Three sisters. One wedding. It’d be enough to drive anybody crazy.

NEELY: Reliable, hardworking, pragmatic…and single. That is until new beau Robert suddenly pops the question. Neely’s as stunned as the rest of her opinionated Southern family. But she’d rather drink warm ice tea before introducing Robert to that clan.

SAVANNAH: Suburban, almost-empty-nester Savannah is having the mother of all midlife transformations. Sure, she’s still gorgeous, married to a doctor and a whiz in the kitchen. But lately she’s just been feeling so darn invisible. Only one way to change that…

VI: What’s going on with the Mason family? Composed Neely is cracking jokes, Savannah has lost her perky glow and Vi…well, infuriating, eccentric, contrary baby-girl Vi is actually making sense for once. Could it be she’s finally growing up?

Tanya Michaels

Tanya Michaels enjoys writing about love, whether it’s the romantic kind or the occasionally exasperated affection we feel for family members. Tanya made her debut with a 2003 romantic comedy, and her books have been nominated for awards such as Romantic Times BOOKclub’s Reviewer’s Choice, Romance Writers of America’s RITA® Award, the National Readers’ Choice and the Maggie Award of Excellence. In 2005, she won the prestigious Booksellers’ Best Award. She’s lucky enough to have a hero of a husband, as well as family and friends who love her despite numerous quirks. Visit www.tanyamichaels.com to learn more about Tanya and her upcoming books, or write to her at PMB #97, 4813 Ridge Road, Suite 111, Douglasville, GA 30134.

The Good Kind of Crazy
Tanya Michaels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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In honor of my sister and dear friend, Lara Spiker

CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 1

So this is what it feels like to be the unpredictable one in the family. A definite first for Neely Mason. One of four siblings, forty-five-year-old Neely was known for being reliable, hardworking, pragmatic…and single, much to the chagrin of her cheerfully opinionated Southern relatives.

But running the risk of becoming a sixty-year-old unwed cat lady had been Neely’s sole nod toward eccentricity; it was her twenty-six-year-old sister, Vidalia, who habitually caught people off guard. Vi had been a surprise from the moment Mrs. Mason learned that her “early menopause” was actually a pregnancy. The unexpected late-in-life baby had grown into a quirky career student who still delighted in startling others. For a change, Vi’s pretty bow-shaped mouth was hanging open in the same gape as everyone else’s.

Ten minutes ago, the clank of silverware had been the background music to Savannah fussing that everyone got enough to eat and Douglas charming their parents with the latest anecdote starring Douglas. Now, silent shock was as tangible in the dining room as the heirloom mahogany furniture and the brass antique chandelier—the one Neely had always thought looked like a spider with lightbulb feet. Though rarely fanciful, Neely could swear her announcement had halted not only conversation but the rhythmic ticking from the wall clock.

Well, how did you expect them to take it?

Since she’d never actually told her family that she’d been seeing Robert Walsh for the past six months, possibly the last thing they’d expected to hear from Neely was, “I’m getting married.”

“To a man?” It was Vi who finally spoke. “I mean, you never bring guys home and rarely date, so I always wondered if you were a les—”

“Vidalia Jean!” Mrs. Beth Mason flushed red and actually crossed herself.

Neely rolled her eyes. “Mom, we’re not Catholic. And, Vi, I’m not a lesbian.”

“Well, congratulations on your engagement,” Savannah put in smoothly. “I’m sorry Jason couldn’t be here today, he’d want to pass on his felicitations, as well.”

“Felicitations?” Vi snorted at their older sister— Savannah beat out Neely by eleven months. “I’m working on a second Master’s, and even I don’t talk like that. Can’t you just say ‘Way to go, sis’?”

Douglas, their thirty-nine-year-old brother, stopped eating long enough to tease Vi. “Criticism from someone who had to ask the fiancé’s gender?”

Vi shot him a look that was the slightly more mature version of sticking out her tongue, then studied Neely’s left hand. “So, where’s the rock?”

“We’re going to pick it out together.”

Robert had proposed last night, on her birthday, giving her two small jewelry boxes after the sumptuous dinner he’d prepared. The first had held a pin, the infinity sign in her birthstone, aquamarine. The second had been empty; he’d told her he’d found his perfect woman, and that if she’d do him the honor of spending the rest of her life with him, they’d find something perfect to fill the ring box. Her lips curved, remembering. He was such a sap, she thought affectionately, not at all who she would have pictured for her husband. Robert was definitely a surprise.

Especially to her family.

Beth cleared her throat, staring pointedly toward her own husband, Gerald Mason, who sat at the head of the table. “Don’t you have something to add, dear?”

“Hmm?” The Professor, as everyone called Neely’s father, glanced up, his faded blue eyes characteristically preoccupied behind his bifocals.

“For instance,” his wife prompted, “asking about who this young man is we’ve never heard of before today!”

“You’ve heard of Robert lots of times,” Neely said. “I’ve worked with him for three years, ever since I left the accounting firm and went to work in-house at Becker. I think some of you have even met him.”

“Yeah, but that’s hardly the same as knowing you’re bumping uglies with him.”

“Vidalia Jean!”

“What?” Vi looked at their mother, all owl-eyed innocence. “She just turned forty-five. You don’t think she’s a virgin, do you? Douglas isn’t married anymore, but I’ll bet no one expects him to lead a celibate lifestyle.”

“Hey,” Douglas protested around a mouthful of potato salad, “my love life isn’t the issue today.”

Beth could have been a ventriloquist with the way she enunciated her words from behind primly set lips. “Some topics are not appropriate to the dinner table.”

“But hearing about Uncle Darnell’s colonoscopy last month was okay?” Vi muttered.

Savannah stood, a purposeful smile on her attractive face. “Vi, darlin’, why don’t you help me clear the table and get candles for Neely’s cake? Mama did all the work preparing dinner and it’s Neely’s celebration, so I think we should be the ones to clean up, don’t you?”

Neely was sure the answer to that question would be a resounding no, but Vidalia dutifully scooted her chair back across the gold-and-cream area rug. Then Vi grabbed a couple of dishes from the table, including her brother’s plate.

“I was still eating that!”

“Come finish it in the kitchen,” his younger sister said tartly. “I’ve been exiled from the discussion, I don’t see why you should get to stay.”

