Vision in White (Bride Quartet #1)(92)

"Much better idea."

"See, this he would never get. And he'd get that thoughtful furrow between his eyebrows."

"So, other than thoughtful furrows, you two are doing good?"

"We're doing great. Close to perfect. I don't know why I got all twisted up and crazed about it. What about this shirt? It's a lot like this shirt. I should get rid of one of them, but which?"

Emma studied the two black camp shirts. "They're black. There's no limit on black shirts. They're wardrobe basics."

"See. That's why I asked you to come by."

"You really need Parker in here, Mac. You said you started this on Thursday. Last Thursday."

"Parker can't come in here. She'd take one look, and her nervous system would implode. She'd be in a coma for months. I wouldn't do that to her. And I ordered stuff. Shoe boxes, hangers, and this thing with all these hooks on it for hanging bags or belts. I think. I looked at closet organizers, but I found them confusing. Plus I'm tossing twenty-five percent. It was going to be fifty, but that was before I came to my senses."

"But you've been at it for nearly a week."

"I haven't had that much time for it, between work and Carter, and my strange reluctance to come up here at all. But I'm going to stick with it tonight."

"You're not seeing Carter?"

"Parent-teacher deal at the academy. Besides, we don't see each other every night."

"Right. Only on the ones that end with Y. You look happy. He makes you happy."

"He does. There was this little thing."

"Oh-oh."

"No, just a little thing. He said I might want to keep some things there. Some of my things."



       
         
       
        

"Such as a change of clothes, a toothbrush. Mac."

"I know. I know. It's logical, and it's considerate. But I felt myself wanting to get twisted up and crazed. I didn't, but I wanted to. And, I mean, look at my things. There are so many of them. If I start mixing them with his, how will I know where they are? And what if I leave something over there, then I need it here?"

"You do know you're looking at this, trying to find the flaws, the barriers, the drop chutes. You know that, right?"

"Knowing I'm looking for them doesn't mean they aren't there. I'm just getting used to being with him-an official couple-and now he's offering me closet space. I'm trying to deal with my own closet."

"And doing a remarkable job of it."

She studied the piles. "It's a work in progress."

"So are you. So's your relationship with Carter. People and relationships never stop being a work in progress."

"I know you're right. It's just . . . I want to get everything in place." She blew out a breath as she scanned the piles. "I want to get my life organized and feel in control. Get some clarity. I want to know what I'm doing with that, the way I do with the work."

"Do you love him?"

"How do people know that? I keep asking myself, and the answer keeps coming back yes. Yes, I do. But people fall in and out of love all the time. The falling-in part's scary and exciting, but the falling-out is horrible. It's all going really well right now, so I'd like to keep it that way."

"Do you know how much I wish I was in love with a man who loved me?"

"I don't think you'd be picking out your bridal bouquet."

"You're really wrong. If I had what you have right now? I wouldn't be standing in the middle of chaos trying to organize my life. I'd be looking forward to making a life. If you-"

She broke off as she heard the door downstairs slam.

"Hey, Mac? You here?"

"What's Jack doing here?" Emma wanted to know.

"Oh, I forgot. Upstairs!" she called out. "He was coming by to talk to Parker, so I told her to ask him to stop over. Confused by closet organizers, I figured why not consult an architect?"

"You want an architect-a man-Jack-to organize your closet?"

"No, to give me a vision of what to use to organize it."

Emma gave Mac a dubious look. "You've now entered Parker territory."

"Maybe, but have you seen her closet? It's like a layout in a magazine. It's like what the Queen of England probably has. Without all the odd hats. Jack! Just the man I wanted to see." 

He stood in the doorway, tall, clad in jeans, work shirt, and boots-and very male. "I don't want to come in there. You're not supposed to touch anything at a crime scene."

"The only crime here is that." She pointed at her closet. "An empty closet with one stupid bar and shelf. You have to help me."