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bar?”

      “I’ll take a booth, if that’s okay. I’m meeting someone.” She grimaced.

      “A blind date?” Colleen was psychic about these things, as everyone knew. “You looking for someone, Em? Why didn’t you ask me? I’m hurt.”

      Colleen was noted for many wonderful qualities; discretion was not one of them. “I’m not looking. I just need a date for a wedding.” She took off her parka and hung it on the hook.

      “Did you ask Jack Holland? He’s always good for that. Except with me, come to think of it.”

      “Well, you’re married now.”

      “True. But if you just want a date, ask Jack. He loves women in distress.”

      “He’s got a lot on his mind these days, I’d think.”

      Colleen nodded. “He looks tired, poor guy.” She handed Emmaline a menu. “Who’s getting married?”

      “My ex-fiancé.”

      “Holy Saint Patrick! Okay, we need someone extremely good-looking. When’s the wedding and where?”

      “Ten days. Malibu.” Em had frittered away the two weeks since she got the invitation, debating whether or not to go, whether or not to scare up a date, whether or not to simply move to Alaska and date a crab fisherman.

      Colleen gave her an odd look. “Uh...is this Naomi Norman’s wedding?”

      “Yes. How did you know?”

      “I’m going, too. Naomi and I went to college together. Same sorority.”

      “Ah. Well, she was the other woman back when I was engaged.” Might as well tell her up front.

      “No! You know, I never liked her. I think she asked me to be a bridesmaid because she doesn’t have any other friends.”

      “You’re a bridesmaid?”

      Colleen grimaced. “Sorry. I said yes because I thought it’d be nice to get out of this snowy hell with my husband before I’m too pregnant to travel. Well, we can hang out, anyway. The resort looks great.”

      “Sure does.”

      “So you have a date tonight, and you never know, he might be great. I mean, they never are, but let’s keep a good thought. Wait, hang on!” She slapped her forehead. “You could go with Connor. Pregnancy brain. I’m forgetting everything, even my twin. Connor!” she bellowed toward the kitchen. “You have to go to that wedding in California with Emmaline Neal!”

      “No, I don’t!” came the answering shout. “Sorry, Em.”

      “No worries.” Em felt her cheeks ignite.

      “Yes, you do!” Colleen shouted. “Her ex-fiancé is the groom!” And hey, why not announce her romantic woes to half the town? But it was too bad, because Connor was nice and attractive and manfully gruff.

      “Stop trying to hire me out,” Connor said, appearing in the door to the kitchen.

      “Fine!” Colleen said. “You’re a jerk, Con.” She turned back to Emmaline. “Want a drink?”

      “Sure. Blue Point Lager, I guess.”

      “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

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