As the three of them went into the adjoining room, Douglas explained that if he had stayed, Vi would’ve had a mole who could fill her in later. Neely barely made out Vi’s retort that, for a lawyer, Douglas was surprisingly unobservant, only noting “guy things” and skimping on pertinent details.

Neely couldn’t decide if she was glad her siblings were gone, or if she felt more nervous facing her parents alone. Well, her mother, anyway, still formidable at sixty-seven. The Professor wasn’t the sort who made anyone nervous, unless his history students had feared failing grades back when he taught at the community college.

“You children.” Heaving a sigh at her end of the table, Beth Mason shook her head. Her steel-colored curls, set for the last twenty years at Lana’s Beauty Shop, didn’t move so much as a strand. “Some people think parenting stops when the kids leave the house, but that’s just not so. Take Vidalia for instance—you know the nights I stay up worrying about that girl? And now you, who has been nearly as dependable as my Savannah, give us a heart attack with this news that you’re getting married out of the blue sky. You’re not…in the family way, are you?”

“Pregnant?” Neely choked on a horrified laugh. “At my age?” She had the urge to make the sign of the cross herself.

“I was over forty when I had Vidalia. Turned out to be a good thing, since she would have driven me prematurely gray if I’d had her young. But it’s nice to hear you aren’t getting married for that reason. I’m glad you’re in love. Still, you’d think that would be the sort of thing a girl told her family.”

Neely squirmed in her chair. When Robert had kissed her on the beach during an administrative retreat in Key West, she hadn’t told anyone—not even her best friend, Leah. What if the incident had been the by-product of fruity green umbrella drinks and nothing more? But shortly after, he’d asked her to come cheer him on at a pool championship and invited her to one of the meet-and-greet cookouts he and several of his apartment neighbors frequently threw. As she and Robert magically passed that invisible barrier between becoming a couple and actual coupledom, she’d shared the news with Leah, but neglected to bring it up during the monthly Sunday dinners with her family. She’d told herself she was forty-five and hardly needed anyone’s permission to date, but that wasn’t it.

Though her immediate family had finally stopped nagging her about having a man in her life, she knew the second they caught wind of one, the resulting matrimonial pressure would be intense. As would the pressure to have Robert over for dinner. Neely barely made it through these gatherings with her own sanity intact; she was reluctant to subject the man she loved to one.

Of course, she loved her family, too. She just didn’t consider them confidantes. Vi was of a completely different generation, Douglas was normally wrapped up in his own life, and Savannah…well, Neely would just as soon keep her Savannah issues repressed. And Lord knew what Robert would make of her parents. He’d thought it was endearingly odd that the Masons had deliberately named all four of their children after Georgia cities, but that wasn’t even the tip of her family’s idiosyncrasies.

Robert was one of the few people not related by blood who could get away with calling Neely by her given name, Cornelia. The way her mother was glaring at her now, she was about to get the full “Cornelia Annette” treatment.

“I’m sorry, Mom. You know I’m…a private person. At first, I just wasn’t comfortable telling you all about him because I wasn’t sure where the relationship was going, if anywhere. Then, once a few months had passed, trying to figure out how to backpedal and tell you we were involved was awkward.”

“So you waited until the engagement?” Beth arched an eyebrow. “At least we found out before the wedding invitation showed up in the mail. I suppose that’s something.”

Neely bit back a groan—her mother’s sarcasm was partially deserved and entirely expected. It was why she’d asked Robert to let her tell them alone. After she’d accepted his proposal, they’d headed for his bedroom, and she’d floated on bliss and champagne until waking at three in the morning to the realization that she’d have to tell the Masons today. He’d wanted to come with her, but the second her family saw a man walk in, they would have known something was afoot. They would have ferreted out the engagement before she’d even got past the foyer, and everything afterward would have been pointed remarks and interrogation. It seemed an inhospitable way to repay him for such a lovely night.

“How old did you say he was again?” Beth demanded.

I didn’t. “Forty-seven.”

Her mother sniffed. “Divorced, I suppose.”

Neely bit the inside of her lip at her mom’s hypocrisy. To her mother, divorced still meant damaged goods and scandal; yet Beth thought her only son could do no wrong, was shocked that his wife had left him and just knew a more deserving woman lurked in his future.

“Actually, Mom, Robert’s never been married. We have that in common.”

“Pushing fifty and he’s never settled down?” Beth narrowed her sharp hazel eyes. “What’s wrong with him that no woman would have him? Or is he the kind who runs from commitment?”

“Would you prefer he was divorced?”

“Don’t you sass me. I don’t care how old you are, I’m still your mama and I won’t be sassed at my own table. I’m unhappy enough that this husband-to-be of yours didn’t do us the honor of coming to meet us.”

“That’s my fault. I wanted to tell you alone and stopped him from coming. We argued about it this morning.” Quibbled, anyway.

Beth looked somewhat mollified. “Well, we should meet him soon.”

“As quickly as we can all fit it into our schedules,” Neely promised. “I’ll call you this week.”

“You work with him—is he an accountant, too?”

Which was nicer than the way Vi would have asked. So is he another soulless number-cruncher? Neely figured her baby sister had plenty of “soul” for the whole family…maybe not the budget or discipline to pay rent regularly, but definitely spunk and imagination. “Not exactly. He works in market analysis. We collaborate on reports for our boss, especially on prospective deals. Robert’s a visionary who puts together projections on the potential benefits of a deal, and I work the figures to make sure it’s affordable and evaluate realistic profit margins.” They were a good team.

But Beth was interested in different details. “Where are his people from?”

Oh, boy. “His parents live in Lawrenceville.”

“So he grew up in Gwinnett?”

“Went to high school there, when they relocated from Vermont. Decades ago.” Not that any number of years could help them now, she knew.

“They’re Yankees?”

That drew signs of life from Gerald Mason. “During the War Between the States, the Vermont 4th Infantry—”

“Oh, for the love of…” Beth had never, in Neely’s memory, actually finished her oft-repeated phrase; the siblings used to make a game of speculating. For the love of God? Probably not, as that would fall under Beth’s definition of blasphemy. The love of Mike? Pete? Elvis? Six-armed alien sexbots? The latter being Vi’s contribution.

“Gerald, our daughter has informed us that she’s taking a husband. Surely you’d like to contribute something to the conversation other than regiment trivia?”

