Vision in White

“Really?” Absently, Corrine picked up a pair of kitten-heel slides. “He never mentioned you. We were involved for quite some time.”

“Corrine and Carter,” Stephanie said cheerfully. “It was practically one word. It’s so funny running into you like this. I was just telling Corrine I’d heard Carter was seeing someone, and that I’d seen you together at Brent’s wedding.”

“Funny.”

“And how is Carter?” Corrine asked, as she set the slides back down. “Still buried in his books?”

“He seems to have time to come up for air.”

“Haven’t been seeing him very long, have you?”

“Long enough, thanks.”

“You two should compare notes.” Stephanie gave Corrine a friendly hip bump. “Corrine could give you a lot of pointers where Carter’s concerned, Mackensie.”

“Wouldn’t that be fun? But, I like the discovery. Carter’s a fascinating and exciting man, entirely too much of one for notes. Excuse me. I see a pair of slingbacks with my name on them.”

As Mac aimed for the other side of the department, Stephanie arched her eyebrows. “Exciting? Carter? He must’ve evolved since you dumped him, Cor. I have to say, he did look on the hot side when I saw him Saturday. Maybe you should’ve hung on there a bit longer.”

“Who says I can’t have him back if I want him?” She looked down at the pumps. “In fact, I may take my new shoes on a little visit.”

Stephanie snickered. “You’re a bad girl.”

“What I am, is bored.” She frowned over at Mac. She thought

she should be the one to have those boots. They’d certainly look better on her than some skinny, orange-headed tight ass. “Besides, why should she have Carter? I saw him first.”

“I thought Carter bored you.”

“That was before.” On a long sigh, Corrine sat, scanned the small mountain of shoes she was considering. “The trouble with you, Steph, is you’re married. You’ve forgotten the thrill of the hunt, the competition. The score.”

She slipped off the pumps, slipped on a pair of spikeheeled sandals in metallic pink. “Men are like shoes. You’re supposed to try them on, wear them awhile—as long as they look good on you. Then toss them in the closet and shop for more.”

She stood, angled to study the results in the mirror. “And every now and then, you pluck something out of the closet, try them on again and see how they look.”

She glanced over, scowled when she saw Mac trying on the blue boots. “The one thing you don’t do is let somebody else go rooting around in your closet.”

ROUTINE, CARTER THOUGHT, HAD ITS PURPOSE. IT GOT THINGS done, offered a certain comfort and kept hands and mind occupied. He hung up his coat, went to his home office to lay his evening’s work on the desk. He checked his messages.

There was a pang when Mac’s voice failed to breeze into the room, but that was routine, too.

Parker had advised a little time and space. He’d give Mac more time. Another day or two.

He could wait. He was good at waiting. And more than anything, he realized, he wanted her to come to him.

He went downstairs to feed the cat and make himself some tea. At the counter, he drank the tea while he went through the day’s mail.

And he wondered if his life could be any more ordinary, any more staid. Would he find himself in this same loop—read rut—in another year? God, in another decade?

He’d been comfortable enough before Mackensie had reentered his life.

“It’s not as if I’d planned to be alone forever,” he said to the cat. “But there was plenty of time, wasn’t there? Time to enjoy a certain routine, time to enjoy my home, my work, the freedom that comes from being single. I’m barely thirty, for God’s sake.

“And I’m talking to a cat, which is not how I want to spend my evenings for the rest of my life. No offense. But no one wants to merely settle. To be with someone because being alone’s the only other option. Love’s not some amorphous concept created for books and poetry and not attainable. It’s real and vital, and it’s

necessary. Damn it. It changes things. Everything. I can’t be what I was before I loved her. It’s ridiculous for anyone to expect that.”

Having finished his meal, the cat sat, gave Carter a long stare, then began to wash.

“Well, she’s not as reasonable as you. I’ll tell you something else while we’re on the subject. I’m good for her. I’m exactly what she needs. I understand her. All right, no, I don’t. I take that back. But I know her, which is a different thing altogether. And I know I can make her happy once she gets over being too pigheaded to admit it.”

He decided then and there she had another twenty-four hours. If she didn’t come to him within that time frame, he’d just have to take control of the situation. He’d need a plan of some sort, an outline of what needed to be said and done. He rose to get a pad and pencil.

“Oh, for God’s sake. The hell with plans and outlines. We’ll just deal with it.” Annoyed, he slammed the drawer on his finger. Typical, he thought, sucking at the ache. He decided to console himself with a grilled cheese sandwich.