âWelcome home, babe.â
With knees gone uncharacteristically weak, Sophie managed to take the two steps to reach Duane and leaned forward to kiss him.
Long.
And again.
Her mouth opened, her tongue meeting his, and she didnât want to let go, to break away from this perfect moment.
Time, society, ages, past mistakes and bulimia all faded away, leaving only what mattered most, what would go with her into the next life â her heart. And the heart to which hers was irrevocably attached.
âI missed you,â she said, finally pulling back far enough to reconnect with those deep chocolate eyes that could look at her with such warmth.
âHere.â Duane held out her glass, the smile on his lips completely genuine. âHereâs to you coming home to me.â
Available in August 2010from Mills & Boon®Special Momentsâ¢
Daddy on Demand by Helen R Myers & Déjà You by Lynda Sandoval
A Father for Danny by Janice Carter & Baby Be Mine by Eve Gaddy
The Mummy Makeover by Kristi Gold & Mummy for Hire by Cathy Gillen Thacker
The Pregnant Bride Wore White by Susan Crosby
Sophieâs Secret by Tara Taylor Quinn
Her So-Called Fiancé by Abby Gaines
Diagnosis: Daddy by Gina Wilkins
âGO, 344. GO 345.â Sophie Curtis spoke sotto voce into the microphone protruding from the headpiece she wore. She stood in the pitch-black area left of stage, reading the sheet on the podium by a penlight. Just three more cues andâ¦
âFade lights. Go curtain.â The heavy, velveteen drape slid quickly down.
Dancers, singers and actors scrambled, bumping into each other, cursing, mumbling, then, three seconds later, fell into place, a perfect shape of bodies and colors, all smiles and glitter andâ¦
âGo lights. Go curtain.â
Applause thundered through the large, Midwestern university theater, the crowd at this January fund-raiser growing louder with each carefully choreographed bow. The sound rumbled inside her. Like bilious waves on a rocky sea.
The applause reached excruciating heights when Damon Adrian, off Broadwayâs newest heartthrobâa sure star for the silver screenâstepped forward.
One minute. Two. And thenâ¦
âGo curtain. Go house lights.â
Sophie pulled off her headset, dropped it on the podium, then desperately pushed her way through the throng of moving bodies high on adrenaline. Pushed all the way through the dancersâ dressing room, to the restroom then to the farthest stall.
Where she promptly threw up.
FUNNY HOW BATHROOM TILE all looked the same. Did the world have an agreementâeveryone use the same tile so people would immediately recognize the place for what it was? Feel at home there? Or was it simply the cheapest flooring material that could withstand public use?
This stuff needed to be re-grouted. But thenâ
âSoph?â
Recognizing her friendâs voice, Sophie grabbed some toilet paper, wiped her mouth againâthen pulled another wad for her eyesâand stood. Prayed she was done.
âYeah?â
âHey.â There was a tap on the stall door. Annieâs bluetipped tennis shoes, her strong dancerâs ankles, were planted on the other side. âYou okay?â
âYeah.â Sophie swallowed. âIâm fine.â
But she wasnât. She was scared to death. And as soon as Annie saw her face, sheâd know it.
âSoph? Open the door.â
Déjà vu. Like old times. Sophie had thought she was done with all that. Had confidently told Annie so just the night before.
âSophieâ¦â
How concern and authority could blend so painfully in one word, Sophie didnât know. Had never known.
But she recognized the tone as though she was still that twenty-year-old undergrad at Montford University in Shelter Valley, Arizona, rather than the twenty-eight-year-old successful theatrical producer sheâd become.
Like that twenty-year-old sheâd once been, she opened the door. And couldnât meet her friendâs eyes.
How many times, during those years of doing shows togetherâAnnie as a dance major and Sophie majoring in theater productionâhad she had to face her friend on the other side of a stall door?