Chapter Eight

Meg woke up the next morning when Whitney's voice drifted into her bedroom. She was singing that song from Snow White again, and Meg wondered idly if rabbits and squirrels with big eyes would start popping out of the kitchen cabinets. Or if the Prince Charming from the movie would magically appear under Whitney's window. As far as princes went, he was all right, she supposed, but she preferred her Charmings to be more . . . human. Maybe even a little sarcastic.

An image of Harvard popped unbidden into her head, and she scowled fiercely at the ceiling. Harvard was not her Prince Charming.

Even if his last name was Kingston.

She tried to banish Harvard from her mind but it wouldn't obey. He'd looked very comfortable the night before as he leaned against her bookshelves. She could almost imagine him with a pair of glasses perched on his nose, thumbing studiously through a book, shooting that grin of his in her direction . . .

This was going to have to stop.

It wasn't until she'd rolled out of bed that she realized she was still in the clothes she'd been wearing the night before. "Whitney?" she called down the hall. "Do you know why I went to sleep in my dress?"

Whitney's singing stopped abruptly, and the next second she was standing in Meg's doorway. "Don't you remember?" she asked, her eyes serious.

Meg tugged at her neckline and grimaced. This was not very comfortable. "Not a thing."

Whitney sank down on the bed and patted the space next to her. "You fell asleep on the couch."

"With guests in the house?" Meg buried her face in her hands. Some hostess she'd been; it'd be a wonder if Harvard ever spoke to her again. She pressed her fingers into her eyes, feeling very hypocritical. She'd been the one to tell Harvard that under no circumstances would she even think about being more than his friend, and now she was obsessing about his reaction to a little rudeness. She must have lost half her brain on the way home from that dratted choir concert.

"Charley offered to drag you to your room when we got back, but Harvard pretty much told him he wasn't strong enough and carried you to bed himself. It was very sweet," she added when Meg's head shot up.

She blinked at Whitney a few times, wishing that she could remember. Whitney just smiled at her innocently and nudged her with her shoulder. "He was very cute with you," she told Meg. "He looked like he was carrying the most precious thing in the world."

"Oh, please," Meg groaned, and flopped back to lie on the bed. "I think you've been reading too many fairy tales."

A guilty look crossed Whitney's face. "What's wrong with a little happily-ever-after?" she asked defensively. "I like to dream as much as the next girl."

Meg's hand rubbed Whitney's back. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just . . . I don't know."

"In denial?" Whitney looked over her shoulder with a sympathetic smile. "It must stink to be in love with the only man in the world that my mother wants to get her daughter's claws into. It'll all work out, though. It always does."

"I'm not in love with Harvard, or anyone else."

Whitney just looked at her for a long second before she walked back to the kitchen. Meg was still muttering about fairy tales again when they drove to the mall an hour later. Whitney hummed to herself and pretended not to hear.

Over the next few days Meg watched Harvard. Well, she watched him walk in and out of Charley's dress shop several times a day. Each time he walked in front of her store he'd flash her a smile and wink, and then he'd hurry past without a word.

It was rather irritating.

When she and Whitney rolled into her parking space Thursday morning she was almost ready to corner him and demand to know what was going on. The last time she'd checked he and Charley weren't exactly friends, so to have them suddenly joined at the hip with no obvious explanation was a little perplexing.

Unfortunately, Mamie was sitting behind the cash register when the two girls came through the door, and Meg's heart dropped slightly. She'd been hoping for at least two more Mamie-free days. Things went so much smoother when she was on one of her sabbaticals.

"Where have you been?" Mamie barked, her gaze focused on Whitney. "Brittany says you haven't been home all week."

"I've . . . " Whitney stood in the doorway, one arm still in her jacket. She looked frantically toward Meg.

"You've what?"

Whitney took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and looked her mother in the eye. The effect was ruined slightly by the jacket that was still half-on her, but she didn't back down. "I moved in with Meg."

Mamie sucked in a breath harsh enough to rival a dementor's and slowly turned her face toward Meg, who sighed inaudibly.

"I should have known it would be you, Meg Bailey." Mamie's voice was as quiet as Meg had ever heard it, and the sound made her shiver. "I don't know what makes you think you can corrupt my daughter and assume you can get away with it."

"I didn't corrupt anyone!"

Mamie leaned toward her slightly, her eyes narrowing. "My child belongs with me, in my house, not in some slapped-together excuse for a – "

"You obviously haven't seen Meg's house." Whitney finally shrugged out of her jacket and glared at her mother. "And I don't belong in your house. I'm an adult; I can do whatever I please. Meg has been kind enough to take me in, and I'm staying."

Mamie completely ignored her daughter, and her eyes flashed with something scary in them as she slowly rose to her feet. Meg took an involuntary step backward. To her surprise, Mamie didn't say a word about Whitney's current living arrangements. "I've purchased another shoe store," she proclaimed, watching Meg intently. "Since you did such an excellent job in cleaning the last property, you might as well work on this one tonight after the mall closes."

