both go back. It’s your party as much as mine. You invited half the people.”
Ariel’s forehead wrinkled under a fringe of feathered bangs. “I just wish I knew if they’re all coming.” They turned the burners to low, then ran back to the house through the still falling snow.
Above the voices Miranda heard the front doorbell ring. Weaving her way through friends and neighbors and stepping on an occasional toe, she shouted, “Come in,” but the ringing continued. Was she the only one who heard it? The couple nearest the door were so engrossed in each other they didn’t even look up. “Excuse me,” she said, brushing past them. Who would ring the bell, anyway, seeing all the cars, hearing the noise and seeing the lights?
She opened the door and a gust of cold wind hit her in the face and sucked the air from her lungs. She gasped. She stumbled backward. The man standing in the doorway looked like Max Carter. Had the same broad shoulders that filled the door frame, the same thick blond hair blown across his forehead, the same blue eyes that gazed down at her intently. It had to be him, but it couldn’t be him. What would he be doing at her house on a Friday night? She wished she could ask him, but she was completely out of breath, and her lips were too numb to form the words.
Other people didn’t seem to have any problem moving their lips. “Come in and close the door,” they shouted.
Miranda shrugged her shoulders helplessly and reached for the doorknob. Max Carter came in and she closed the door.
“You weren’t expecting me?” he asked, noting her reaction.
She shook her head.
“I shouldn’t have come.”
She opened her mouth and the words tumbled out at last. “Of course you should. But how... where... ?”
“Your sister invited me.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I thought you knew.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. She invited a lot of people.”
His eyes left hers for a moment and scanned the crowd. “So I see.”
Miranda leaned against the carved newel post at the foot of the staircase nearby, hoping he wouldn’t notice that her knees were too weak to hold her up without support. She felt so shaky, so breathless, but that was just because she was so surprised to see him. That was all.
There was a long silence while his gaze returned to hers, his blue eyes making a leisurely tour of her long loose hair, her eyes, her mouth and then the contours of her striped polo shirt.
She turned toward the kitchen, desperate for some fresh air and some space away from the heated gaze of her unexpected guest, but bumped into Mavis and Lianne, who were bearing down on her, their eyes on Max.
“Who’s your friend?” Mavis hissed. “Don’t you dare leave this room until you’ve introduced us.”
“Of course.” Miranda turned and almost crashed into Max, who was right behind her. “Uh, Maxwell Carter, meet my friends, Lianne and Mavis. And now if you’ll excuse me I’ll go check on the syrup.”
Lianne gripped her arm tightly. “We just checked. It’s not quite ready.” Her gaze shifted to Max. “Are you the man, you can’t be the man with the boots, can you?”
“Ah certainly can,” he drawled and proceeded to explain the whole story to them. It might have been her imagination, but to Miranda his accent seemed a little stronger tonight, a little more appealing than she’d remembered. And she could tell by the rapt expressions on the faces of her friends that they thought so too.
When Max paused in his narrative, the two women looked at each other and sighed. “We didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”
Max smiled. “Neither did I.”
“Ariel invited him,” Miranda explained.
“Ohh,” they exclaimed. “There she is now.”
Ariel was gliding toward than as if there was no crowd, just as she used to do in high school when the place was full of her friends. She was always in command of any social situation, always trying to arrange dates for her
Ariel’s forehead wrinkled under a fringe of feathered bangs. “I just wish I knew if they’re all coming.” They turned the burners to low, then ran back to the house through the still falling snow.
Above the voices Miranda heard the front doorbell ring. Weaving her way through friends and neighbors and stepping on an occasional toe, she shouted, “Come in,” but the ringing continued. Was she the only one who heard it? The couple nearest the door were so engrossed in each other they didn’t even look up. “Excuse me,” she said, brushing past them. Who would ring the bell, anyway, seeing all the cars, hearing the noise and seeing the lights?
She opened the door and a gust of cold wind hit her in the face and sucked the air from her lungs. She gasped. She stumbled backward. The man standing in the doorway looked like Max Carter. Had the same broad shoulders that filled the door frame, the same thick blond hair blown across his forehead, the same blue eyes that gazed down at her intently. It had to be him, but it couldn’t be him. What would he be doing at her house on a Friday night? She wished she could ask him, but she was completely out of breath, and her lips were too numb to form the words.
Other people didn’t seem to have any problem moving their lips. “Come in and close the door,” they shouted.
Miranda shrugged her shoulders helplessly and reached for the doorknob. Max Carter came in and she closed the door.
“You weren’t expecting me?” he asked, noting her reaction.
She shook her head.
“I shouldn’t have come.”
She opened her mouth and the words tumbled out at last. “Of course you should. But how... where... ?”
“Your sister invited me.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I thought you knew.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. She invited a lot of people.”
His eyes left hers for a moment and scanned the crowd. “So I see.”
Miranda leaned against the carved newel post at the foot of the staircase nearby, hoping he wouldn’t notice that her knees were too weak to hold her up without support. She felt so shaky, so breathless, but that was just because she was so surprised to see him. That was all.
There was a long silence while his gaze returned to hers, his blue eyes making a leisurely tour of her long loose hair, her eyes, her mouth and then the contours of her striped polo shirt.
She turned toward the kitchen, desperate for some fresh air and some space away from the heated gaze of her unexpected guest, but bumped into Mavis and Lianne, who were bearing down on her, their eyes on Max.
“Who’s your friend?” Mavis hissed. “Don’t you dare leave this room until you’ve introduced us.”
“Of course.” Miranda turned and almost crashed into Max, who was right behind her. “Uh, Maxwell Carter, meet my friends, Lianne and Mavis. And now if you’ll excuse me I’ll go check on the syrup.”
Lianne gripped her arm tightly. “We just checked. It’s not quite ready.” Her gaze shifted to Max. “Are you the man, you can’t be the man with the boots, can you?”
“Ah certainly can,” he drawled and proceeded to explain the whole story to them. It might have been her imagination, but to Miranda his accent seemed a little stronger tonight, a little more appealing than she’d remembered. And she could tell by the rapt expressions on the faces of her friends that they thought so too.
When Max paused in his narrative, the two women looked at each other and sighed. “We didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”
Max smiled. “Neither did I.”
“Ariel invited him,” Miranda explained.
“Ohh,” they exclaimed. “There she is now.”
Ariel was gliding toward than as if there was no crowd, just as she used to do in high school when the place was full of her friends. She was always in command of any social situation, always trying to arrange dates for her
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