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Authors: Mariah Stewart
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arking spot?”
“Ye s to the ticket, but you’re on your own as far as the pa rking place is concerned. I’ll be using it.”
“You’re kidding. Do you have to work late?”
“No.”
“Don’t tell me you’re staying for the show … Oh, I guess you heard about the guitar player, too?” she teased, knowing t hat other than dealing with the contracts and the reports rega rding box office receipts, Maggie, whose taste in music was limited to jazz, rarely gave a second thought to who was perfor ming.
“Something like that. I’ll get you the seat next to mine if i t’ s available.”
“ Grea t,” Lindy replied, wondering why she hadn’t had to t wi s t he r arm as she usually did.
“I’ll meet you for dinner, how’s that? Probably around seven , so we won’t have too much time.”
“Sounds great. I’ ll stop into your office…”
“No, don’t do that. Go in and get a table, and I’ll meet you. Gotta run.” Maggie hung up abruptly, not wanting to have to explain that she would most likely just be arriving back at the arena herself around seven after driving back to her apartment to pick up J.D.
She turned her attention to the file on her desk, and by the time she’d completed what she needed to do, it was 6:05. She cleared her desk and locked it, grabbed her jacket, and sped out the door, leaving a few startled co-workers puzzled by her quick departure without so much as a good-bye.
J.D. was outside sitting on the front porch steps, his jacket folded across his lap. He walked across the lawn whe n he saw her pull around the corn er, got into the passenger side, and leaned over, kissing her once, twice, three times.
“My neighbors will be talking about me,” she protested but only minimally.
“No doubt.” He leaned back into the seat, grinning, and rolled down the window.
They made some small talk in the car, but she could tell he was distracted, keyed up. He tapped on the console, and the expression on his face told her he was a million miles away. She wondered if he was always this nervous before a performance.
She pulled into the already jammed parking lot, the attendant waving her into the employees’ section, and she parked as close to the building as she could. They walked through the doors and were past the guard’s desk behind the glass partition before anyone in the crowded ticket lobby realized who had just walked by.
“Will you wait for me in the bar?” he asked, and she nodded. He leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose before following the hallway toward the dressing room area.
Maggie opened the door to her office and turned on the light. She hung her jacket on the back of her chair and sat down for a minute to compose herself. She’d been like this all day, everytime she thought of him. No man had ever affected her the way he had. Not Jake, not Steven, whom she’d almost thought she was in love with back in Septem ber. Not Mace, her former husband. It bothered her to feel this way. Tomorrow he’d be gone. She fingered the petals of a ros e. How could he have known she’d preferred white to red, the usual rose of choice?
Seven-fifteen. Not much time for dinner. Maggie hurried down the hall and into the bar and found Lindy seated at a table.
“Why so late? Where have you been?” Lindy asked.
“I got tied up.”
“Here’s your dinner. I ordered for you since we’re run ning out of time. Good thing you showed up. I couldn’t eat two of these myself.”
The waitress placed a plate of chicken salad in front of each woman.
“So, Margaret,” Lindy said, grinning, “let’s hear it. And don’t leave out any of the good parts.”
“Well, you know I fell on Sunday. Flat on my face. There I was, jogging along, then the next thing I knew, my ankle went out from under me, and I was headed toward the ground. It was so odd, I still can’t figure out what happened—”
“Maggie, while God knows I’m sympathetic that you got hurt, this is not really the
“Ye s to the ticket, but you’re on your own as far as the pa rking place is concerned. I’ll be using it.”
“You’re kidding. Do you have to work late?”
“No.”
“Don’t tell me you’re staying for the show … Oh, I guess you heard about the guitar player, too?” she teased, knowing t hat other than dealing with the contracts and the reports rega rding box office receipts, Maggie, whose taste in music was limited to jazz, rarely gave a second thought to who was perfor ming.
“Something like that. I’ll get you the seat next to mine if i t’ s available.”
“ Grea t,” Lindy replied, wondering why she hadn’t had to t wi s t he r arm as she usually did.
“I’ll meet you for dinner, how’s that? Probably around seven , so we won’t have too much time.”
“Sounds great. I’ ll stop into your office…”
“No, don’t do that. Go in and get a table, and I’ll meet you. Gotta run.” Maggie hung up abruptly, not wanting to have to explain that she would most likely just be arriving back at the arena herself around seven after driving back to her apartment to pick up J.D.
She turned her attention to the file on her desk, and by the time she’d completed what she needed to do, it was 6:05. She cleared her desk and locked it, grabbed her jacket, and sped out the door, leaving a few startled co-workers puzzled by her quick departure without so much as a good-bye.
J.D. was outside sitting on the front porch steps, his jacket folded across his lap. He walked across the lawn whe n he saw her pull around the corn er, got into the passenger side, and leaned over, kissing her once, twice, three times.
“My neighbors will be talking about me,” she protested but only minimally.
“No doubt.” He leaned back into the seat, grinning, and rolled down the window.
They made some small talk in the car, but she could tell he was distracted, keyed up. He tapped on the console, and the expression on his face told her he was a million miles away. She wondered if he was always this nervous before a performance.
She pulled into the already jammed parking lot, the attendant waving her into the employees’ section, and she parked as close to the building as she could. They walked through the doors and were past the guard’s desk behind the glass partition before anyone in the crowded ticket lobby realized who had just walked by.
“Will you wait for me in the bar?” he asked, and she nodded. He leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose before following the hallway toward the dressing room area.
Maggie opened the door to her office and turned on the light. She hung her jacket on the back of her chair and sat down for a minute to compose herself. She’d been like this all day, everytime she thought of him. No man had ever affected her the way he had. Not Jake, not Steven, whom she’d almost thought she was in love with back in Septem ber. Not Mace, her former husband. It bothered her to feel this way. Tomorrow he’d be gone. She fingered the petals of a ros e. How could he have known she’d preferred white to red, the usual rose of choice?
Seven-fifteen. Not much time for dinner. Maggie hurried down the hall and into the bar and found Lindy seated at a table.
“Why so late? Where have you been?” Lindy asked.
“I got tied up.”
“Here’s your dinner. I ordered for you since we’re run ning out of time. Good thing you showed up. I couldn’t eat two of these myself.”
The waitress placed a plate of chicken salad in front of each woman.
“So, Margaret,” Lindy said, grinning, “let’s hear it. And don’t leave out any of the good parts.”
“Well, you know I fell on Sunday. Flat on my face. There I was, jogging along, then the next thing I knew, my ankle went out from under me, and I was headed toward the ground. It was so odd, I still can’t figure out what happened—”
“Maggie, while God knows I’m sympathetic that you got hurt, this is not really the
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