Meg stared back at Mamie defiantly and had opened her mouth to tell her that cleaning was her favorite thing in the world when someone cleared his throat loudly from the still-closed gate.

Harvard's jaw flexed tightly, but his voice was calm when he spoke to Mamie through the bars. "Excuse me, Ms. Steppe. May I have a word?"

A huge, fake smile spread across Mamie's face, and she hissed at Meg out of the corner of her mouth. "Open the gate, Meg Bailey." She rearranged her blouse as Meg passed, fortunately not seeing Whitney roll her eyes.

Harvard waited until Meg had unlocked the gate, then he bent down and helped her lift it into the ceiling. He smiled at her tightly and walked behind her to where Mamie stood impatiently.

"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with Miss Bailey as I passed your store," he said smoothly. His tone was cool, and Meg was reminded of the first time she'd met him. "Am I correct in assuming that you asked her to stay after closing to clean another property?"

Mamie's smile faltered a little. "She volunteered," she said, a little too quickly.

"I see." His jaw tightened again, like he was grinding his teeth together. Meg made a mental note to give him the name of her dentist. She'd hate for him to waste all the money she was sure his parents had spent on dental work.

"It's really too bad Brittany's not here," Mamie said sorrowfully in a vain attempt to change the subject. "I know she's been looking forward to seeing you again."

Harvard looked pained, and his eyes drifted to Meg's. She edged a little closer to him before she realized what she was doing, and the faintest of smiles ghosted across his face. "I'm sure she'll survive."

Meg coughed into her hand to mask her snicker. "Are you all right, Miss Bailey?" Harvard sounded concerned, but Meg could see the twinkle in his eyes as he gazed down at her. "Perhaps you should go home and rest. I'd hate for one of Ms. Steppe's invaluable employees to catch a cold."

"Oh, don't bother worrying about her." Mamie waved dismissively in Meg's direction. "She never gets sick. She's so healthy she never even needs to take a lunch break."

She must have known immediately what she'd said because she giggled nervously and flapped her hands in the air. "What I mean is – "

All the humor was gone from Harvard's eyes, and he took another step toward Mamie. "Did you just say that your employees never get their breaks? I've noticed that you usually only have two people working in the shop at a time, but I assumed you were following the law. Perhaps I should have my lawyer check into this."

Mamie visibly blanched. "Meg can take a break whenever she wants," she squeaked. Her voice was even higher than usual. "I'm not breaking any laws."

Harvard nodded once. "Then I expect to see all your employees, including Miss Steppe," he nodded in Whitney's direction, "take full advantage of that. I'm assuming they don't work every day; when is their next day off?"

Meg watched in delight as Mamie floundered. "Day off? Um . . . well . . . not today, obviously." She giggled again, but this time it sounded strained, like she was forcing the air out of her lungs.

Harvard crossed his arms over his chest and waited expectantly.

"Tomorrow," Mamie finally said. Her shoulders drooped in defeat. "They have the entire day off tomorrow."

"So that's standard? Every Friday, both Miss Bailey and Miss Steppe are not scheduled to come in?"

Smiling tightly, Mamie nodded once. "It is. If you'll excuse me, I have some things I need to do in the back." She whirled around on her heel and disappeared behind the door. It shut behind her with a loud bang.

Meg and Whitney stared at Harvard in disbelief. "Are you Santa Claus?" Meg finally asked, keeping her voice low so Mamie wouldn't be able to hear.

Finally relaxing, Harvard grinned at her. He looked extraordinarily pleased with himself. "If I tell you that I am, will you sit on my lap?"

Meg tried to glower at him but was too shocked by what had just happened to make it convincing. "I'm too old to sit on Santa's lap," she retorted before shooting him a sly smile. "But you're never too old for this." Then she stepped forward, threw her arms around him, and squeezed tight.

Harvard stood frozen for three tenths of a second before his arms went around her. He didn't squeeze nearly as tight, but she could feel the warmth from his hands seeping through her blouse. He didn't seem to want to let go when she tried to pull away. "Need I remind you that Mamie's twenty feet away?" she asked, tilting her head to the side and looking up at him.

He blinked twice and, reluctantly, she thought, dropped his hands to his sides. "If all it takes to get you to hug me is to finagle you a day off work, I'll make sure I do it again." He cleared his throat and stuck a finger in his collar, tugging it away from his neck. "I'd better be going. I'll see you two later."

Then, with one final glance at Meg, he almost sprinted out the door and down the hallway.

*** *** ***

Harvard was going to need a heart transplant.

With one single, innocent touch Meg had made the one currently residing in his chest hammer so hard it nearly punched a hole in his ribs.

Not that he was complaining, but he kind of liked his ribs in one piece. Maybe what he really needed was a titanium ribcage.

