She spent a restless night arguing with herself, then thought-bitterly-that she hadn't lost a night's sleep over a man since she'd been sixteen.
She brewed coffee so strong it all but stood up and howled. But it smothered fatigue under a buzz of caffeine. Because the box of Pop-Tarts seemed to indicate she had the appetite and the emotional stability of a six-year-old, she prepared what she thought of as an adult breakfast of yogurt, fresh fruit, and a muffin she'd stolen from Laurel's stash.
Dishes dutifully washed, she reviewed her notes for the day's event, checked her equipment. A relatively small event, she mused as she selected what she needed. A single attendant serving as MOH. The client wanted intimacy, simplicity.
The bride, she knew, had opted to wear a tea length gown in blue, and a very smart hat in lieu of veil and headdress. She'd carry a trio of white gardenias, the stems wrapped in satin ribbon.
Good choices all, in Mac's opinion, as this was a second marriage for both.
See?
"Don't get started on that," she muttered.
FOB would walk the bride down the aisle, but they were skipping the "giving away" part. Because, hello, already did that once before.
With her gear, the event schedule, and her notes in place, she checked the time. Plenty of it left to do a quick check on e-mail.
She toggled over, scanned and homed in instantly on an unopened from MaguireC101. She pushed away from her work station, paced around the studio.
She stalked back to the kitchen for another cup of brutal coffee.
She didn't have to open the e-mail now. In fact she shouldn't open it now. She had to keep her mind on work, didn't she? That was the responsible thing to do. The grown-up thing, like yogurt and fresh fruit.
It couldn't be urgent. He'd have called if there was anything important to tell her. Or to discuss.
Like, why did you blow me off after I got you off?
Not that he'd ever say anything so crude.
The thing to do was go upstairs, shower, dress, then go over to the main house for the review and setup. She didn't have time for any personal . . .
"Oh, please, who are you kidding?"
She walked back to the computer, clicked open Carter's e-mail.
Mackensie,
I got this address from your business card. I hope it's all right to contact you this way. Knowing how busy you'd be today, I didn't want to call and disturb you.
I wanted to say, first, how much I enjoyed last night. Every minute with you. My house seems brighter and fuller today because you've been in it.
"Oh God. Carter."
Also, on behalf of Bob, his wife, and their unborn child, I should express my relief that I won't be required to murder him. He owes you.
Lastly, in case you've been looking for it, I found one of your gloves on the floor of the closet. It must've fallen out when you got your coat. Initially, I thought to ask if I might keep it as a token, such as women in medieval times bestowed on their knights. However, on reflection that seemed a little scary, even for me.
I'll get it back to you.
Meanwhile, I hope your event today goes well. Best wishes to the happy couple.
Carter
"Oh, man."
Thinking Carter Maguire was like a drug in her system, she read the entire e-mail through again. Then, feeling foolish, she printed it out. She took it upstairs, tucked it away in a drawer.
CHAPTER TWELVE
BY SATURDAY MORNING, MAC FELT SHE'D FOUND HER BALANCE again. Friday's event had not only gone off without a hitch, but Vows had secured another client. The parents of the groom booked the works for their wedding anniversary the following November.
Added to it, she'd dealt with a cheerful, nerve-free bride who'd photographed like a dream.
The buzz had kept Mac working with the prints until well past midnight.
And she'd only read Carter's e-mail twice more before dropping dreamlessly into bed.
It was all about focus, she reminded herself. About knowing yourself, your strengths, your weaknesses, your goals. She just had to turn it down a few notches with Carter, make it clear where both of them stood-and the boundaries outside that. Then they could enjoy each other and nobody would get hurt.
She'd overreacted; she could see that now. A little space, a little distance, a little time, and everything balanced out. The manic weekend and today's minefield of a wedding were the perfect antidote. In a few days, maybe a week, they'd have a talk. He was a reasonable man. He'd understand it didn't make sense for this thing between them to get out of hand.
He'd been hurt before in a relationship, she was certain, by the mysterious Corrine. Surely he didn't want to repeat the experience. In fact, she decided he probably felt exactly the way she did, and he'd be grateful she'd brought it all to the surface.