In Your Dreams

CHAPTER TWO

ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, Jack Holland drove from the hospital in Corning back to Blue Heron, the vineyard owned and run by his family. The radio was tuned to a talk show, though what the topic was, Jack didn’t quite know. Still, the voices were comforting.

It occurred to him that he was probably alone too much these days. That a battered cat was insufficient company. That he should be with people. But last night at O’Rourke’s had been a circle of hell, all those people clapping him on the back and offering to buy him beers. Asking how he was doing. How Josh was doing. Thanking him. Telling him he was one brave son of a bitch and the town wouldn’t stop talking about this for years, which made Jack’s hands sweaty.

Still, he’d smiled and thanked people for whatever it was they were saying, because he knew in one corner of his mind that they were saying nice things, or what they thought were nice things, and he knew that the longer he stayed away from regular things, the harder it would be. He was fine. It was all fine. It was okay.

He’d stayed as long as he could take it. Colleen O’Rourke, who was like yet another sister in addition to the three Jack already had, gave him a hug, and so far as he could tell, he’d returned it. But once he’d gotten home, he just sat on the couch, Lazarus next to him, not touching but still there.

So being with his family, doing normal things, that was a good thing. He loved his family. They weren’t a circle of hell. Well, not completely.

He put on his turn signal even though he was alone on the country road. Ever the cautious driver.

If only he could see Josh. Go when the parents weren’t around. Just to see him.

Shit. He might have to pull over.

Once, when Jack was building his house, a bobcat had wandered in, lured by the smell of Jack’s meatball sub there on the sawhorse. Jack came into the great room, and the animal panicked, ran straight for the closed slider and hurled itself against it again and again.

That’s what Jack’s heart was doing right now. Smacking and thudding against his ribs. His hands were slick on the steering wheel, but it was okay; it was fine—he didn’t have to pull over. He was fine.

There looked to be a thousand cars at Honor’s house. Jack and his sisters, Prudence, Honor and Faith, had grown up here in the New House, built in the 1800s. His middle sister, Honor, now lived with her husband, Tom, and Charlie, the teenager they’d sort of adopted. Jack’s father and stepmother, Mrs. Johnson (technically Mrs. Holland, though no one called her that), lived in a spacious apartment over the garage.

Today was Faith’s baby shower.

“Hey, Uncle Jack.” Pru’s son, Ned, approached Jack as he got out of the truck. “Why are we here again?”

“I have no idea,” Jack said. “Solidarity for Levi, I guess.”

Sure enough, the men of the family—Jack, his father and grandfather, his three brothers-in-law, and unofficial nephew, Charlie—were manfully hiding in the kitchen as a wave of feminine laughter came from the living room.

“Jack!” said his father. “Wine?”

“Thanks, Dad. Hey, Levi. How you doing?”

Levi looked pained. “They were just talking about nipple infections,” he said, nodding toward the living room, which was hung with blue streamers.

“I call them the Coven for a reason,” Jack said.

“Levi!” called Faith. “Come see this, honey. It’s a Diaper Genie!”

“Ooh. A Diaper Genie,” said Ned. “Grandpa, can I have some wine, too? Please? Quickly?”

“Are you old enough?”

“I am. Hurry.”

“Levi!”

“They’re calling for you, mate,” said Tom, slapping Levi on the shoulder. “Best not keep the pregnant wife waiting.”

“Your turn will come,” Levi muttered darkly. “The baby, I’m all for. It’s the...stuff...that’s making me nervous.” He sighed and went into the living room to admire the diaper thing.

“A new baby,” Dad said contentedly. “About time. Right, Jack? Another nephew for you.”

“We can only hope he’ll be as cool as Charlie and I are,” Ned said.

Jack smiled. His wine was gone, he noticed. Funny. He didn’t remember tasting it.

Mrs. Johnson bustled in, a towering plate of food in her hands. “I thought I heard your voice, Jackie, my darling boy! Would you like something to eat? You look thin.”

