Bride Quartet Collection by Nora Roberts

his cell number so she could call and cancel.
    Now he just had to sit here, alone.
    For how long? he wondered. The fifteen minutes he’d already waited wasn’t long enough. A half an hour? An hour? Did waiting alone for an hour make him a pathetic loser?
    He thought it probably did.
    Stupid, he told himself and pretended to drink more green tea. He’d dated before—plenty. He’d been in a serious, intimate relationship with a woman for nearly a year. For God’s sake, he’d lived with her.
    Until she’d dumped him and moved in with someone else.
    But that was beside the point.
    It was just coffee. Or, well, tea in his case. And he was working himself up over a casual . . . encounter , he decided for lack of a better term, like some silly girl over a prom date.
    He went back to pretending to read his book while he pretended to drink his tea. And ordered himself not to watch the door of the coffee shop like a starving cat watches a mouse hole.
    He’d forgotten—or had stopped noticing long ago—how noisy the place was. Forgotten how many of his students frequented the cafe. Bob had been right about the bad locale.
    Colorful booths and stools were crowded with upperclassmen from the academy and the local high school, along with twentysomethings, with a scatter of teachers.
    The lights were too bright, the voices too loud.
    “Sorry I’m late. The shoot ran over.”
    He blinked as Mac slid into the chair across from him. “What?”
    “You must’ve really been into your book.” She angled her head to read the title. “Lawrence Block? Shouldn’t you be reading Hemingway or Trollope?”
    “Popular fiction’s a strong and viable force in literature.
    That’s why it’s popular. Reading for nothing more than pleasure is . . . another lecture coming on. Sorry.”
    “Teacher mode suits you.”
    “I suppose that’s a good thing, in the classroom. I didn’t realize you were working when you stopped by. We could’ve made it later.”
    “Just a couple of client meetings, and a shoot. I have a bride who for some reason wants every moment of her plans photo-documented professionally. Okay with me, as it’s money in the bank. I documented her fitting—wedding dress—with her mother in weeping attendance. The weeping added a little more time than I’d scheduled.”
    She pulled off her cap, finger fluffed her hair as she gazed around the shop. “I haven’t stopped in here before. Nice energy.” She notched up the smile for the girl who came over to take her order.
    “I’m Dee. What can I get you?”
    “I think we’ll have some fun. How about a tall latte macchiato, double shot, squirt of vanilla.”
    “Coming up. Another green tea for you, Dr. Maguire?”
    “No, I’m good, Dee. Thanks.”
    “Not a fancy coffee fan?” Mac asked as Dee went to put in the order.
    “Just not this late in the day. But it’s good here—the coffee. I usually stop in for a cappuccino in the morning before work. They sell the beans, too, so if you like the coffee . . . I have to get this out of the way. I can’t think. And not being able to think, my inane conversation’s going to put you to sleep despite the double shot.”
    “Okay.” Mac propped her chin on her fist. “Get whatever out of the way.”
    “I had a crush on you in high school.”
    Her eyebrows shot up as she straightened. “On me? Seriously?”
    “Yes, well, yes, for me. And it’s mortifying to bring this up, a dozen years or so after the fact, but it’s coloring the current situation. From my side, that is.”
    “But . . . I barely remember you ever actually speaking to me.”
    “I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was painfully shy back then, especially in any kind of social situation. Anything, particularly that involved girls. Girls I was attracted to, that is. And you were so . . .”
    “Tall latte mach, double with vanilla.” Dee set the oversized cup on the table, added a couple of mini crescents of biscotti on a saucer. “Enjoy!”
    “Don’t stop