Vision in White (Bride Quartet #1)(36)

Following, there were several suggestions for greetings or initial conversation points such as You look beautiful, Great dress, I saw these (flowers) and thought of you.

Carter stuffed the list back in his pocket before any of them imprinted on his brain. But not before he'd noted Bob's decree to tune the car radio to classic lite or smooth jazz, on low volume.

He might end up killing Bob, Carter mused.

He drove the next few miles while obsessing about background music before snapping off the radio. The hell with it. He turned into the long, winding drive of the estate.

"What if she's not wearing a dress," he muttered, as despite all efforts Bob's list popped back into his mind. And unfortunately, his own question had the image of Mac in black pants and white bra crowding Bob out.

"I don't mean that. For God's sake. I mean, she might be wearing something other than a dress. What do I say then: Nice pants? Outfit, outfit, great outfit. You know it's called an outfit. Dear God, shut up."

He rounded the main house and followed the narrowing drive to Mac's.

The lights were on, up and down, so the entire place glowed. Through the generous windows of the first floor he could see her studio, the light stands, a dark blue curtain held up with big, silver clips. In front of the curtain stood a small table and two chairs. Wineglasses glinted on the table.

Did that mean she wanted to have drinks first? He hadn't allowed time for drinks. Should he move the reservation? He got out of the car, started down her walk. Went back to the car to get the flowers he'd left on the passenger seat.

He wished the evening was over. He really did. With a sick feeling in his gut he had to force his hand up to knock. He wanted it to be tomorrow morning, a quiet Sunday morning. He'd grade papers, read, take a walk. Get back to his comfortable routine.

Then she opened the door.

He didn't know what she was wearing. All he saw was her face. It had always been her face-that smooth milk skin framed by bright, bold hair. Those witch green eyes and the unexpected charm of dimples.



       
         
       
        

He didn't want the evening to be over, he realized. He just wanted it to begin.

"Hello, Carter."

"Hello, Mackensie." None of Bob's listed suggestions occurred to him. He offered the flowers. "For you."

"I was hoping they were. Come on in." She closed the door behind him. "They're so pretty. I love gerbera daisies. They're happy. I want to put these in water. Do you want a drink?"

"Ah . . ." He glanced over at the table. "If you'd planned to."

"That? No, that's a setup from a shoot I had this afternoon." She walked toward the kitchen, giving him a little come-ahead gesture. "Engagement shoot. They're wine buffs. Actually, she writes for a wine-buff mag, and he's a restaurant critic. So I got the idea of doing it as a bistro deal." She got out a vase as she talked, and began to unwrap the flowers.

"It's great the way you're able to tailor a photograph like that to the people in it. Sherry loved what you did with hers."

"That was easy. A couple of people madly in love snuggling on the couch."

"It's only easy if you've got the instincts to know Sherry and Nick wouldn't sit in a sophisticated bistro drinking wine, or sit on the floor surrounded by books-and a very big cat.

"The Mason-Collari engagement. That ran today, didn't it? Do you always check on the wedding and engagement section of the paper?"

"Only since I met you again."

"Aren't you the smooth one?"

As no one had ever applied that adjective to him, he couldn't think of anything to say.

She set the vase in the center of her kitchen counter. "Those will perk me up in the morning, even before coffee."

"The cashier at the market said you'd like them. I had a small crisis; she got me through it."

Amusement made the dimples flicker in her cheeks. "You can always count on the cashier at the market."

"That's what I thought."

She walked out, and over to the couch to pick up the coat draped over the arm. "I'm ready if you are."

"Sure." He crossed to her to take the coat. As he helped her into it, she glanced back over her shoulder. "Every time you do this I wish I had longer hair, so you'd have to pull it out of the collar."

"I like your hair short. It shows off your neck. You have a very nice neck."

She turned, stared at him. "We're going out to dinner."

"Yes. I made reservations. Seven thirty at-"

"No, no, I mean we're going out to dinner, so this is not to be interpreted as let's stay in. But I think I really need to get this out of the way, so I can enjoy the meal without thinking about it."