He offered Neely a soft, somehow unfocused smile. If he’d been sitting closer to her, he probably would have patted her on the arm. “Congratulations, sweet pea. Do you need us to pay for the wedding? We certainly have more saved up now than we did when Savannah settled down.”

“No, Dad, that’s all right.” She and Robert might not be rich, but they made decent salaries at Becker Southern Media, and she’d invested wisely. “We’ve both got savings accounts and can manage a simple affair. We thought June would be—”

“June? That’s just three months away,” Beth pointed out in a you’re-out-of-your-everlovin’-mind tone. People often talked about genteel Southern Belles, but forgot to mention another traditional figure, the Southern Matriarch, the iron-willed, sharp-eyed woman who usually raised those belles and ran the household. “And what is this folderol about a simple affair? Surely you aren’t planning to shame your family.”

Neely wondered idly if there were wedding planners who specialized in that—holiday weddings, theme weddings, nuptial events that will make your mama put a paper bag over her head. “I’m planning on getting married, Mother. Shame wasn’t part of the equation.”

“There’s that sass again. You have relatives, Cornelia, people who love you and would be slighted if they didn’t get a chance to participate in your big day. We should call Savannah back in here and start making lists immediately. Maybe we should even call Carol and Jo to help! Seems like a month of Sundays since we all got together.”

At the mention of her two aunts, a sense of foreboding rolled through Neely like dark storm clouds through a summer sky. “Mom, Robert and I haven’t discussed what kind of wedding—”

“Don’t you’d think you’d better hurry if you’re going to be married in June? Besides, men don’t want to be bothered with things like seating charts and floral arrangements! They’re grateful for a woman who can handle all of the organizing and just show them where to stand on the big day. Isn’t that right, Gerald?”

“Yes, dear.”

Neely, however, didn’t feel as agreeable. She was familiar enough with Beth’s take-charge personality to worry. She didn’t want to lose control of her wedding. After all, she’d waited forty-five years to have one, so shouldn’t it be the day of her dreams?

Our dreams, she reminded herself guiltily. Robert’s and mine. She was so used to living her life alone and making plans accordingly.

But all that was about to change.

CHAPTER 2

“You okay, kid?”

Vi sent a glare of female empowerment toward her brother, but the full effect was probably lost behind her tinted sunglasses. “I hate when you call me that.”

Douglas gave her a deliberately irritating smirk from the driver’s seat. “Why do you think I still do it?”

She laughed despite herself. He had that effect on her—on all women, really. Whether it was making a sister laugh or getting a female client to confide in him, dark-haired, dimpled Douglas was good at charming the ladies. He’d told her it was a shallow talent but not without its uses, especially when it came to jury selection. Or when it had come to sweet-talking their older sisters into covering for him, but that was before her time.

Flipping on his left blinker, he waltzed the luxury sedan across two lanes on 85, toward the exit that led to the run-down duplex Vi shared with a Hispanic single mother and her children. Vi, who used the MARTA bus and subway system as her primary means of getting around, didn’t have a car of her own. But that lack was not going to excuse her from monthly Sunday dinners, particularly now that Douglas lived so close.

Geography-wise, anyway.

The condo he’d taken a few blocks from his firm’s downtown building seemed worlds away from Vi’s weathered brick house with its rusty porch rail and torn window screens; her low-budget rental agreement had stipulated “as is” conditions, making most repairs her responsibility but giving her leniency in terms of redecorating. She kept meaning to spruce up the place, but with classes and three part-time jobs, she had even less time than money. Plus, she wasn’t sure how much she wanted to invest when she and another waitress were talking about maybe looking for an apartment together to help lower bills.

“Thanks for the ride home, old man.” A fitting response to the kid remark. “If I’d had to wait for Savannah, who knows when I would have escaped? They looked like they were settling in for the long haul.” June was still a few months off, but their mother had acted as if all the wedding details had to be nailed down today.

“You’re not upset they didn’t ask you to stay, are you?”

Vi blinked. “For planning all that girlie stuff? Please. I know even less about weddings than you do.”

She knew enough about Neely, however, to recognize the trapped expression in her blue eyes as Savannah and Beth tag-teamed her. Savannah could teach Martha Stewart a thing or two about putting together a beautiful event, and Beth, who’d helped raise two younger sisters and then four children of her own, could have organized the entire Confederate Army if she’d been born a century sooner. And if they’d given women meaningful leadership roles. So Vi had no doubts that Neely’s wedding would be a lovely, well-run occasion. She just wondered if, between her sister and her mother, any of Neely’s personality would show through.

Assuming Neely had one.

Her efficient, detached older sister had a brain like a calculator. Of course, most of Vi’s family would say she had enough personality for all of them, and they wouldn’t mean it as a compliment. The thought bothered her more than it normally would.

With a start, she realized that Neely’s announcement today had broken the only real bond she’d shared with her sister. Savannah was perfect and Douglas, if flawed by his divorce, was successful and charming enough to secure his parents’ adoration. But Neely’s “spinsterhood” had always earned their mother’s and aunts’ disapproval, much like Vi’s…everything.

“Well, here we are.” Douglas pulled onto the cracked driveway that led up to the left half of the double-home. On the parallel right-hand strip of pavement, a shirtless teenager had his head stuck under the hood of an old blue Cadillac. Douglas flicked his gaze in that direction. “You may not have a car for me to work on, but I’ve been meaning to ask, do you, um, need a little help with repairs on this place?”

Since she doubted her brother had lifted a hammer his entire adult life, she snorted at the offer. “Mom said something to you about my disgraceful living conditions.”

“While also managing to cast aspersions on my manhood and ability with power tools.”

The idea of Douglas near a power tool made Vi’s fingers itch to dial 911. Zoe, his ex, used to joke that he drank straight Scotch over ice because he couldn’t even build a decent drink. Vi had liked the woman and occasionally still ran into her on campus, where the willowy brunette taught a civics class. At thirty-seven the former Mrs. Mason was attractive enough that Vi wouldn’t be surprised if freshman boys had hot-for-teacher fantasies over her.

For that matter, Vi had reason to believe her brother still fantasized about Zoe on a regular basis. Their divorce was no healthier than their marriage had been, but given Vi’s own dysfunctional love life, she wasn’t one to judge. Her relationships seemed to come in two modes—low-key fun with guys she knew she’d never stay with long, and passionate flings characterized by intense sex but too much fighting. Frankly, until today’s revelation, she’d always wondered if Neely had the right idea by staying single.

