Wild in the Moment by Jennifer Greene Page A

likely a sign of more lunacy in him, not of anything that was really there.
    Still, something went wrong. He managed a scowl and a bellow, but what came out of his mouth was hardly confrontational. “Daisy, do you know what a swatch is?”
    â€œA swatch?” she echoed in confusion.
    â€œYeah. A swatch. Like a woman needs to do curtains or upholstery or something.”
    â€œOh, like a swatch of fabric?”
    â€œI think so.”
    â€œWell, sure,” she said.
    â€œThank God. Can you explain it to me at dinner?”
    â€œOkay,” she responded, as if she’d never disappeared from his life and it was no big deal to go to dinner together.
    Possibly he was a certifiable lunatic, but that didn’tmean he’d lost the ability to recognize he’d gained ground. “Seven o’clock?” he pressed.
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œWhere do you want me to pick you up?”
    â€œHow about if I meet you right outside the café here?”
    There. He’d got that settled. Before she could change her mind—and ignoring all the interested eyes in the restaurant—he charged right back down the aisle and this time, directly outside. The sudden spank of icy wind tried to slap some reality into him, but didn’t seem to work. His head was still reeling. Had he imagined it? That wild night? That extraordinary coming together, the connection he’d never felt with anyone else, the jolt of excitement just talking to each other? Was it some fantasy he’d imagined in the stress of a blizzard? Because he’d had no one for so long? Because he’d stopped believing he’d ever find a woman who bamboozled his common sense ever again?
    Was Daisy real—or had being knocked out two weeks ago seriously addled his brain?
    Â 
    As if she weren’t already anxious-times-ten to be seeing Teague again, she was running late. To add insult to injury, she was just tugging on a cowl-necked sweater when her new cell phone beeped. Impatiently she grabbed it.
    â€œFinally,” a feminine voice scolded. “I got your voice mail about having a new phone number, but you didn’t say where you are. I’m gonna shoot you if you ever do this again!”
    Anxious or not anxious, Daisy had to chuckle. Her baby sister sounded so bossy. Camille had been through hell and back over the past couple years, losing her firstlove and almost losing herself in the aftermath. It had taken a long time—and the love of a terrific guy—to put that strident, bossy confidence back in her voice. “Hey, I called Mom and Dad and you and Violet, to let everyone know my new phone number—”
    â€œBut all you did was leave messages, so no one actually had a chance to talk to you! Nobody still knows where you are!”
    â€œWell, I’m here. Home in White Hills. For a little while, anyway.” With the cell phone clapped to her ear, she pushed on black Manolo Blahnik shoes, then stuffed a bill in her Kate Spade purse.
    â€œBut no one’s there! You know Violet closed up the house for the whole winter. And that I’m off with Pete and the boys.”
    As much as Daisy missed her sister, she shot another glance at her watch and kept hustling, grabbing a hair-brush, then lipstick. “Like it’s my fault the family’s gallivanting all over the place? For that matter, you’re the only one in the family who’s totally settled in White Hills, but instead of being around with your new husband and kids—”
    â€œAnd dogs. And my father-in-law.”
    â€œYeah. You sure know how to do a honeymoon, kid.”
    â€œQuit distracting me,” Camille chided. “The last I knew you were still in France. Violet and I both knew there was something wrong with Jean-Luc, something serious, but you never once told us what was going on. The next thing I know, I get the message that you have a new cell phone number and you’re back in the U.S.