He finally slowed his steps when he reached the atrium in the middle of the mall and sank onto the ledge surrounding the fountain. He stared at the pennies lying in the water and wondered if he'd get in trouble if he ducked his head under and yelled.

He wasn't angry or anything. He just had an awful lot of energy all of a sudden, and there was no good way to get rid of it – short of running a mini-marathon, and the Crim wouldn't be for another three months. Of course, he could always kiss Meg senseless, but he didn't think she'd appreciate that nearly as much as he would – which was why he'd left in such a rush.

So now she was going to regret her impulsive action and would most likely run in the opposite direction the next time she saw him coming. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Mission Meg was going to kill him before he'd even started it properly.

The mall owners were opening their doors when he finally made his way back toward The Glass Slipper, and he ducked into Charley's shop before he could get sidetracked. "Grimm!" he called, dodging around dresses that appeared to be more lace than substance. "Grimm!"

Charley emerged from his labyrinthine back room. "Yes, Kingston? You bellowed?"

Harvard grinned at him and crossed his arms over his chest. "What are you doing tomorrow night?"

Charley pushed aside several frothy confections to make room for the one had slung over his arm. "Working on my summer order, unless Meg invites me over to dinner."

Harvard felt a momentary twinge of jealousy before he shoved it to the back of his mind. "I happen to know that Meg and Whitney have the entire day off, and . . . "

The dress fell to the ground with an unceremonious swish, but Charley didn't seem to care. "What? Meg never gets an entire day off! Are you yanking me around?"

"Now, now, Grimm," Harvard scolded. He was secretly enjoying watching Charley gape at him. "I happened to be passing Meg's shop – "

"Meaning you were stalking her again. She's going to catch on to you eventually, you know – "

"And I happened to overhear Mamie try to make her clean yet another shoe store."

Charley's mouth fell open. "Another store? Has Squeaky bought herself another one?"

Harvard leaned against the counter. "I imagine so. Does she have a Swiss bank account no one knows about, or is she married to a sugar daddy?"

They both shuddered and grimaced. "Lord help us all if that's the case," Charley said fervently. "How come I haven't heard anything until now?"

Shrugging, Harvard picked up the gown and tossed it to Charley, who caught it automatically. "Beats me. I thought you were the gossip guru around here. If it makes you feel any better, both Meg and Whitney seemed surprised, too."

The two of them were quiet for a minute. Harvard could only guess at Charley's thoughts, but his own kept drifting back to the way Meg had thrown her arms around him like he was the best thing since movable type was invented. He wondered how he could get her to do it again.

Charley finally cleared his throat and eyed Harvard beadily. "How exactly did you convince Mamie to give them the same day off? I can see her doing it for Whitney, but Meg . . . I secretly think she wants to get her so mad she just up and quits."

"Why doesn't she?" Harvard had been wondering this for a long time. He just hadn't had the guts to ask Meg.

The way Charley rolled his eyes implied that he'd asked her that same question before – and hadn't received a good answer. "If you can figure that out you two are meant for each other. You still haven't answered my question, by the way."

Harvard smiled in a very Cheshire-cat sort of way. "Mamie let it slip that Meg never gets a lunch break, and I pounced on that before she could backpedal. So now they each have an hour for lunch and every Friday off."

Charley stared at him wordlessly, his mouth hanging open again. Then he thumped his partner in crime on the back with so much enthusiasm that Harvard was afraid he'd be knocked into a dressmaker's dummy. "You, my dear Kingston, are a genius." They smiled at each other conspiratorially. "I think it's about time to put the next phase of Operation Whitney in motion, don't you think?"

"Quest Whitney," Harvard corrected automatically.

He drew himself up as tall as he could while Charley laughed himself silly. "Quest sounds nobler," Harvard said loftily. "Operation Whitney sounds like you're going to cut her open and examine her innards."

Finally getting himself under control, Charley hung the dress he'd been holding on a hook next to the cash register. To Harvard's surprise it didn't look terribly wrinkled. "I'm the one chasing her, so I get to name it," Charley stated with a smirk. "And I'm calling it Operation Whitney, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Uninformed."

Harvard sighed in defeat. "It's your semantic funeral, Grimm. Now, how are we going to go about this? I'll run into Meg in the food court – "

"I don't think so." Charley rolled his eyes. "Patience, man. You'll get to eat with her tomorrow. I know how to guilt Meg into doing things. You don't."

"I don't want her to go out with me out of guilt."

Charley looked like he was biting his tongue. "Fine. I know how to convince Meg to do things. What are you, a thesaurus? All you have to do is make the dinner reservations and be at their place by five tomorrow evening. Do you think you can handle that?"

Maybe working with Charley wasn't such a good idea after all, Harvard mused. He was one of the most obnoxious people he'd ever met. "I can make dinner reservations in my sleep," he retorted loftily. "It's you I'm not sure about."

Charley grinned slowly. "Oh, don't worry about me," he said. "Meg can't resist me when I pull the Precious Moments face."

