In Your Dreams

“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.

It was possible that Mason would be lovely. That at the age of forty-one, eight years her senior, he’d have a heartbreak story, too. That he’d completely understand why she needed a date, and, at the wedding, he’d be charming and self-deprecating. That they’d come back to Manningsport and he’d say, “You know, I had a great time. Want to have dinner sometime?”

Because, yes. Emmaline had always wanted to get married.

It’s just that she’d always wanted to get married to Kevin.

That’s what happened when you met the love of your life when you were in eighth grade.

“Emmaline?”

She looked up so suddenly she practically dislocated her neck. “Hey! Hi! Yes. That’s me.”

Mason Maynard was better-looking than his photo.

Much better-looking.

Now there was something that didn’t happen every day. He looked like Michael Fassbender. Hopefully in every way.

“Nice to meet you,” he said with a faint smile. Emmaline’s stomach did a flip, and she felt the start of a dopey grin.

He had beautiful dark eyes and graying hair, and he looked...he looked like a husband. Not that she was getting ahead of herself.

“Yeah. You, too,” she breathed.

His grin widened. Yep. Husband.

“This is my sister,” he said, stepping aside. A thin, similarly graying woman stood there, hatchet-faced and grim. “Patricia, this is Emmaline.”

“Hello,” Patricia said in a toneless voice.

“Hi,” Em said.

Crap.

But no, no, this didn’t mean anything. After all, it wasn’t weird that a guy would bring his sister on a date, right?

Fine. It was freaky. But maybe there was a good reason. Maybe her car had broken down, or she had dropped by unexpectedly. Or, from the look of her, she needed a keeper.

“She wanted to meet you,” Mason said, winking.

“No, sure. That’s...that’s great.”

Colleen came over. “Hello! What can I get you?” she asked merrily.

“I’ll have a vodka tonic,” Mason said. “And my sister will have water with a very, very thin slice of lemon, please.”

“You bet,” Colleen said, shooting Em a look. “Anything to eat?”

“No, thank you,” Mason said, as he and his sister sat down. “We’re just here for drinks.”

Emmaline wavered. On the one hand, weird already shimmered in the air. On the other, she was so hungry her stomach was growling. “I’ll have the nachos,” she said, food slut that she was. Patricia slid lower in her seat. “You can share, if you like,” Em added.

Mason smiled. Emmaline smiled. Patricia didn’t smile. Colleen walked back to the kitchen.

“So,” said Em. “This is great, meeting you both.”

“I have a small phobia about being alone with women,” he said smoothly.

“So I always come with him,” Patricia said. “Always. Every time.”

“Ah.” Dear God, where do You hide the normal people? Love, Emmaline.

Mason laughed warmly. “No, she doesn’t.”