Oblivious to Vi’s mental meandering, Douglas was still defending his masculinity. “All right, so I’m not…some guy famous for renovating stuff. My employers must not think I’m useless because they pay me pretty damn well. Even if I don’t rescreen your windows myself, I can certainly write you a check to get it done.”

Yes he could, without even blinking. It was so Douglas to offer the easy solution.

She sighed, wishing his attempted generosity didn’t leave her feeling snide. “Nah, I’d probably just blow the money on booze and extreme makeovers.” Besides, if she really needed something fixed, she could always ask Brendan, her most recent low-key boyfriend, a nice guy with whom she had little in common.

As if she were the kid he’d jokingly called her, Douglas reached over and tousled her hair, a chin-length platinum shag. “I like this, but I kept waiting for Mom to say something about it.”

Please. As if Savannah hadn’t been dyeing her hair for years? Or did Douglas think it was naturally retaining its youthful gold, unmarred by the hereditary gray that streaked Neely’s ash-blond bob? Vi had heard their mother sigh to Neely as they’d set out the china, “I suppose that awful bleaching is better than some of the colors Vidalia could have chosen.”

She forced a laugh. “Pointless to say something about it now that it’s done, isn’t it? Besides, I’m a grown-up, and it’s my hair.”

Douglas stared at her for a long, unsmiling second, then ducked his head, a wry grin and one dimple evident in profile. “You’re no more a responsible grown-up than I am. We just play different games, is all.”

Savannah parked The Tank, her SUV, wondering if she’d ever be completely comfortable maneuvering the vehicle into her half of the garage. When Trent left for university next fall and she was officially beyond her toting-children-around years, maybe she’d buy something small and sleek. The thought should have made her smile, but instead a cold shadow passed through her. It seemed like only yesterday her sons had been strapped into car seats behind her, pelting each other with Cheerios.

She unfastened her seat belt with a sigh, her mood not lightened by the realization that she should have called. Arriving home late with no word was the kind of behavior that would have earned her boys a reprimand. Even though her husband and youngest son knew she’d been with her family, a lot could have happened between Kennesaw and Roswell. She’d been so caught up in the excitement of Neely’s wedding plans that she’d forgotten to phone them so they didn’t worry and let them know what dinner options were in the refrigerator.

But a voice that sounded more like one of her sisters’ than hers whispered, Trent is seventeen and Jason has a medical degree, they can darn well open the fridge and see for themselves what’s available. Okay, maybe that didn’t sound exactly like her sisters. She couldn’t imagine no-nonsense Neely saying darn, and the thought of Vi using such a watered-down expression was enough to restore Savannah’s grin as she opened the door that led into her spacious navy-and-white kitchen. Sunflower accents added bright splashes of cheer.

Although she hadn’t done any baking today, the room smelled as homey and delicious as it did on Thanksgiving, thanks to the cinnamon spice potpourri she kept in the windowsill over the double sink. She worked hard to make this house a comfortable, inviting place to live. Whether he was capable of checking in the refrigerator or not wasn’t the point—Jason Carter, one of Atlanta’s best obstetricians, worked long, draining shifts and provided well for his wife and two sons. The least she could do was insure he came home to lovingly prepared meals and clean rooms.

The kitchen was unsurprisingly empty. Though the women in her family were known for congregating in kitchens, Savannah’s sons and husband normally gravitated toward the big-screen television. She heard muffled sounds from the den down the hallway.

“I’m home,” she called out, kicking off her shoes before she padded across the pale carpeting.

Trent and Jason were both in the den, her son stretched across the couch with his size twelve sneakers on the velour arm, and her husband sprawled in the recliner she’d bought him for Christmas. An open cardboard box on the coffee table between them revealed two uneaten slices of pizza, and while both men said hello, neither looked away from the basketball game they were watching.

“Honestly, Trent, you’re old enough to know better than to put your shoes on my furniture.” And a shower after his softball practice wouldn’t have killed him, either.

“Sorry.” He bent toward his feet with teenage flexibility, tossing the shoes to the ground with muffled thuds while his gaze stayed locked on the foul shot being made. Now the room smelled like sweat socks and sausage pizza—she squelched the urge to run for her vacuum cleaner and some carpet deodorizer.

“I hope you two weren’t worried about me,” she said, feeling like an idiot even as the words left her mouth. The glassy-eyed, sauce-smeared faces before her did not hold expressions of concern. “I know I’m normally back long before dinnertime, but—”

“Now that you mention it.” Trent craned his head, his hazel eyes finally meeting hers as he flashed her an impish grin. “What are we having?”

It was just plain sad that some part of her was pleased by his request, felt gratifyingly needed. “Didn’t you have pizza already?”

He crinkled his nose. “That was an afternoon snack. I’m starved. But I can finish off those last two slices if you don’t want to cook, Mom.”

“I don’t mind.” The words came out too fast, the echo of desperation worse than the locker-room-meets-pizzeria aroma. “Any special requests, Jason?”

Her husband shook his head. “I made the mistake of having a piece of our son’s killer pizza when I got in and have the heartburn to show for it. I’ll probably take some antacid and hit the sack early.”

“Deliveries go okay?” she asked.

“One emergency C, but all mothers and babies are in good health. I’m exhausted, though. I swear I could just sleep here—this chair’s even more comfortable than our bed.”

If Trent hadn’t been in the room, would she have flirted a little, teased that she’d miss her husband if he didn’t come to bed? The truth was, with the crazy hours he sometimes worked, she was accustomed to sleeping alone. Besides, his snoring on the mattress next to her didn’t always make her feel less lonely.

She forced a bright smile, not that anyone was looking at her. “Well, I have big news! You’ll never believe who’s getting married—Neely.”

That got their attention. Jason looked up, grunting in surprise. “Neely? I half expected you to say Vi followed a wild impulse and ran off with her pottery instructor or something.”

“Aunt Cornelia?” Trent’s mouth had fallen open. “Wow. Why?”

Men. “Because she’s in love.”

Her son ran a hand through his dark hair, considering. “I guess. It’s just weird to think about someone her age, you know, dating.”

“She’s younger than I am.”

“Sure, but not by much and you’re a mom. You’ve got grown kids. You don’t date!”