"What?" Harvard was beginning to think that Charley had been repeatedly whacked in the head with a dull object as a child. He half hoped it'd been Meg's foot.

"The face. She has one that I can't resist, and vice versa."

As far as Harvard was concerned, Meg had a lot of faces he couldn't resist. That, in a nutshell, was really the problem. If she wasn't so ridiculously kind and honest (and beautiful – he'd have to take cover during the next thunderstorm if he didn't admit that he found her too attractive for her own good) then he could go on his merry little way like nothing unusual existed in the mall.

"Go ahead and call the restaurant. Meg and Whitney'll be ready for us to pick them up."

Harvard heaved a sigh and turned to go, but a sudden thought made him turn around before he took two steps. "Are you sure about this restaurant?" he asked suspiciously. "Or are you just choosing it for the name? It seems a little . . . creepy."

Charley had the grace to look uncomfortable. "It's a great place," he retorted. "I took Meg there before prom, and it was stunning. The architecture alone is enough to get the romantic juices pumping."

"I'm not eating romantic, Grimm. How's the food?"

Charley just waved at him dismissively. "You worry too much, Kingston. It'll be perfect. You'll see."

Harvard left the shop shortly after that.

He wished he could have convinced Charley to let him have lunch with Meg.

*** *** ***

Mamie stormed around the store all morning, muttering words under her breath that Meg was glad she couldn't hear and yanking boxes off the shelves in the back room only to jam them, half opened, somewhere else.

Meg would have found it funny to watch a grown woman throw a temper tantrum if Mamie had been shooting daggers at anyone else. Well, maybe not Whitney . . .

"You'll have to find someone to work for you every Friday," Mamie finally snapped. She was practically frothing at the mouth. "I'm not making Brittany work all day long."

For the first time Meg thought she understood what Whitney's home life had been like. "You made Whitney work every day," she reminded her coolly.

Mamie made a disgusted noise that Meg was sure wouldn't have come out if Harvard had been within earshot. "Brittany's very delicate. She shouldn't be made to work long hours for plebeians who don't know the difference between a sandal and an espadrille."

Technically, Meg thought, they were in the same category, but this didn't really seem like the time to remind her boss. She was also slightly amazed that Mamie knew the meaning of the word 'plebeian'. Hadn't she thought the same thing about Brittany a few weeks before? The idea that the Steppe women weren't nearly as dumb as she'd thought made her uneasy.

"Which store did you purchase this time?" Meg asked, running through a mental list of all the shoe stores in the mall.

"Soles. The owners sold it to me for a song."

Meg winced. Mrs. Sherman had been one of her mother's good friends. Was Mamie single-handedly trying to take over the footwear industry? And how was she getting the money for this? She knew from first-hand experience that buying a business wasn't cheap.

"She was just like your father – anxious to move on."

Meg opened her mouth to say something that she was sure she'd regret later, but Whitney stopped her. "Do you care who works on Fridays?" Whitney's quiet voice surprised Mamie, and her head swiveled around to stare at her youngest daughter.

"If anyone steals anyone from me . . . "

Whitney scrunched up her face but didn't back down. "We can't get someone hired by tomorrow, you know."

"You will."

Drawing herself up to her full height – Meg hadn't realized exactly how tall Whitney was – she stared at her mother defiantly. "We can't. You'll have to drag your precious Brittany here tomorrow and you'll both have to wait on . . . what did you call them again? Oh, right. The plebeians. We'll have people here by next Friday."

Mamie glared at her. Then she made an inarticulate noise in her throat that sounded like a muffled yelp, grabbed her purse, and stormed out the back door. A few seconds later they heard her car roar to life, and then it was silent.

Whitney sank into a chair, looking dazed. "I can't believe I just did that," she said. "I actually stood up to my mother."

Meg dodged around the boxes Mamie had left on the floor and knelt beside her friend. "Twice in one day. Are you okay?"

Whitney's eyes were fierce. "I've never felt better in my life." She paused and absently ran a hand through her hair. ""Please tell me that you can find a couple of people to work by next week."

Grinning, Meg sat back on her heels. "I could've for tomorrow, but you were on a roll and I didn't want to mess up your momentum." Whitney rolled her eyes, and the corners of her mouth quirked up slightly. "No, really. Lexie's mom used to work for us a few days a week, and I know she has a few friends who are interested in part-time work. The fact that they'll get shoe discounts won't hurt any."

Whitney slumped back in her chair and exhaled. "That's good."

A noise in the front room make Meg's head pop up. "Who's watching the shop?" They stared at each other for half a second before both of them bolted through the door.

An hour later Meg was standing outside The Glass Slipper, waiting for Charley. He'd popped his head in when she was busy with a customer and told her that if she waited for him by her window display at noon he'd treat her to pizza for lunch.

So there she stood, loitering outside her own shop. She traced the outline of her grandmother's slippers with one finger and sighed. She wondered if they felt as fabulous as they looked, and leaned her head against the cool glass.