“Mrs. J.,” Jack said to his stepmother, “you look beautiful today. And every day, now that I think of it.” His voice was pretty normal, he thought.

“Oh, you terrible liar!” She cuffed his head and beamed. “Come. See your sister. Make haste, and then you can eat.”

Jack allowed himself to be led into the living room, where Faith sat, a plate of cake balanced on her baby bump, pastel-colored wrapping paper and tiny outfits strewn around her.

A dozen or so women talked at once, sounding like a slew of metal trash cans bouncing down a brick staircase. “Jack, how are you? Jack, you were amazing! Jack, thank God you were there! Jack, Jack, Jack!”

“Ladies,” he said. The bobcat started ramming the door again, over and over and over. “Hey, sis.” He bent down and dropped an obligatory kiss on his sister’s head.

“Jack!” Faith said, reaching up to pat his arm. “Thanks for coming, buddy.”

“Sure. Which sister are you again?”

“The pregnant one. The queen.”

He smiled. See? Perfectly normal. Faith was funny, and he reacted appropriately. Honor flashed him a smile, telling him he was doing okay.

“Well, I hope your labor will be better than mine, Faith,” their grandmother said grandly. “Three days. No painkillers back then, either. It was the ether, or you toughed it out. Sometimes you died. John! Where are you, son?” Dad appeared in the kitchen doorway, already looking guilty. “Three days of labor with you.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he said. “Still.” He sent Jack a pained look.

“I loved giving birth,” Prudence said. “Ned slid out like a little otter, and with Abby, I didn’t even have time to get to the car. She was born on the kitchen floor. Ass-first, no less.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Abby said. “I’m so glad everyone got to hear that.”

“It explains a lot,” her brother yelled from the kitchen.

“Make sure you get an episiotomy, Faith,” said another woman. “Otherwise, you tear, and you wouldn’t believe how much. Anyone else have stitches in their butts?”

Sadly, Jack had heard it all before. Three sisters who took no prisoners when it came to “sharing.” It was like comparing war stories, he guessed, though his own stint in the navy hadn’t resulted in any; he’d been in research down in D.C.

It was a little weird being in the New House—so called because it was newer than the original house built on the property, which had burned down last year. Honor had overhauled the New House this past summer, and while it was still the same friendly, sprawling old place Jack had grown up in, it took some getting used to. More power to her, but still a little disconcerting.

Or maybe that was just how everything was these days. The same, but off.

Levi came over and sat down next to him. “You hear some of those stories? Good God.”

“Yeah, well, I grew up with three sisters. They can’t be in the same room without talking about blood and ovaries. And then there was the crying and snarling when they were teenagers. Terrifying.”

“Makes me glad I was in Afghanistan when my sister went through puberty,” Levi said. “Probably a lot safer there.” He was quiet for a minute. “You doing okay, Jack?”

“Oh, sure.”

“Sleeping all right?”

“Pretty much,” he lied. Levi shouldn’t have to worry about him.

“Well, even with a good outcome, sometimes these things can be...traumatic.”

“Yep. Sure.”

“If you ever want to talk, just say the word.”

“Thanks, pal. I appreciate it.” The bobcat was back. Thud. Thud. Thudthud. Thud. He wondered if Levi could see the pulse in his neck.

Jack stood up as another peal of laughter came from the living room. “All right, I’ve had my estrogen dose of the day.” He paused. “Have you heard anything about the Deiner kid?”

Levi looked up. “No change.”

“Okay. Thanks.” He tried to take a deep breath, but the air wouldn’t fit in. Nodded at Levi, waved to the women, then made his way into the kitchen, where the other guys were now playing poker.

“Pull up a chair, Jack,” said his grandfather. “We can deal you in.”

“I have some stuff to do at home,” he said, squeezing Pops’s shoulder. “Dad, we should check the pinot tomorrow, okay?”

“Whatever you say, son.” His father smiled at him, and Jack made sure he smiled back.

