Vision in White

“You look cute. Gotta love the pink Uggs.”

“Why did I buy them in pink? What was I thinking?” She shook her head as she joined Mac, and both continued to the house. “I thought you’d already be inside, nagging Laurel to make breakfast. Wasn’t it you who called me and said

pancakes nearly an hour ago?”

“It was, and now we can both nag her into it. I got caught up. It’s amazing out here. The light, the tones, the texture. And that damn bird? Bonus round.”

“It’s twenty degrees, and after pancakes, we’re going to be shoveling this snow and freezing our asses off. Why can’t it always be summer?”

“We hardly ever get pancakes in the summer. Crepes maybe, but it’s not the same.”

As she stomped snow off her pink Uggs, Emma slid her baleful gaze toward Mac, then opened the door.

Mac scented coffee instantly. She dumped her gear, set her camera carefully on top of the dryer, then strode in to give Laurel a rib-crushing squeeze. “I knew I could count on you.”

“I saw you playing nature girl out the window, and figured you were coming over to whine for pancakes.” Hair clipped back, sleeves rolled up, Laurel measured out flour.

“I love you, and not only for your snowy-day pancakes.”

“Good, then set the table. Parker’s already up, answering e-mail.”

“Is she calling for snow removal?” Emma asked. “I’ve got three consults today.”

“For parking. The consensus is there’s not enough to call in the troops for the rest. We can handle it.”

Emma’s face clouded into a pout. “I hate shoveling snow.”

“Poor Em,” Mac and Laurel said together.

“Bitches.”

“I’ve got a breakfast story.” Riding on the impromptu photo session and the near occasion of pancakes, Mac dumped sugar in the coffee she’d poured. “A

sexy breakfast story.”

Emma paused in the act of opening a cabinet for plates. “Spill.”

“We’re not eating. Anyway, Parker’s not down yet.”

“I’m going up to drag her down. I want a sexy breakfast story to keep me warm while I’m shoveling this stupid snow.” Emma scurried out of the kitchen.

“Sexy breakfast story.” Considering Mac, Laurel picked up her wooden spoon to stir the batter. “Must involve Carter Maguire, unless you got an obscene phone call and consider that sexy.”

“Depends who’s calling.”

“He’s fairly adorable. Not your usual type, though.”

Mac looked back as she opened the drawer for flatware. “I have a type?”

“You know you do. Athletic, fun-loving, may have creative bent but not a strict requirement, not too intense or serious-minded. Nothing in past history to include cerebral, scholarly, or quietly charming.”

It was Mac’s turn to pout. “I like smart guys. Maybe I just haven’t run into one who hit my hot-o-meter.”

“He’s also sweet. Not your usual.”

“I like sweet,” Mac objected. “Taste my coffee!”

With a laugh, Laurel set the batter down to get mixed berries out of the fridge. “Set the table, Elliot.”

“I’m doing it.” As she did, she evaluated Laurel’s list. Maybe it was accurate—to a point. “Everybody’s got a type. Parker’s got a type. Successful, well-groomed, well-read.”

“Bilingual a plus,” Laurel added as she washed berries. “Should be able to distinguish between Armani and Hugo Boss at twenty paces.”

“Emma’s got a type. They must be men.”

Laurel’s laugh rolled out as Emma came back in. “Parker’s heading down. What’s the joke?”

“You, sweetie. Griddle’s hot,” Laurel announced. “Better get moving.”

“Good morning, partners.” Parker swung in—dark jeans, cashmere sweater, her hair neatly tied back in a tail, makeup subtle. Mac had an errant thought that it would be easy to hate Parker if she didn’t love her. “I just booked three more appointments for the tour and pitch. God! I love the holidays. So many people get engaged during the holidays. And before you know it, it’ll be Valentine’s Day, and we’ll get more hits. Pancakes?”

“Get the syrup,” Laurel told her.

“The roads are clear. I don’t think we’ll have any cancellations on today’s schedule. Oh, and the Paulsons sent an e-mail—just back from their honeymoon. I’m going to pull off some quotes for the website.”

“No business,” Emma interrupted. “Mac has a sexy breakfast story.”

“Really?” Eyebrows lifted, Parker set the syrup and butter on the table of the breakfast nook. “Tell all.”

“It began, and sexy tales often do, when I spilled Diet Coke on my shirt.”

She started the story as Laurel brought a platter of pancakes to the table.

“He

said he walked into a wall,” Emma interrupted. “Poor Carter!” She snorted out a laugh as she cut the first tiny sliver of a single pancake.

“Hard,” Mac added. “I mean, the guy rammed it. In a cartoon, he’d have gone through the wall and left a Carter-shaped hole in it. Then he’s sitting on the floor and I’m trying to see how bad it is, and my tits are in his face—which he very politely points out.”

“ ‘Excuse me, Miss, your tits appear to be in my face’?”

Mac wagged her fork at Laurel. “Except he didn’t say tits, and he kind of stuttered. So I go pull a shirt out of the dryer, get him a bag of ice, and ultimately determine he probably doesn’t need the ER.”