"Penny for your thoughts."

Meg turned her head without raising it from the window. "Hey, Harvard."

He regarded her silently, eyebrows lifted, for a few seconds. "Are you okay, or are you trying to ooze your way into that display through some sort of weird osmosis?"

She turned her head back to look, unseeing, at the slippers. "Thanks for getting me a day off every week. And lunch. Again, I really appreciate it."

Harvard leaned his head down beside hers. "Was Mamie that bad?"

She smiled faintly at him. "You're pretty good at picking up nonverbal signals. What makes you think Mamie was nasty?"

Snorting, Harvard shrugged. "I know enough about her to know that if she doesn't get her way she's going to be a royal pain in the – " He glanced at her and cleared his throat. "Anyway. That she's liable to be very unpleasant."

Meg stifled a laugh. Either he was usually very careful with his language, or his mother had drilled proper manners into him as a child. She rather thought the second was the case. "You're good. But I don't care how horrible she gets. I now have Fridays off – "

"Don't forget lunch."

"And lunch, and that's enough to keep me happy for a long time." She sighed and straightened back up. "Were you angry before?"

Harvard stared at her blankly. "Why would I be angry?"

She shrugged uncomfortably. "Well, I hugged you and then you took off like I was a carrier for the bubonic plague."

Harvard's face fell flush against the window and he laughed so hard condensation formed on the window. "Nothing could be farther from the truth," he gasped finally. "Please, feel free to hug me anytime the urge strikes."

Meg eyed him skeptically. "If you say so. Again, thanks. I owe you one."

Harvard's grin was almost wicked. "I'll remember that."

"Are you flirting with me?"

"No." Harvard's answer was quick, but he sounded a little uncertain. "Not at all."

"Kingston!"

Harvard's body twitched, and he made a face. "Yes, Grimm?"

Meg looked between Charley and Harvard. "Since when have you two been on a last-name basis?"

Ignoring her, Charley gave Harvard a stern look. "Thanks for keeping Meg occupied for me, Kingston," he said in a voice that Meg could only describe as snooty. "Don't you have a meeting or something to go to?"

Harvard muttered something under his breath that Meg couldn't catch before glancing guiltily in her direction. "Goodbye, Meg. Have a good lunch. I'm sure I'll see you around."

Meg let Charley lead her toward the food court but she glanced over her shoulder at Harvard as they went. He looked almost . . . forlorn.

"So what's up?" she asked after they'd started eating.

"What do you mean?"

Meg leaned forward so her hands were protecting her slice of pizza. She knew how Charley got at lunchtime. "I mean, how did you know I had a lunch break? You couldn't possibly know what happened at the shop this morning."

Charley took a gulp of his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Actually, I do. I heard it from Kingston."

It was the tone in Charley's voice that made Meg suspicious. He sounded like he was trying too hard to conceal something. "Is that so."

Charley suddenly found the napkins lying on the table between them very interesting. "Yep. He walked past me just as I was opening this morning. How's your pizza?"

Meg wasn't swayed by his attempt at changing the subject. "What are you and Harvard up to?" she demanded. "The last time I checked the two of you were barely civil to each other."

Charley opened his mouth, and then closed it with a calculating click of his jaws. He glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "I needed some help on a special project, and he agreed when I asked him."

This wasn't making any sense, Meg thought in bewilderment. In her limited experience with boys, they only called each other by their last names when the wanted to get a rise out of someone. Or when they were playing football, but that was different. They slapped each other on the behind then, and thought it perfectly normal. "And you didn't come to me because . . . "

Charley leaned over the table, completely ignoring Meg's pizza, and grabbed her hand. "I need your help, too, Meggie. But I had to check with him first."

Meg sat there and waited with raised eyebrows.

Heaving a deep sigh, Charley sat back in his seat. "I want to ask Whitney out on a date but I don't want to go by myself. I know, I'm a big boy," he added when she rolled her eyes, "but I knew that if I asked you to come, too, you'd feel like a third wheel. So I asked Kingston if he'd come along to kind of even things out, and when he told me you both had tomorrow night off . . . " He let his voice trail off hopefully.

Meg squinted at him. "You've never been too nervous to go on a date by yourself before," she pointed out.

"My dates have never had the voice of an angel before."

Meg quickly took a gulp of her drink to hide her smirk. She'd suspected that Charley had feelings of some sort for Whitney; she just hadn't expected him to be so smitten. At least, not so fast. "I'm not dating Harvard," she finally said. "I don't want him to get the wrong idea."

"Just think of it as dual chaperonage."

"Charley . . . "

He looked at her pleadingly, the same way he had years before when he'd wanted her to climb onto her roof with him when they were in the fourth grade. She hadn't been able to resist him then, either – even though it had cost her a broken arm and twelve stitches.

"Please? I promise I'll make it up to you."