He went out to his truck. The sky was nearly dark. Another day past, so that was good. Not that the nights were easier. Just the opposite, in fact.

The door closed behind him. Tom this time.

“Hang on, mate,” he said. “Just wanted a word. How are things?”

“Thanks, Tom. Things are fine.”

His sister’s husband was a good guy. In fact, all his sisters’ husbands were good guys. They were even his friends, though he hadn’t known Tom, a transplanted Brit, as long as he’d known Carl and Levi.

“If you need anything, say the word, yeah? You’re always welcome here, of course. Honor’s hoping you’ll come watch one of those disgusting medical shows with her.” Tom smiled, his eyes kind.

“I definitely will,” Jack said. He probably wouldn’t. “Thanks, Tom.”

He got into his truck and headed down the driveway.

The road crew still hadn’t repaired the guardrail, and a makeshift memorial had sprung up there the first night. Now the flowers were dead, rotting in their plastic florist wraps. A sodden teddy bear holding a heart had tipped over in the snow.

Don’t look.

The truth was, he thought as he drove up the road, turning onto the long driveway that wound through the woods to Rose Ridge, he didn’t want all the concern and attention and questions and hugs. He wanted not to think. He wanted Josh to get better. He wanted to have a do-over.

He put his key in the door and stopped dead in his tracks.

The house smelled like perfume.

Candles were burning on the table, and a fire flickered in the fireplace.

A beautiful woman unfolded herself from the couch. “Jack. Oh, baby, how are you? I’ve been so worried.”

Shit.

The very last person on earth he needed.

“Hadley,” he said, and with that, his ex-wife wrapped her arms around him.

* * *

SHE WAS HERE, she said, because of course she’d seen the coverage on TV and come as soon as she could. What a wonderful, amazing thing he’d done! The Midwinter Miracle indeed! Daddy was so proud, all of them were, of course it was just like Jack to—

“Hadley, what are you doing here? Really?” he interrupted.

She settled back on the couch, wrapping the throw around her. He’d have bet that she’d checked herself out in the mirror before he got home. Blanket on or off? Do I want to look waifish and lost, or confident and strong? Hair up or down?

She sipped her wine (which she’d helped herself to, he noticed). “I just had to come,” she said. “And I don’t want you to worry about a single thing. I took a leave of absence from my job, and I’m here for as long as it takes.”

“As long as what takes?”

She took a deep breath. “Jack, I know how hard this all must’ve been for you, and I know we’ve had our problems—”

He laughed. That was one way of spinning it.

“And I want to be here for you. Take care of you.” She paused, looking him directly in the eye. “Make things up to you.”

“I haven’t seen you for two years, Hadley.”

“I know exactly how long it’s been. I can’t tell you how much I’ve regretted what happened between us. I’ve done some serious growing up these past couple of years, and I want to show you I’m not that person anymore.”

It was a pretty good speech, he thought. “That’s nice, but I’m not interested.”

She looked down at her hands. “Can’t say I blame you one bit.”

She’d always had a way of making everything she did look beautiful.

“You need to leave now,” he said. “Thanks for coming by.”

“I understand,” she said, and her voice was husky. She stood up and folded the throw. “Well, I’m staying in town for a little while, at any rate.”

“Why?”

“Because even if you don’t see it yet, I know we have unfinished business. And I want to help, Jack. I do.”

“I don’t need help. But thank you and good luck in the future and all that crap.”

“You’re angry. I don’t blame you. Be that as it may, I’m here for the duration. Besides, it’ll give me a chance to be closer to my sister.”

Right. Frankie Boudreau, the youngest of the four Boudreau sisters, was in her final year at Cornell, getting her veterinary degree, which Jack knew quite well, since he still had the occasional dinner with his former sister-in-law.

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” he said. “Have a good night.”

“That’s fine. I...I just need to call a cab. I haven’t rented a car just yet.”

He closed his eyes briefly. Manningsport didn’t have cab service in the winter. She’d have to wait a half hour, maybe more, for one to get here from Penn Yan. “I’ll drive you. Where are you staying?”

