Vision in White

She filled the car. It’s how he thought of it. Her scent, her voice, her laugh. The simple reality of her. As strange as it was, his nerves calmed.

“Do you always drive the exact speed limit?” she asked.

“It’s irritating, isn’t it?” He glanced her way, and when he saw her eyes laughing at him, he had to grin. “If I go over by more than a couple miles an hour, I feel like a criminal. Corrine used to . . .”

“Corrine?” she said when he trailed off.

“Just someone I annoyed with my driving.” And everything else, apparently.

“An old girlfriend.”

“Nothing, really.” Why hadn’t he turned on the radio?

“See, now it’s a mystery, and I’m more curious. I’ll tell you about one of my exes first—to prime the pump.” She turned her face to him until he could feel those green eyes laughing again. “How about the fledgling rock star, the one who resembled Jon Bon Jovi through the filter of infatuation. In looks, not talent. His name was Greg, but he liked to be called Rock. He actually did.”

“Rock what?”

“Ah,

just Rock. Like Prince, or Madonna. Anyway, at twenty, he seemed incredibly hot and cool, and in my sexual delirium I spent a lot of time, talent, and money taking head shots of him and his band, group shots, shots for their self-produced CD. I drove their van, played groupie and roadie. For over two months. Until I caught him sucking face with his bass player. A guy named Dirk.”

“Oh. Well, that’s very sad.”

“I heard the amusement in that.”

“Not if you were really hurt.”

“I was

crushed. For at least five minutes. Then I was pissed for weeks. I’d been his beard, the bastard. My satisfaction comes from the fact that he now sells kitchen appliances in Stamford. Not major appliances either. I mean like blenders and toaster ovens.”

“I like a good toaster oven.”

She laughed as he turned into a parking lot. “The Willows—nice choice, Carter. The food’s always good here. Laurel worked here as pastry chef before we started Vows, and for a while after when we were getting off the ground.”

“I didn’t know that. I haven’t been here for a couple months, but the last time I came with—”

“Corrine.”

“No.” He smiled a little. “With a couple of friends who set me up with a blind date. Very strange evening, but the food was, as you said, good.”

He got out of the car, started to walk around to open her door. But she climbed out before he got there. When she held out a hand to him, casually, his heart took a quick, extra, thump.

“Why strange?”

“She had a voice like a violin might have made if you neglected to rosin the bow. It’s an unfair observation, but pretty accurate. Plus she’d recently gone on a no-carb, no-fat, no-salt diet. She ate an undressed salad, one leaf, one sprig, one carrot curl at a time. It was disconcerting.”

“I eat like a horse.”

“That’s hard to believe.”

“You watch.”

Just as they reached the door, it opened. The man who stepped out wore an open coat, no hat, gloves, or scarf. The wind immediately kicked the dark hair around his ridiculously handsome face. One glance at Mac had his well-cut lips curving, and his sea-at-midnight eyes lighting.

“Hey, Macadamia.” He hoisted her up by the elbows, smacked a kiss to her lips. “Of all the gin joints in all the . . . Carter?” He dumped Mac back on her feet, shot out a friendly hand. “How the hell are you?”

“I’m fine, Del. How are you?”

“Good. It’s been too long. What’re you two doing here?”

“We thought, since we’re told they have food here, we’d eat.”

Del grinned at Mac. “That’s a plan. So you’re having dinner. Together. I didn’t realize you were an item.”

“We’re not,” they said together. Then Carter cleared his throat.

“We’re having dinner.”

“Yeah, that’s been established. I had a quick business meeting over a drink, and I’m meeting some friends across town. Or I’d come in and have one with you, and cross-examine the witnesses. But, gotta go. Later.”

Mac watched Delaney Brown jog toward the parking lot. “Who was that guy?” she asked, and made Carter laugh.

As she slid in, Mac wondered if Carter had requested a corner booth, or if they’d just gotten lucky. It added just a hint of intimacy to play against the upscale casual tone of the restaurant. She turned down the offer of a cocktail in favor of wine with dinner, then ignoring her menu, turned to Carter.

“So, the salad-eating squeaky violin. No follow-up?”

“I don’t think either party was interested in one.”

“Do you go on many blind dates?”

“That was my first and last. You?”

“Never. Too scary. Plus, the four of us made a pact, years ago, never to try to fix each other up. It’s worked out for the best. So, are you interested in sharing a bottle of wine, Dr. Maguire?”

He slid the wine list toward her. “You pick.”

“That’s brave of you.” She opened it, scanned. “I’m not a wine buff, I just take pictures of them, but they do have this Shiraz I like.”

Even as she spoke, their server stepped to the table with a bottle of Shiraz.

“That’s excellent service,” Mac commented.