Sighing, she rested her head on her hand. "Okay. But only because I love you, and Whitney deserves to go out with someone who'll treat her right."

"And someone who can string more than three words together at a time."

Meg cracked a small smile. "I'm guessing you don't think you'll be able to do that on your own."

"I know I can't."

Laughing, Meg shook her head at him. "You should feel lucky that I like you both so much."

He smirked and pointed a finger in her direction. "I think you like Harvard more than you're willing to let on, and you're secretly looking forward to this."

The smile that had found its way to Meg's face just seconds before faltered. "I don't . . . "

Charley slapped the table with his hands and started gathering his trash. He seemed very smug. "We'll be at your place tomorrow at five. And wear something nice."

Annoyed, Meg slammed her cup on her tray harder than she'd intended. She wasn't sure if she was more irritated at his suggestion or his assumption that he was right. "Nice? Whatever happened to casual and comfortable for a first date?" she asked pointedly. "Especially since your two chaperones aren't dating each other."

Charley just grinned at her. "I can't help myself."

"Well, where are we going?"

His grin widened even farther. "The Whitney."

*** *** ***

Meg rubbed her eyes and yawned. It was Friday morning, she'd slept until ten o'clock, and she didn't have anywhere she had to be.

She wasn't sure what to do with herself.

As soon as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes she knew she'd feel very out of sorts.

Whitney was in the kitchen when Meg stumbled in. "Good morning," she said quietly. "I was starting to think you were going to sleep through our date this evening."

"It's not a date," Meg corrected automatically. Then, catching Whitney's crestfallen expression, she shook herself. "What I mean is that it's not a date for me. I'm just coming because . . . "

"Because Harvard asked you?"

Well, that wasn't really the case but she wasn't sure how to tell Whitney the truth. Charley had made her sit at the table in the food court while he talked to Whitney by himself, and she wasn't sure what he'd told her. "Something like that," she said evasively.

This fortunately seemed to satisfy her friend. "So what are you wearing?"

Maybe Whitney and Charley were a better match than she thought. They both seemed to have this fascination with clothes. "I don't know," she said vaguely. "I haven't really thought about it."

The kitchen was silent as Meg stuffed a piece of bread in the toaster and leaned against the counter to wait. She yawned again. Getting up late was simply not all it was cracked up to be. She'd already wasted half the morning.

"I've never been on a proper date before."

Whitney's words snapped Meg out of her toaster-watching stupor. "What?"

She shrugged. "A few boys asked me out in high school, but Brittany always found out before I could go."

Meg could only imagine how Brittany would have behaved. She would have hated for someone to pay more attention to her little sister than they did to her. "I see. You never tried to sneak out?"

Whitney shrugged again. "I never really liked the guys that asked, and it didn't seem worth all the trouble it'd cause if Mamie found out what I'd done."

She had a point there, Meg thought. "I guess it's good then that Harvard and I are coming to keep an eye on the two of you. You sound scared, and Charley's worried that he won't have anything intelligent to say."

Whitney almost cracked a smile at that. "Maybe I should calm down a little."

Meg laughed around her bite of toast. "Maybe you should. I think Charley's nervous enough for the both of you."

An hour later Meg stuffed her clothes in the basement washer and wandered up to the first floor of the house. She hadn't been in Arthur's section of the house since he'd driven off to Florida, and it was fairly obvious that no one was living there on a regular basis. It smelled dusty and neglected.

She walked slowly from room to room, letting her fingers trail across surfaces that they used to touch every day. It felt strange to be back, knowing that no one was there.

Arthur hadn't changed anything since her mother had died, and she smiled to herself when she caught sight of her graduation picture sitting on an end table in the family room. There she stood, sweltering in a cap and gown in the sun, with her smiling parents on either side of her. It had been a hot day, especially for Michigan, and they all looked rather sticky. Proud, but sticky. She wasn't sure which had been the greater relief that afternoon – the fact that she was finished with college, or that she was finished with the gown.

She ambled through the house twice before sighing and veering off to the mud room for a rag. If Alice had seen her house this dusty she'd probably have had a coronary. Meg had just opened the cupboard when her phone rang.

"Hey, dad," she said. She was surprised by how cheerful her voice was.

"Hey, sweetie. How's work today?"

Meg grinned involuntarily. She talked to Arthur once a week or so, and every time she did he sounded a little more . . . content. Maybe not happy, yet, but at least he was sounding more like his old self.

"I forgot you haven't heard," she said, and proceeded to tell him about the uproar from the day before. Arthur was suitably impressed.

"That Princeton guy sounds like he knows what he's doing," he said. "I think you should keep him around."

"Harvard, Dad. Not Princeton."

Arthur chuckled. "Sorry. So what are you doing on your day off?"

Swiping the rag across the top of the piano, Meg made a face. "Cleaning your house. It's a dust bunny's dream come true."

