“In that case, how about lending me a pair of pajamas?”
“Why don’t you put that in the oven on low, and we’ll both get some pajamas.”
“Deal. I feel like a chick flick. Do you feel like a chick flick? Dinner and a movie?”
“Sounds really good actually.”
“Speaking of dinner and a movie, I’m doing at least the first with Carter Saturday night.”
“I knew it.” Parker wagged a finger.
“I’m going to keep it low-key. Sex will, potentially, be involved at some point. But low-key.”
“Establishing limitations to the relationship prior to embarking thereon. Wise.”
“Subtle underlayments of sarcasm can’t hide from me.” Mac shut the oven door, leaned back against it. “Yesterday was just an anomaly, a spurt of panic brought on by the lack of interesting dateage in my life recently.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Parker got up, draped her arm around Mac’s shoulders as they walked out of the kitchen. “Interesting dateage is in short supply around here, unless you’re Emma.”
“You don’t make time to date.”
“I know. It’s a conundrum. What kind of movie? Weepy or happy-ever-after?”
“Gotta go with the HEA, especially with chicken pot pie.”
“Good call. Why don’t we see if the others want in?”
They started the climb to the third floor. “Hey, Parks, what’re you going to do when you’re really old and can’t trudge up all these stairs?”
“I guess I’ll put in an elevator. I’m not giving this place up. Ever.”
“The house or the business?”
“Either.”
Before they could start up the last flight, the cell phone hooked to Parker’s waistband jingled.
“Crap.”
“Go on up,” Parker told her. “Grab the pjs. I’ll deal with this and be right behind you.” She flipped the phone open after a quick glance at the readout. “Hi, Shannon! Are you ready for next week?” Laughing, Parker turned toward her office. “I know. It’s a thousand things. Don’t worry. We’re on top of every one.”
Brides, Mac thought as she finished the climb. Most of them were so worried about the minutiae. If she ever got married—highly unlikely—she’d focus on the big picture.
And leave the details to Parker.
She stepped into Parker’s room where the duvet on the luscious four-poster was fluffed under its straw-colored cover, and the flowers were fresh and perky in their vase. No clothes strewn, no shoes kicked in corners.
No dust, no fuss, Mac thought as she opened the drawer of the bureau where she found—as she knew she would—four pairs of pajamas neatly folded.
“I’m tidy,” Mac muttered. “I’m just not so anal about it.”
She took a pair into the guest bedroom, tossed them on the bed. A long, hot bath sounded too good to miss. She ran one, tossed some bath salts in. As she slid down in the hot, fragrant water, she considered their options for girl movies with happy endings.
Movies, she thought—certainly about love and romance—should have happy endings. Because life, too often, didn’t. Love faded, or flipped over into loathing. Or settled somewhere in between into a kind of grinding detachment.
It could snap like a dry twig, with one careless step. Then you needed a week at a spa, Mac thought sourly. That someone else paid for.
She knew how Parker felt about the house, and the business. But to Mac’s mind, nothing lasted forever.
Except friendship, if you were really lucky—and there, she was Lady Luck herself.
But homes, love affairs? Different deals. And she wasn’t looking for forever there. Right now was plenty.
A Saturday night date. A guy who interested and attracted her across the table. Yeah, that was just enough. A week from Saturday? Well, you just couldn’t tell, could you?
That’s what photographs were for—everything changes, so you can preserve what was. Before tomorrow took it all away.
She sank down to her chin in the water just as Laurel stepped in. “What’re you doing? Hot water out at your place?”
“No, I’m seizing the moment, also chicken pot pie and chick flick. Want in? And I don’t mean the tub.”
“Maybe. I just finished—for the fifth time—redesigning the Holly-Deburke wedding cake. I could use chicken pot pie.”
“It’s warming in the oven. Emma needs a call, in case.”
“Fine. I’ll go do that and leave you to your seizing.”
Mac closed her eyes and sighed. Yeah, friendship. That was the one thing a woman could always count on.
IN THE MORNING, STILL WEARING PARKER’S PAJAMAS, MAC LET herself into her studio. She’d woken just after dawn, curled up like a shrimp on the sofa of the sitting room, and tucked in with a cashmere throw.