“The Black Swan. Oh, Jack, thank you. You’re such a gentleman.”

Her suitcases were by the front door. Four in all, enough for her to stay for months. He grabbed them and went back to the truck. Hadley followed, shivering delicately. He held the door for her, the politeness ingrained.

“Thanks.” She gave him a soft smile as she climbed into the passenger seat.

Jack had a feeling his life had just gotten considerably more complicated.

CHAPTER THREE

“WHAT THE HELL are those?” Emmaline looked in horror at the...the...the things in Shelayne’s hands.

“Trust me,” Shelayne said. “They’re gross, but they work.”

The Bitter Betrayeds had taken her clothes shopping, because, yes, she was going to the Wedding of the Damned. Every time she thought of it, she was tempted to channel Edvard Munch’s painting The Scream, but she was going.

It would be worse to stay away. Kevin would think that she still wasn’t over him. Naomi would gloat.

The thing was, way back when Emmaline and Kevin had first become friends, so had their parents, both sets so relieved their kids had found someone. When Em’s parents had divorced ten years ago (yet remained in the same house, how was that for Dysfunction with a capital D?), the Bateses and the Neals would have dinner every third Saturday of the month. They went to Alaska together and, a few years later, to Paris.

So Emmaline’s parents would be going to the wedding, as well as Angela. And if Em didn’t go, there was a strong chance that both psychologist parents would analyze her motives in front of anyone who asked, saying that Em hadn’t mustered the emotional fortitude to undertake this painful journey and find closure. Mom had already called three times this week to share her thoughts, and that would break the strongest resolve.

Allison Whitaker, unofficial leader of the Bitter Betrayeds, had leaped on the chance to avoid discussing another book no one had read and arranged an en masse shopping trip to the mall.

The Bitter Betrayed Book Club wasn’t really about reading. As the name implied, you had to have been dumped. Allison, a Southern transplant and pediatrician, had divorced her husband after he became consumed with a passion for collecting antique cookie jars “and didn’t even have the decency to turn gay, the way that hot Jeremy Lyon did.” Shelayne Schanta, the head nurse at the E.R., had been thrown over for her own aunt. Jeanette O’Rourke’s husband had impregnated a much younger woman some years back. Grace Knapton, who ran the community theater group and directed the school play, had been tricked into giving five grand to a Pakistani man she’d met online who professed to be in love with her, never to hear from him again. Granted, Grace wasn’t really bitter—she laughed about the experience more than anything. But she was gifted in the art of cocktails (her Peach Sunrises were the stuff of legend) as well as cheese puffs, so they let her join.

Clearly, going to the wedding of the man who’d made Emmaline’s membership possible was going to be discussed.

“You know what I think you should do,” Allison drawled in her glorious Louisiana accent as she fondled a black lace bra. “Put some high-test laxatives in their drinks. I can prescribe you a little something on that front, darlin’. Or, even better, cut up a jalapeño right before the reception, see, and then rub it all over your hands—” she pantomimed this action “—and then touch their eyes. Hellfire and damnation, y’all!”

“How is she gonna touch their eyes?” Shelayne asked. “But actually, Em, if you could do what Allison said, then grab his junk, that would be fantastic. We had a case in the E.R. for that last year. It was hilarious. Well, to us nurses, anyway.”

“Yeah. So tempting,” Em said, unable to tear her eyes off the package in Shelayne’s hands. “But I probably won’t.”

“Try those on, Emmaline,” Jeanette said. “I might get a pair myself.”

“Isn’t it bad enough that I had to buy a bathing suit?” Em asked.

“Mandatory water sports.” Grace clucked. “Who ever heard of such a thing at a wedding?”

“Exactly,” Emmaline said.

“Shush, child,” Allison said. “We showed you mercy by letting you get a one-piece. Now get in there and show us your boobies.”