No, she didn’t. She went with her son to scout universities and planned meals, making jokes about how much her grocery bill would drop once she no longer had teenage boys in the house. Reverting to type now, she left the guys to their game and retreated to the kitchen, deciding a chef salad would work nicely for her and Trent’s dinner. It had been tough when Adam, her twenty-year-old, left for school, but having Trent at home had helped ease the ache. Once he was gone, her life would be so…

Quiet. She tried to put a relaxing spin on the word. Less stressful without a seventeen-year-old and his appalling musical taste. She wouldn’t have to wait up on Saturday nights, lying in bed and listening for him to come home from his dates. Oh, who did she think she was kidding? With her baby out on his own, she’d probably lie in bed worrying about him every night. Hoping he didn’t fall in with the wrong kids, wondering if he was keeping on top of his course work, praying he didn’t get some pretty young coed pregnant.

Jason had chuckled at those same concerns when Adam left for university. “You raised good kids,” her husband had assured her. “Now it’s time to let them go and become the men they’ll be.”

Raised good kids—past tense. She’d been a full-time mom and housewife for two decades. Her days were going to be strangely empty without PTA meetings, doctors’ appointments, football booster club. Not that she felt sorry for herself. She was proud of her nearly grown sons, and aware of her blessings. How many of her friends and neighbors had marveled over Savannah’s life?

You’re so together, Savannah, I could never be that organized!

You have such great boys.

How on earth do you find time to cook like this—and with such sinful desserts, how do you stay so trim?

She knew she was lucky.

It was just…since she didn’t turn forty-six until late April, Savannah and her sister were the same age one month out of every year. She and Neely were both forty-five. So, why did it seem like Neely’s life was about to hit a new beginning while Savannah’s, in so many ways, seemed to be coming to a close?

“So, how’d it go?” Because Robert was too kind to hold grudges, there was no lingering annoyance in his gray eyes, no resentment that Neely had argued against his coming to lunch. There was only affection and a hint of amusement.

“Great.” She leaned against his kitchen counter, where breakfast and lunch dishes were stacked. Must not have been room for them in the sink—not with last night’s dinner plates, abandoned in passionate haste, still piled beneath the faucet. “It went great.”

Other than Vi thinking she was a lesbian, her divorced brother becoming uncharacteristically withdrawn after he’d absorbed the wedding news and their mother’s insistence on calling Neely’s soon-to-be in-laws the Yankees.

With a sigh, she abandoned the pretense. “My family makes me crazy.”

Robert laughed. “Isn’t that what families are for, to offset all the needless sanity in our lives?”

Grinning back at him felt good. “Then my mother deserves some kind of award for going above and beyond. She’s known about the wedding less than twelve hours, and already she’s trying to take over. How many groomsmen were you thinking, because she’s suggesting distant cousins I swear I’ve never met to be bridesmaids.”

“Groomsmen? Well, there’s Stuart, of course. Maybe Bryan. Is it okay that I haven’t actually given this part much thought? I’ve only been engaged for a day.”

Engaged. Her heart fluttered at the newness of it, the wonder that she’d found someone who wanted to spend his life with her. “Of course it’s okay that we haven’t figured out the details yet. One step at a time. But it might have simplified my life, at least short term, if I’d waited until later to tell her.”

His arms fell to her waist, and he pulled her closer. “How much later?”

“Umm…June?”

He chuckled again, as he so often did. Robert had a perfect laugh, deep and warm—neither self-conscious titters, nor the loud, my-jokes-are-so-funny bray of a guy who pokes fun at others. Merely the comfortable reaction of a man who saw the humor in life. And helped her see it more clearly.

She’d always been reserved, figuring someone in the family should be. She wasn’t like outgoing Savannah who knew the perfect response to every social occasion, mouthy Vi who delighted in audaciousness, or Douglas, who, in the course of charming and joking his way through life, sometimes failed to respect the gravity of a situation. Except for one disastrous period of college rebellion she didn’t like to remember, Neely had clung to hard work and staying focused. As a result, she now held a good position working for Cameron Becker. Seriousness had served her well.

It just hadn’t gotten her laid very often, Vi would point out.

Neely’s relationships with men who matched her personality had been sensible, but boring. On the other hand, her two affairs with guys her polar opposite had ended badly, the first in college which had left her humiliated and heartbroken, the second just before she hit forty. She’d ended the latter relationship quickly, before she killed the man and had to retain Douglas to defend her.

But now she had Robert. It was one of life’s ironies that she’d found her perfect balance when she wasn’t even looking. Between all the time she’d devoted to work and the girls’ nights she’d spent helping Leah through her separation and eventual divorce, Neely had barely dated in four years before Robert kissed her on that beach.

She snuggled into his shoulder, the memory of sea air superimposed over the familiar smell of his aftershave. “If the end result is marrying you, I can handle anything my mother dishes out over the next three months.”

“I love you, too.”

“Just remember that later this week, okay?” Neely finally had escaped her parents’ house today with sworn oaths to bring Robert over in a few days and discuss wedding plans more then. The thought of the coming conversations made her head hurt. “You’re sure I can’t talk you into eloping?” Quick, simple, and no worries about assigning someone to keep cousin Phoebe away from the bar.

“Sorry.” He grinned that rakish smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Since I’ve waited so long to find the right bride, I insist we do the wedding right. Have you recruited Leah as your maid of honor yet? Maybe she can help run interference with your mom.”

Recalling the shadowed expression in Douglas’s eyes before he’d left, Neely struggled against a wince. It was tough to share the news of your engagement with someone whose own marriage had collapsed. Still, she knew Leah would be thrilled for her. It should help that her friend already knew about Robert and that she’d been divorced considerably longer than Neely’s brother.

“I’m telling her tomorrow. I asked her this morning if we could meet for lunch.”

“Well, then. That will take care of the most important people, except…”

“Your parents.” She’d never met them, but since they were the people who’d raised Robert, she assumed they were wonderful.

“They’ll be back from their cruise by next weekend. Not nervous, are you?”

“No.” Sure, she’d experienced the odd apprehensive moment over informing the future in-laws that their only child was taking a bride, but it had to be easier than dealing with her family today. “Your family’s normal, right?”

He grinned. “Normal is such a relative term.”