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. "I believe that. You know, Meggie, I'm not sure I feel comfortable with you in that house all by yourself. I know you have a roommate," he added, "and I don't know about Whitney, but you at least aren't quite . . . aren't quite . . . "

"Scary?" Meg thought she knew where this was going. Arthur may have left in a rush, but every time they talked he made her promise to be smart and stay on her guard.

Arthur laughed uncomfortably. "I always told your mother we should have enrolled you in judo rather than all those social dance classes. If someone comes up behind you all you can do is triple-step them."

"That's not true," Meg protested. "Charley's not that far away – "

"And I'm sure some creep would give you the time to call for backup, and then wait around for your skinny friend to trip over his own feet while he ran up the stairs."

Meg couldn't keep from laughing. He'd pegged Charley perfectly. "Well, he'd try his darndest to keep us safe."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Arthur muttered. "I'd just feel better knowing someone was living in that house. Maybe I should rent it out to a police officer for a few months, until I get back home."

At least he was still calling Michigan home, Meg thought. "When do you think you'll come back?"

Arthur hesitated. "I don't know, sweetie," he said finally. "I want to be home by August at the latest. Are you doing okay? You'd tell me if there was a problem, wouldn't you?"

Meg leaned her head on the wall and stood there for a long time without saying a word. "Meg?"

"Yeah, I'm here." She closed her eyes. "I'm fine. Whitney keeps me company, and Charley makes sure I don't do anything stupid." Except chaperone his dates, she added silently. "I miss you, though."

"I miss you, too. You should come down for a visit sometime."

Arthur had obviously missed the whole I-get-one-day-off-a-week discussion, but Meg was tired of reminding him of that. "I'll see what I can do."

After she got off the phone she sank to the floor in front of the piano, rested her head against the bench, and cried until she could hardly breathe.

*** *** ***

Charley arrived ten minutes early that evening. Harvard was conspicuously absent. Meg just looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"He's already downtown. He had to meet with his lawyer at the last minute."

Meg sighed and rolled her shoulders unconsciously. Was there anyone in the world anymore that didn't have a lawyer? Maybe she was more old-fashioned than she'd thought.

"Don't worry, though," Charley said, trying surreptitiously to look over her head. "He's totally stoked about our date tonight."

"I thought we weren't on – "

"My date," he amended hastily. "Kingston is just . . . " His voice trailed off.

Meg stared at an open-mouthed Charley for a few seconds before she heard Whitney. "Hello, Charley."

Smirking, Meg reached up and closed his mouth for him. He swallowed once before grinning down at her. "Your date doesn't hold a candle to mine. He's too tall for me." He stepped around her and offered his arm to a blushing Whitney. "Shall we go?"

The ride into downtown Detroit was . . . interesting, Meg decided. For a man who'd professed to jittery nerves only the day before, Charley was a model of charm and relaxation.

And he talked the whole way down. She watched his face in the rearview mirror, and the longer they drove the more suspicious she became. She knew Charley almost better than she knew herself, and she had the sinking feeling that he was up to something underhanded – like concocting a mad scheme for him and Harvard to get dates for the evening.

Charley caught her eye in the mirror and raised his eyebrows at her before returning to his shameless flirtation. Meg groaned silently and tried to sink further into the backseat.

Charley must have felt guilty for ignoring her, because a few minutes later he spoke over his shoulder. "Have you heard from your dad recently?"

"He called this afternoon. He seemed to think I wasn't safe living in the house with the main floor empty."

Meg watched as Charley's eyes flitted to Whitney. "And what did you say to that?"

She shrugged. "I told him you weren't far away." She paused for a second, smiling to herself as she remembered their conversation. "Then he muttered something about renting it out to a police officer."

Grimacing, Charley pulled into a parking spot and took the key out of the ignition. "I'm glad he thinks so highly of me," he said drily.

Meg was shaking her head as she walked slowly toward the restaurant, trailing behind Whitney and Charley. She slowed her steps and smiled when Whitney saw the name of the restaurant. Charley grinned at her and took her hand, tugging her up the walk. "It used to be a mansion," she heard him tell her, excitement lacing his voice. "It was owned by a guy whose last name was Whitney. Is that awesome or what?"

Meg stood there and observed them. She was tremendously glad that Charley had found someone that interested him, but it made her feel slightly unnecessary, almost like she was being left behind on the greatest adventure of all.

She glanced up and jumped when her eyes met Harvard's. He was only a foot away from her, watching her watch her best friend fall toward love.

He slowly reached out and touched her elbow. "Hello, Meg." His voice had a faint trace of understanding hidden in it. It made her wonder if he knew what she was thinking. The thought made her feel oddly better. "You look positively lovely. Thank you for coming tonight."

Taking a deep breath, Meg felt her shoulders relax. "No, thank you." She nodded her head in Charley's direction, and Harvard chuckled quietly next to her. "I was starting to feel a little redundant."

Harvard froze for a second before his hand slid down her arm until her fingers were held loosely in his. "You could never be redundant."