“This is so humiliating,” Emmaline said. But she obeyed, slinking into the dressing room with her bathing suit in one hand, and the...things...in the other.

Emmaline yanked her MPD sweatshirt over her head and took off her jeans. Put on the bathing suit, which was one of those “look ten pounds lighter” types, praise Jesus. But when she’d tried it on the first time, the Bitter Betrayeds had deemed her boobage to be unremarkable. All the squeezing and squishing from the miraculous fabric apparently minimized her bust as well as her stomach.

Enter Ta-Ta Ta-Dahs.

The Ta-Ta Ta-Dahs looked like raw chicken fillets. Their purpose: to boost the girls. The breasts. Yeah.

Em opened the package and grimaced. They felt like raw chicken, too. Em sighed, then hefted her left breast and stuck the thing underneath. Flinched. It was cold. Silicone, the package said. Maybe Em would just buy regular chicken breasts. It would cost less than these. She slid the right one in and looked.

Well, well. They worked. Ta-dah indeed.

She went out to show the group.

“Hello!” Allison said. “We have liftoff, people.”

“How do they feel, Emmaline?” Grace asked.

“Disgusting. I’m changing back into my clothes now. You people have had your fun.”

A little while later, seated around a table at the Olive Garden and sucking down Peach Sunrises that weren’t nearly as good as Grace’s, Em took a deep breath. “So, guys, I’d like to bring a date,” she admitted. “You know anyone?”

“Jack Holland,” came the chorus.

“Wow,” Em said. “Is he for sale or something?”

“No, no,” Jeanette said. She worked at Blue Heron and was therefore the resident expert on the Hollands. “He just does that kind of thing. You need a date, he’ll go.”

“Not Jack,” Emmaline said.

“Why? He’s so handsome! If I was twenty years younger... And he saved all those kids! I mean, he was gorgeous before, but now, I swear, things pulsate when I think about him. Lady things.” This was from Grace, who was on her third drink. At least she wasn’t driving.

“Jack took me to my sister’s wedding,” Shelayne said. “He’s a perfect date. Gorgeous, we all know that, but he can also hold a conversation, he smells fantastic, he’s not embarrassing on the dance floor. When we got home, he kissed me on the cheek. I offered sex, but he turned me down. Nicely, though, you know? My feelings weren’t even hurt.”

“His ex-wife is back in town,” Allison said. Em already knew this—Faith had stopped by the police station, presumably so Levi could kiss her and put his hand on her stomach and offer other married gestures of devotion, and spilled the news.

“His wife?” Grace asked. “The Southern belle? The blonde? When we did Sound of Music, I begged her to play Liesl, but she was...well. You know.” She dropped her voice to a stage whisper. “Not friendly.” This was about as mean as Grace got.

“Her name is Hadley,” Jeanette said. “And, yes, she’s gorgeous. She came in the gift shop at Blue Heron the other day. So stylish.”

Emmaline remembered Jack’s wife—tiny and blonde, as helpless and adorable as a newborn bunny. Once, they’d been at the grocery store at the same time, and Em had realized it was Mrs. Jack Holland because of the accent (small town, nothing else to talk about). Em had had her arms full of overpacked grocery bags, her Ben & Jerry’s threatening to topple out. Gerard Chartier had seen Em struggling, said an amiable hello, then practically trampled her to offer to carry Hadley’s one underfilled string bag, which seemed to contain an entire apple.

“Let’s just say it got really chilly, and fast,” Jeanette added with great relish. “Honor froze her out with that stare of hers, and Hadley got the point. She practically ran out the door.”

“Who in her right mind would cheat on Jack Holland?” Allison asked.

“If Jack had a vagina,” Grace said, “he could belong to our book club.”

“No more Sunrises for you,” Emmaline said. “Back to my problem, I don’t think Jack is up for it. He’s got enough on his mind.” Also, he was too beautiful for a mere mortal such as herself. “You guys know anyone else?”

“I’ll ask Charles’s cousin,” Allison said. The cookie jar–inspired divorce had not stopped Allison and Charles from talking every day. “He’s a man. He must know other men.”

