“You two should compare notes.” Stephanie gave Corrine a friendly hip bump. “Corrine could give you a lot of pointers where Carter’s concerned, Mackensie.”

“Wouldn’t that be fun? But, I like the discovery. Carter’s a fascinating and exciting man, entirely too much of one for notes. Excuse me. I see a pair of slingbacks with my name on them.”

As Mac aimed for the other side of the department, Stephanie arched her eyebrows. “Exciting? Carter? He must’ve evolved since you dumped him, Cor. I have to say, he did look on the hot side when I saw him Saturday. Maybe you should’ve hung on there a bit longer.”

“Who says I can’t have him back if I want him?” She looked down at the pumps. “In fact, I may take my new shoes on a little visit.”

Stephanie snickered. “You’re a bad girl.”

“What I am, is bored.” She frowned over at Mac. She thought

she should be the one to have those boots. They’d certainly look better on her than some skinny, orange-headed tight ass. “Besides, why should she have Carter? I saw him first.”

“I thought Carter bored you.”

“That was before.” On a long sigh, Corrine sat, scanned the small mountain of shoes she was considering. “The trouble with you, Steph, is you’re married. You’ve forgotten the thrill of the hunt, the competition. The score.”

She slipped off the pumps, slipped on a pair of spikeheeled sandals in metallic pink. “Men are like shoes. You’re supposed to try them on, wear them awhile—as long as they look good on you. Then toss them in the closet and shop for more.”

She stood, angled to study the results in the mirror. “And every now and then, you pluck something out of the closet, try them on again and see how they look.”

She glanced over, scowled when she saw Mac trying on the blue boots. “The one thing you don’t do is let somebody else go rooting around in your closet.”

ROUTINE, CARTER THOUGHT, HAD ITS PURPOSE. IT GOT THINGS done, offered a certain comfort and kept hands and mind occupied. He hung up his coat, went to his home office to lay his evening’s work on the desk. He checked his messages.

There was a pang when Mac’s voice failed to breeze into the room, but that was routine, too.

Parker had advised a little time and space. He’d give Mac more time. Another day or two.

He could wait. He was good at waiting. And more than anything, he realized, he wanted her to come to him.

He went downstairs to feed the cat and make himself some tea. At the counter, he drank the tea while he went through the day’s mail.

And he wondered if his life could be any more ordinary, any more staid. Would he find himself in this same loop—read rut—in another year? God, in another decade?

He’d been comfortable enough before Mackensie had reentered his life.

“It’s not as if I’d planned to be alone forever,” he said to the cat. “But there was plenty of time, wasn’t there? Time to enjoy a certain routine, time to enjoy my home, my work, the freedom that comes from being single. I’m barely thirty, for God’s sake.

“And I’m talking to a cat, which is not how I want to spend my evenings for the rest of my life. No offense. But no one wants to merely settle. To be with someone because being alone’s the only other option. Love’s not some amorphous concept created for books and poetry and not attainable. It’s real and vital, and it’s

necessary. Damn it. It changes things. Everything. I can’t be what I was before I loved her. It’s ridiculous for anyone to expect that.”

Having finished his meal, the cat sat, gave Carter a long stare, then began to wash.

“Well, she’s not as reasonable as you. I’ll tell you something else while we’re on the subject. I’m good for her. I’m exactly what she needs. I understand her. All right, no, I don’t. I take that back. But I know her, which is a different thing altogether. And I know I can make her happy once she gets over being too pigheaded to admit it.”