CHAPTER 3

Neely strode through the Lenox Square Mall, which was pretty crowded for a Monday. Leah worked as a cosmetics consultant in one of the upscale department stores, so they were meeting in one of the restaurants inside the mall. Declining a sample of teriyaki chicken as she passed the food court and zigzagging around two women oohing and ahhing over some Kenneth Cole shoes outside a store window, Neely recalled how Leah had sounded on the phone yesterday morning. Distracted, sniffly. Her friend had claimed seasonal allergies and the disorienting effects of antihistamine, which was certainly plausible in Georgia this time of year. If it had been twelve months ago, or even six, Neely would have assumed that Leah was crying over her rat bastard ex-husband, but her friend seemed adjusted to her single life lately.

She looks terrific, anyway. Neely watched Leah step off the escalator. With her wave of red-gold hair and slimming uniform of black turtleneck and slacks, she was easy to spot among browsing housewives in pastel spring fashions. Whereas Neely had put on a few pounds after lingering over meals with Robert, Leah had lost at least fifteen since her divorce, largely because she took out her aggression in workouts at a women’s gym. Her body was in the best shape it had been since Neely had known her.

But as the two women came to a stop within a few feet of each other beneath the emerald awning of the agreed-upon bar and grill, Neely could see Leah’s pretty face sported more makeup than usual. Still not enough to disguise her red and slightly swollen eyes.

Antihistamines, my ass. “You’ve been crying.” At times like this, she wished she had Savannah’s diplomatic knack of knowing what to say.

“Not in the last five minutes,” Leah said, trying to make a joke of it with her wobbly smile.

“Well, let’s get you to a table, I’ll buy you lunch and you can tell me what’s wrong.”

“Okay, but I don’t actually have much of an appetite and margaritas are a no-no since I have to go back to work right after this. Don’t want unsteady hands while I’m wielding a mascara wand near a customer’s eye.”

An impossibly skinny hostess with towering heels and a fall of straight, glossy hair showed them to a booth. Neely hoped for the pretty young woman’s sake that she had someone to rub her feet at the end of her shift—standing all day in those shoes couldn’t be comfortable.

Even though Leah had said she wasn’t hungry and Neely’s blood pressure didn’t need the salt, they ordered tortilla chips with the restaurant’s signature spinach dip. Placing drink orders and waiting for the appetizer to come gave Leah a little time to regain her composure.

Once her friend looked less fragile, Neely hazarded a guess. “Did something happen with Phillip to upset you?”

“You could say that.” Leah’s soft brown eyes brimmed with tears.

“We don’t have to talk about it, I just—”

“No, you’ll find out soon enough anyway. I imagine news will work itself through the office.”

Phillip was an employee of Becker Southern Media. Neely didn’t work closely with him, but had come to know Leah through accumulated company picnics, Christmas parties and other social gatherings.

“He’s getting married,” Leah blurted. “He called me Saturday afternoon, oozing his newfound happiness. He said he wanted to tell me because he didn’t want me to find out accidentally from you or another mutual acquaintance. A plausible excuse, but I can’t help thinking he wanted to gloat a little. The worst part…” A sob welled up, choking off the rest of her sentence.

Neely snapped a chip in half, imagining it was Phillip’s neck.

“The worst part is, it’s not Kate.”

Six years younger and two cup sizes larger than Leah, Kate was the woman Phillip had been sleeping with when his wife dissolved the marriage.

“You wish it was?”

“I keep thinking I’d feel better if he’d ended up with her, if he’d cheated on me because he really loved her. Knowing that he threw our marriage away over a meaningless fling… He proposed to Tiffany, a more recent girlfriend and even younger than Kate. Not quite half his age, but close enough. Tiffany and Phillip? Why doesn’t he just send out wedding announcements that say ‘You’re invited to my midlife crisis’? He told me he’d be honored if I can come to the ceremony, but that he would understand if it was too painful.” She sneered the last words in a parody of concern.

“Bastard,” Neely muttered. “Serve him right if you showed up looking hot as all hell, with a twenty-five-year-old stud on your arm.”

Leah managed a smile. “That idea has merit. Or would, if I knew any twenty-five-year-old studs who wouldn’t call me ma’am.”

“This is Georgia, women of all ages get called ma’am.”

“Still. I don’t really want to go to the wedding, except that I’m sure if I don’t, he’ll assume it’s because I’m not over his sorry ass.”

Are you?

Reading the unasked question in Neely’s expression, Leah continued. “I thought I was, but this wedding news hit me hard. I mean, I got weepy this morning when a woman bought an assortment of lipsticks and told me they were party favors for a bridal shower. Am I pathetic enough to still be in love with a man who thought to have and to hold meant just until something curvier sauntered along?”

“You’re not pathetic! He sandbagged you with this announcement, and you’re having a normal reaction. Whether you go or not, what he thinks doesn’t matter.” And if there was justice in the world, he’d be struck impotent on his wedding night.

“Well, I have plenty of time to decide.” Leah fiddled with the straw in her soft drink. “They haven’t even set a date yet. Not that I needed to know this, apparently little Tiffany has always dreamed of a June wedding, but says this summer doesn’t give her enough time to plan and next summer is much too far away for her to wait. A June wedding—how cliché is that?”

Neely swallowed. More of a gulp actually. She’d been so incensed on her friend’s behalf that she’d temporarily forgotten why she’d asked Leah to meet her for lunch in the first place. Well, now’s hardly the time to tell her.

But she’d have to tell Leah eventually, and her friend would want details—when, where and how Robert had proposed. Once she found out, she’d be hurt Neely hadn’t told her immediately. “Uh…Leah? You might know someone else guilty of that same cliché.”

“What, you mean getting married in June? Who?”

Raising her hand level with her face, she said tentatively, “Me.”

“Huh? Oh, my God! Robert proposed?”

“Yeah. We can wait until later to talk about it, but you’re my best friend. It wouldn’t be right if you weren’t one of the first people to know.”

“Of course we have to talk about it! I don’t want you to think…oh, dear. You’re getting married in June? Sorry about the crack earlier. You understand that you are a classy woman who appreciates tradition, while Tiffany is an airhead who doesn’t have an original thought.”

“Ooh, nice distinction.”

Dashing away tears—happier ones this time—Leah glanced around. “Where is our waitress? A discussion like this should take place over a celebratory lunch and decadent desserts.”

But at the office a couple of hours later, dessert was churning in Neely’s stomach.