Talk turned to what Emmaline should wear, if she should go on a crash diet beforehand, if she should color her hair and slut it up or, just to make Kevin feel guilty, wear smelly clothes and stop washing her hair a week beforehand.

“No, no,” Jeanette said. “You have to be extra beautiful.” She gave Em a hard stare. “Want me to send my daughter over? She knows about these things.” In fact, Colleen used to make the occasional appearance at the Bitter Betrayeds, mixing her fabulous cocktails, but she was back with the guy who’d dumped her and rosy with love and hormones, so they’d kicked her out.

“You know what?” Emmaline said. “I’ll just go alone and hang out with my family.” She paused, picturing that. “Actually, if anyone can come up with a guy willing to fly to California for a few days, I’d make all those parking tickets go away.”

* * *

AND SO IT WAS that two nights later, Emmaline kissed Sarge seven times, made sure Squeaky Chicken was with him and walked around the corner to O’Rourke’s to meet the man known to Allison’s ex-husband’s cousin. Mason Maynard.

According to Allison and the quick background check Emmaline had run, Mason was employed (score!) in marketing and didn’t live with his mother (double score!). Never married, forty-one and fairly nice-looking in an unthreatening way. “He likes dogs, eating out and French films,” Allison had said.

Emmaline had winced. “That’s a red flag. And why ‘films’? Why not ‘movies’?”

“Attitude, Em. I have to go. I want to sext someone I met online.”

“That’s how serial killers—Allison? Hello?” Her friend had hung up.

But Allison had a point. Em would forgive the French films and even sit through one or two if Mason Maynard would be so kind as to go with her to the Wedding of the Damned.

Em took a deep breath and went into O’Rourke’s, which was warm and quiet tonight, the gentle lights glowing with just the right amount of flattering ambiance. The usual suspects were here—the Iskins, Bryce and Paulie, Jessica Dunn and Big Frankie Pepitone. Lucas was smiling at his wife as she shook a martini shaker.

“Hey, Emmaline,” Bryce said. “How’s Sarge?”

“He’s so great, Bryce,” Em said. “I owe you.”

“Aw, no, you don’t. Just make sure he’s happy.”

“Hey, girl!” Colleen called. “Want to sit at the bar?”

“I’ll take a booth, if that’s okay. I’m meeting someone.” She grimaced.

“A blind date?” Colleen was psychic about these things, as everyone knew. “You looking for someone, Em? Why didn’t you ask me? I’m hurt.”

Colleen was noted for many wonderful qualities; discretion was not one of them. “I’m not looking. I just need a date for a wedding.” She took off her parka and hung it on the hook.

“Did you ask Jack Holland? He’s always good for that. Except with me, come to think of it.”

“Well, you’re married now.”

“True. But if you just want a date, ask Jack. He loves women in distress.”

“He’s got a lot on his mind these days, I’d think.”

Colleen nodded. “He looks tired, poor guy.” She handed Emmaline a menu. “Who’s getting married?”

“My ex-fiancé.”

“Holy Saint Patrick! Okay, we need someone extremely good-looking. When’s the wedding and where?”

“Ten days. Malibu.” Em had frittered away the two weeks since she got the invitation, debating whether or not to go, whether or not to scare up a date, whether or not to simply move to Alaska and date a crab fisherman.

Colleen gave her an odd look. “Uh...is this Naomi Norman’s wedding?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I’m going, too. Naomi and I went to college together. Same sorority.”

“Ah. Well, she was the other woman back when I was engaged.” Might as well tell her up front.

“No! You know, I never liked her. I think she asked me to be a bridesmaid because she doesn’t have any other friends.”

“You’re a bridesmaid?”

Colleen grimaced. “Sorry. I said yes because I thought it’d be nice to get out of this snowy hell with my husband before I’m too pregnant to travel. Well, we can hang out, anyway. The resort looks great.”

“Sure does.”

