on pins and needles the whole time, too. She was afraid Greg and his family would learn that she was a phony and didn’t belong in his circle.
That evening had passed without any serious problems or social blunders. But when it came time for the wedding, neither Antoinette nor Shelby had been able to attend.
Shelby, who’d always had one crisis or another while growing up, had gotten pregnant, which was a problem in itself, since she didn’t know who the father was. But to make matters worse, she’d started spotting right before she and Antoinette were to fly out for the wedding.
They’d had a good excuse for not attending, Carly supposed. But it was still weird seeing the Bannings’ family and friends fill the pews on both sides of the church.
She’d been disappointed, of course. But she’d also been relieved, knowing she wouldn’t have to stress about Shelby acting up and creating a scene during the wedding.
However, Bo was right.
“I’ll give my mom a call tonight,” she told him.
But she wouldn’t push too hard about her flying to New York. A part of Carly liked keeping her past at a healthy distance from her present.
“How about you?” she asked, wanting to get the focus off her family, her humble beginnings. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“Only brothers. Three of them. Pete, Jr., Rick and J.J.”
“Are you close?”
“Yeah.” He grinned, fondness for his family lighting up his eyes. “My folks encouraged a healthy competition among us, especially in sports. But they also fostered a strong sense of loyalty. So we might rib each other unmercifully at times, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t cheer each other on—not just in sports, but in school and now in the real world.”
Carly found his love of family touching and decided she’d like to meet them someday, to see what kind of people had created such a nice guy.
As the two of them sipped their wine, they made small talk.
Carly was charmed by Bo’s sweetness, by the sense of humor she hadn’t realized he had.
Before she could offer to pour more wine, he placed his empty glass on the coffee table and stood. “I probably ought to get going.”
“Oh,” she said, not at all ready for him to leave yet. “All right.” She followed his lead, going through the polite, thanks-for-stopping-by motions.
But it had been ages since she’d…well, since she’d felt as at ease with someone. She enjoyed Bo’s company, not to mention his smile and the way her pulse fluttered whenever she caught his eye.
Gosh, maybe Molly and Rebecca had been right.
There was life after divorce.
But what if Bo didn’t come back? What if she’d done something, said something, to run him off?
Her mind scampered around, searching for some reason to invite him back—an excuse that didn’t sound as though she was interested in more than his friendship. After all, she wasn’t entirely sure her marriage was over. But she liked Bo and looked forward to seeing him again.
She wasn’t sure how to orchestrate something like that, other than come up with a bogus project she could hire him to do.
“You know,” she said, creating a feasible ploy on the spot, “I’ve been wanting a built-in bookcase in this room. I don’t suppose you have time to make one for me?”
He scanned the den, eyeing the walls, the ceiling. “Sure, I can do it. Why don’t I come by on Monday? I can measure the area and show you some wood samples.”
“Sounds good,” she said, feeling as though she’d scored, even if it was by default.
She led him to the front door, and as he stepped past her, his gaze snagged hers. Something—God only knew what—passed between them. Something she could almost touch.
“But it’ll have to be bright and early on Monday morning,” he added.
“That’s not a problem.”
“It isn’t?” he asked. “You’re not an early bird by nature.”
No, she wasn’t. But she hadn’t been sleeping well lately and often had the coffee brewing before dawn.
“I’ll be awake.”
And looking forward to seeing him again.
Chapter Three
On Saturday night, Carly, Molly and Rebecca sat at a linen-draped table at Entrée, a charming bistro-style eatery that specialized in nouvelle cuisine and provided jazz in the lounge on weekend evenings.
With its warm yellow walls, dark wood trim and massive stone fireplace, Entrée provided romantic ambiance, as well as great food.
Their neighbors on Danbury Way, Ed and Marti Vincente, owned the restaurant and worked hard to make sure everything ran properly. Marti, an attractive redhead in her thirties, was the hostess and provided a friendly welcome to all who entered.
Ed, who’d been in the kitchen when Carly and her friends arrived, stopped by the table and dropped off a basket of bread. “Hello, ladies. Marti said she’d seated you back here. Can I get you a drink?”
“We’re celebrating,” Rebecca told the thirtysomething owner. “Can you please bring us a bottle of your nicest champagne?”
“Certainly.” Ed grinned and quickly scanned the table. “Did someone get a promotion?”
“I suppose you can call it that.” Rebecca laughed. “Carly’s been promoted to single and available.”
Ed gave Carly a supportive smile followed by a playful wink. “Something tells me a lovely woman like you won’t remain unattached very long, so I’d better hurry and get that bottle of champagne before you don’t need it any longer.”
When he disappeared, Carly said, “He’s sweet. Marti’s a lucky woman.”
“I agree.” Molly reached into the breadbasket, pulled out a baguette slice and dipped it into a saucer of olive oil and balsamic vinegar.
Out of habit, Carly took the basket and peered at a mouthwatering variety of oven-fresh breads. Needless to say, it was all beyond tempting, but she quickly rewrapped the linen and set the basket back on the table, opting to skip the additional calories and carbs.
“You know,” she admitted, “I’m not sure why I let you talk me into celebrating. I’m not looking forward to dating. Most of the good men are already taken, and with my luck, I’ll be looking for Mr. Right only to find Mr. All That’s Left.”
“You don’t have to date the first man who asks you out,” Rebecca said. “Be particular. Some women are so desperate that they jump at the chance to have a lover.”
Been there, done that, Carly realized.
In high school, she’d never been popular with the boys—or the girls, either, for that matter. She’d always blamed it on being overweight and geeky.
Without the distraction of friends and extracurricular activities, she’d concentrated on her studies. And thanks to good grades, she’d received a full scholarship to North Carolina University at Chapel Hill.
When a nasty bout of intestinal flu hit the dorms during that first winter, Carly couldn’t seem to kick the bug, and had lost more than twenty pounds—enough to fit into her stylish roommate’s clothes. And almost immediately men began to notice her—something that made losing that last ten pounds easy.
On a whim, she’d visited a salon near campus, where she’d lightened her dishwater-blond hair and received tips on makeup application. And suddenly she found herself in a brand-new world, the Mars-Venus world of dating.
“Marry