Was it warm in the conference room, or was she the only one who felt overheated and slightly nauseous? It occurred to her she might be having a hot flash—and wouldn’t that be sexy with her fiancé sitting directly across from her?—but even though her doctor had confirmed she was definitely perimenopausal, she suspected this was a result of lunch.

She tried to concentrate on the current discussion about an upcoming radio merger, but her conversation with Leah kept intruding. For all of her friend’s determination to be happy for her, Neely had still left lunch feeling overwhelmed. Leah’s hyperenthusiastic questions had been the equal but opposite reaction to Beth Mason’s caustic remarks and forceful suggestions. Leah had cheerfully reeled off inquiry after inquiry, each landing like lead on top of the fudge sundae they’d shared.

“Will it be a church wedding?”

“I don’t know. I’d always had in the back of my mind that a garden wedding would be nice, but Mom pointed out that Aunt Jo is allergic to practically everything and that you can never guarantee the weather.”

“Well, you’ll want to reserve a venue immediately! Places book early for June. Speaking of places, are you moving into his?”

“I don’t know.” It shocked Neely that she hadn’t even considered that yet. She was a details person, the one who usually worried about logistics. Still, she’d been swept up in the novelty of romance, being in love and enjoying that for once in her life. Besides, she had months left on her lease and time to discuss the situation with Robert.

“So, will the two of you be getting a prenup? If I had my farce of a marriage to do all over again, I certainly would—not that you and Robert will ever need one!”

But who ever really thought they’d need a prenup? How could Leah have guessed, the day she optimistically took her vows, that she’d now be debating whether or not to attend her husband’s second wedding? Certainly Douglas had seemed shell-shocked, despite warnings, when Zoe followed through on her threat to leave if he couldn’t grow up and take more responsibility in their relationship.

Neely had never even been engaged, let alone married, but she remembered the mocking disregard with which her first lover had cast her aside, leaving her dumbfounded and gun-shy. She knew now that she hadn’t loved him, had merely been infatuated and pleased to have someone’s full attention after years of living with a perfect sister and the brother who would carry on the family name. If being unceremoniously dumped had crushed her then, how much pain would it cause if Robert ever decided to leave? She imagined the last thing she’d want to deal with under those circumstances would be tangled divorce settlements that only prolonged goodbye.

“Neely?” Cameron Becker’s gruff voice penetrated her thoughts, and she jumped guiltily in the padded office chair. “You’re scowling. You don’t agree with Dave’s assessment?”

From farther down the table, vice president David Samuels frowned at her.

Oops. “No, I think he was…dead-on. I’m sorry, just got distracted for a moment. Is it hot in here?”

Amanda Barnes, a fifty-something consultant working with Becker on this deal, shot her a sympathetic glance. Robert looked concerned and followed her to her office after the meeting.

“Feeling okay?” he asked once they were alone.

“I guess lunch didn’t agree with me.” She sipped the cup of water she’d poured in the hall.

He sat on the corner of her desk, a little close for her comfort to an expenditure report she’d typed that morning. “You mean just the food, right? Or was telling Leah really that bad?”

“No, she—hang on, why don’t we move this out of the way?” She’d been known to use binder clips that coordinated with the colors of her fonts and graphs; she was not handing Cameron a crinkled report. “She was very happy for us. But the timing stank. Turns out Phillip just informed her he was getting remarried.”

“Ouch.”

Neely crossed the room to refile some of the folders she’d needed earlier. “She was great, though. Very excited about being the maid of honor. I know I said yesterday that we have time to think about the details, but Leah made a good point. We should reserve a place immediately. If not sooner. So we might want to think about what size crowd we’re looking at, whether we want a formal dinner or more casual reception.”

He nodded affably, looking utterly relaxed in the face of her rising panic. This was why he was so good for her. “Why don’t you come over, I’ll grab takeout on the way home, and we can start planning?”

“Or we could go to my place,” she threw out impulsively. Maybe it was territorial of her, but she couldn’t relax as well at Robert’s place. And not just because of the constant drop-ins of neighbors who were fond of her extroverted fiancé, including Sheila, the thirty-eight-year-old downstairs he had once dated. They’d never become very serious, but she continued to depend on Robert’s help with her car and occasional handyman jobs if it was the weekend and the super was out of touch. It was amazing how many maintenance issues Sheila had over the weekend.

Neighbors aside, Neely always had the urge to tidy Robert’s apartment. Her birthday had been a notable exception since he’d gone to great pains to clean up and set a romantic atmosphere in the main rooms. For his cluttered guest room, he’d shut the door and left it at that.

His eyebrows lifted, but after a moment, he said, “Sure. Either way.”

“Sorry. I think…maybe because I’m not feeling well, I’m sort of longing for the comforts of home.”

“Understood.” He slid off the desk and came toward her, as if about to offer a hug, but stopped shy. Although it was common knowledge they were a couple, they’d agreed early on to keep displays of affection away from the workplace. “I’ll meet you there at about seven?”

“Sounds great, thank you.” The man was a gem.

Pausing at the door, he asked, “You don’t feel uncomfortable at my place, do you? I hope you know you can make yourself at home there. I can clear some closet space for you, give you some drawers in the bathroom. Anything that helps.”

“That’s sweet, but not necessary. Your place is already very homey.” It definitely had that lived-in feel.

After he’d gone, she sat behind her desk, pondering the questions Leah had posed. Did Robert think they’d move into his place? Hers was closer to the office, but not as big. Then again, he didn’t exactly make the most of the space he had. She wouldn’t call his apartment grungy, but it was the home of a mellow bachelor who got around to sorting his laundry when he felt like it. He just fished clean socks out of the laundry basket on the sofa as needed.

Neely tackled household chores with a practical the-sooner-the-better approach. They’d had more than one dinner at her place where Robert had invited her to sit on the couch and watch television with him and worry about the dishes later; except she was best able to enjoy what she was doing when she knew there wasn’t housework waiting afterward. He’d probably understand that about her more once they were living together.

Her temperature spiked again, and her heart thundered in her ears. We’re going to be living together. She’d known it rationally, she just hadn’t stopped to think about it yet. To really think about all that it entailed. She’d been on her own for a long time. Even when she did spend a night at Robert’s, she knew she could return to her apartment. After June, there would be no “her place” or “his place.”

Only the home of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Walsh.