“So you have a date tonight, and you never know, he might be great. I mean, they never are, but let’s keep a good thought. Wait, hang on!” She slapped her forehead. “You could go with Connor. Pregnancy brain. I’m forgetting everything, even my twin. Connor!” she bellowed toward the kitchen. “You have to go to that wedding in California with Emmaline Neal!”

“No, I don’t!” came the answering shout. “Sorry, Em.”

“No worries.” Em felt her cheeks ignite.

“Yes, you do!” Colleen shouted. “Her ex-fiancé is the groom!” And hey, why not announce her romantic woes to half the town? But it was too bad, because Connor was nice and attractive and manfully gruff.

“Stop trying to hire me out,” Connor said, appearing in the door to the kitchen.

“Fine!” Colleen said. “You’re a jerk, Con.” She turned back to Emmaline. “Want a drink?”

“Sure. Blue Point Lager, I guess.”

“Or maybe a nice glass of pinot noir?” Colleen suggested. “Sends the right message. Sensuous, but not too self-absorbed, and not too butch, either.”

“I’ll stick with beer.” She paused. “I’m not gay, you know.”

“I know that. You just look it.”

Em sighed. “Great.”

“Put your hair down. It’s pretty.” Colleen reached over and took out the clip that was holding up Emmaline’s hair. “There. Very hetero. I’m a whiz with makeup. Just putting it out there.”

“Thanks. You must have things to do.”

“Message received. I’ll keep an eye out for your guy.” Colleen smiled and bustled away.

Colleen’s pushiness aside, Em was hugely relieved. Colleen would be at the wedding, and Lucas, too. Angela, as well. She’d have allies, in other words. Her parents were in the neutral column. It depended on their moods.

Hannah O’Rourke brought her the beer, and Em took a sip. Jerked her chin at the Manningsport Fire Department, who’d trickled in for their weekly meeting, which consisted of poker and dirty jokes.

So. What was she supposed to do at this very moment? She hadn’t been on many dates since the breakup. She’d been on, oh, let’s see now...two.

It had taken a while to get over Kevin, of course, the only man she’d ever dated, slept with, kissed or even held hands with. And those two dates had been pretty terrible. One guy had had to go to the hospital to pass a kidney stone; Emmaline was going to wait with him, but he told her to leave before his wife got there. The other guy had asked her to pick him up, then invited her in, flopped onto a couch, picked up his bong and asked if she wanted to get high and watch SpongeBob. “You have the right to remain silent,” she’d said, and so the evening had ended in his arrest.

Also, men weren’t really beating a path to her door. She’d read the books, the ones that instructed her to feign idiocy and let the man do all the work and be feminine and unavailable and all that, and she was more than willing to try. It was just that not many guys asked.

Em got it. She was a police officer who played hockey and had a smart mouth. Not unattractive, not drop-dead gorgeous, either, not like Colleen or Faith or anything. Shoulder-length brown hair. Blue eyes that were not sapphire, ultramarine, cobalt, turquoise or cerulean. Just ordinary blue. Her body was average, she guessed. She was in good shape in that she ran and took a kickboxing class from time to time. Then again, she’d eaten an entire Pepperidge Farm coconut cake just last night.

Kevin’s parting words to her had been about her weight.

Sigh. Mason Maynard was forty-seven seconds late. Not that she was counting.

She’d been clear in her email to him that she was looking for a wedding date and nothing more. She’d pay for his flight and hotel for the weekend, of course, and all she wanted was an amiable companion. Someone to talk to and sit with and, when interrogated by her parents, to simply say they were friends.

She’d been to weddings without a date before, of course. But those had been the weddings of nice people. Tom Barlow and Honor Holland, Faith and Levi last year.

She looked at her watch again. Allison’s ex-husband’s cousin’s friend was now three minutes and fourteen seconds late. She took a sip of beer, but not too much, because she didn’t want Mason Maynard to think she’d been waiting too long or was the type to chug like a frat boy.