They obviously had a lot more to talk about than how many invitations they should buy and the size of the wedding party. Her stomach tightened at the thought of how many important and personal conversations they needed to have. Her lack of romantic experience left her feeling unprepared, and the uncertainty reminded her why she liked numbers so much. Calculating equations was a lot simpler than being in love. Good thing she’d somehow managed to find a man so worth the trouble—now she just had to prove that she was.

Savannah didn’t know why she felt so nervous—she was neither the one getting married, nor the stranger coming to meet the family for the first time. Nonetheless, when she handed her mama the sweet potato casserole she’d brought, her fingers were trembling.

Hoping her mother and husband hadn’t noticed, she turned to Jason. “Want me to hang up your coat, honey?” Even though it had been warm a few days earlier, the March wind had blown in a storm front that was causing lower temperatures and sinus headaches all over the metroplex.

“Thanks.” Her husband held out his jacket and turned to face Douglas, who stood to the side in the parlor with Vi and their father. “So, when do we get to meet the new guy?”

“Neely called to say they got hung up in traffic but should be here in about ten minutes. Can I fix you a drink?” He indicated the side bar, where the Professor was refilling his own glass.

Jason shook his head. “No, thank you. I’m not technically scheduled to work tonight, but I’m on call as backup.”

A tug of premature disappointment pulled at Savannah. Jason had missed the last two monthly dinners and been called away from her father’s birthday celebration because of work. She hoped that wouldn’t be the case tonight—she felt bad enough that Trent couldn’t come because of a senior prom fund-raiser. Then again, interruptions were bound to occur when you were married to the man hundreds of women wanted to deliver their babies.

As she put his coat in the entryway closet, Savannah remembered how proud she’d been when she’d told acquaintances she was marrying a doctor! Not that he’d been a doctor at the time, but he’d already been accepted into med school and his path was clear. They’d married after graduating college, and she’d taught at a private day care, helping to shoulder the bills while he studied and interned.

When she’d discovered she was pregnant with Adam, she’d been first ecstatic, then worried about her husband’s reaction. They’d planned to wait another year or two before having a baby, but Jason had been thrilled. She’d teased him at prenatal checkups when he’d shown as much interest in the medical equipment as her progress, and she’d wept watching him cradle their son for the first time. If Jason hadn’t cried, his eyes had certainly been damp with emotion.

Recalling that moment in the hospital as if it were yesterday, she suddenly felt more generously disposed to the expecting women who so frequently needed Jason’s time. After all, when he couldn’t make family plans, it was because he was away, bringing the miracle of new life into the world, not because he was waving one-dollar bills in the air at some smoke-filled strip club on the seedier side of Atlanta. She’d known the specifics of being a doctor’s wife—odd hours, being a good hostess when he invited members of the medical community for dinner, attending different social functions. Jason had praised her on many occasions for making him look good, saying he’d be lost without her.

Her mood bolstered, Savannah went to help her mother in the kitchen. It was a sure bet Vi wouldn’t think to offer her assistance.

Beth had just started to carve the ham when the doorbell pealed through the old house.

“Looks as if our guests of honor are here.” Savannah had a sudden moment of reverse déjà vu that caused her smile to falter—would Adam be bringing home a woman to meet his parents in the next few years?

“Late,” Beth grunted, looking at the digital over the oven.

Savannah could tell this was another strike against the mysterious suitor who hadn’t bothered to meet Neely’s parents, much less ask their permission, before proposing. “I’m sure the delay was unavoidable, Mama, and not a reflection on Mr. Walsh.”

Her mother slanted her a knowing glance. “You’re not about to remind me to be hospitable in my own house, are you?”

“When you’re the one who taught me everything I know about Southern generosity? Of course not,” Savannah said sweetly. “You’d be the perfect gracious hostess to anyone who came to your door, even if they weren’t entirely punctual.”

Beth grinned. “With some coaching from you, Vidalia could be a lot more subtle about her back talk.”

Savannah thought of her sister, of her bright bleached hair and constant opinions. “I don’t think Vi has any interest in subtle.”

“Well, let’s go join them before she says something to scare off this Robert Walsh and Cornelia ends up as alone and crazy as my great-aunt Willa.”

Either Robert and Neely hadn’t bothered with jackets, or someone had already put them away. The two of them sat on the striped antique settee Gerald had reupholstered when Savannah was in high school—Neely in a scoop-necked sweater and black skirt, Robert in a button-down shirt and navy tie. He was handsome, Savannah thought judiciously, taking in the wave of silver in his rich brown hair and the sparkle of his gray eyes. The sparkle increased when he looked at Neely, which he did often. She didn’t seem to mind, snuggling close to him with her hand resting atop his knee. A simple touch, but meaningful for Neely.

Robert Walsh wasn’t quite debonair, but something more comfortable and sincere. Though he was tall, with a firm, square jaw, there was a kind of indefinable softness about him, too. Perhaps Savannah recognized it because it reminded her vaguely of her father, an invisible vibe of kindness that promised he’d never mistreat children or small animals.

When Neely glanced up at her, Savannah’s first instinct was to turn away and not be caught staring. Silly, really, since it was understandable for the family to be curious about Robert. She stepped forward, offering her hand.

“Savannah Mason Carter,” she introduced herself. “Have you already met my husband, Dr. Jason Carter?”

“We were just starting the name exchange,” Douglas said. “We’d only gotten as far as Dad and Vidalia Jean.”

“Who goes by Vi, right?” Robert smiled, looking as if he might say more, perhaps about how Neely didn’t like her full name, either, but stopped, catching sight of Beth behind Savannah. Apparently he had the good sense not to joke about names when the people who’d picked them out were standing in the room. “Mrs. Mason. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

As he held out the bottle of wine he’d brought along as a hostess gift, Savannah grinned inwardly. She liked the “finally” as a discreet reminder that, if it had been up to him, he’d have met them sooner. Robert Walsh might just hold his own with Beth, and once she approved of him, he was family.

After the pleasantries were exchanged, Beth planted her hands on her ample hips. “Well, not to discount the value of small talk, but I worked too hard on that food to let it go cold. Why don’t we move into the dining room?”

They all headed that way, and Savannah noticed the hand Robert placed on the small of her sister’s back. An odd ripple of yearning went through her at the unconscious intimacy conveyed in the touch. She cast a glance toward her husband, abashedly aware of the longing that probably showed in her face.

But he was deep in discussion with Douglas about a new property tax and didn’t notice.

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