Meg smiled up at him and let him lead her into the restaurant.

Much to Meg's surprise, the dinner didn't go nearly as abominably as she'd expected. In fact, if she were being honest (and she was inclined to do just that), she hadn't had such a lovely time in years. They were seated in the Whitney's former library, surrounded by stained glass windows and leather-bound books that remained from the family's original collection, and she couldn't remember the last time she had laughed so much or so freely. Charley caught her eye from across the table at one point and smiled at her. His arm was slung over the back of Whitney's chair, and his eyes were alight with pleasure.

She sighed contentedly and leaned back in her seat. Harvard spun his water glass idly on the table, making the liquid inside swirl. It was almost dizzying.

"We never finished our discussion about your dad," Charley said suddenly. "What did he have to say?"

Meg shrugged and watched as the glass in Harvard's hands came to an abrupt halt. "He said he's feeling happier, but he probably won't be home until the end of the summer." She tilted her head back to look up at the ceiling. "And, of course, the police thing."

"What police thing?"

Meg glanced at Harvard without lowering her head. He seemed strangely fascinated with her chin. "He thinks we're not safe enough," she explained.

His earlier irritation obviously forgotten, Charley leaned over and smirked at her. "And he wants her to find a police officer to live with her."

Harvard's arm twitched, and the next thing Meg knew the water in his glass was dripping from her lap.

He stared at her for a heartbeat before wordlessly handing her his handkerchief. Then he buried his face in his hands.

*** *** ***

Meg watched as Whitney fiddled with the hand dryer in the ladies' room. "I don't think it's going to turn that far around," she noted. "This is an old building, remember? They didn't really want the thing to be wrenched around."

Sighing, Whitney gave up and turned to her. "Did you at least manage to get most of the water out?"

Meg glanced down at her dress and laughed. "I won't drip on the carpet, if that's what you mean." She walked over to the sink, wrinkling her nose at the feel of the wet material on her legs. "I hate that feeling," she said. "All cold and wet. It's like I've been slobbered on by a Great Dane."

Whitney leaned against the counter. She stared off into space for a long time. "What's up?" Meg asked.

"I was just thinking."

Meg looked at her friend closer. She was twisting her ring around her finger and shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "About . . . "

The fidgeting sped up. "Charley."

Ah, thought Meg. That didn't take very long. "What about him? You like him, don't you?"

Whitney's ring fell to the floor. She was flushed when she stood back up. "Yeah . . . "

Meg raised her eyebrows. "What's the problem?"

Whitney was quiet for a long time, and when she finally spoke she was whispering. "Is he . . . is he . . . "

This was going to take forever. "He's not in love with me, if that's what you're asking."

"Oh! Um, no, I wasn't worried about that. I was just thinking he might be . . . might be . . . "

Meg sighed and moved to stand beside her. "Just spit it out, Whitney."

She took a deep breath, screwed her eyes shut, and blurted out, "Is he gay?"

Meg burst out laughing so hard she doubled over, clutching her stomach. Some unfortunate woman, choosing that moment to open the restroom door, took one look at Meg and backed out, her eyes wide with panic. Meg wondered how long it would take her the call someone official to check out the situation.

Whitney's mouth opened and closed several times before she finally settled on something to say. "I can't decide if you're laughing because he's gay, and I've been blissfully ignorant, or if he's not and he'd die if he found out I thought he might be."

It took Meg a minute more before she was able to calm down enough to answer. "He's not gay," she said, wiping her eyes. "Although I can see why you might think he was. He's more of a metro sexual than anything else."

Nodding thoughtfully, Whitney gazed off into the distance. "That would explain a lot."

Meg glanced at her out of the corner of her eye while she was checking her mascara. "If you're interested, I happen to know he's available. And interested in girls," she added, just to make sure Whitney understood.

The smile on Whitney's face glowed. "That's good to know." She patted her hair, straightened her blouse, and stood up straight. "Come on. If we stay in here much longer Harvard's going to think you've fallen into the toilet."

*** *** ***

Harvard had never felt so humiliated in his life.

Here he was, on a date with the girl of his dreams (the fact that she didn't think they were on a date bothered him, but he was willing to overlook that in the name of social felicity), and what did he do?

He dumped ice cold water on her lap.

He stared at the offending glass in silence, wishing he could redo things. Heck, he didn't need water. He'd barely even touched it throughout their meal. "I don't know what happened," he muttered to himself. "The glass just tipped over in my hand like it had a will of its own."

Charley smirked even harder at him. "At least her skirt wasn't white."

Harvard glowered at him. "Shut up, Grimm."

"Anything you say, Mr. Tall, Dark and Graceful." Charley set it back upright and leaned his elbows on the table. "That's funny."

"What's funny?" If one more wisecrack came out of Charley's mouth he wouldn't be held responsible for his actions.

"The glass. It doesn't look like it has a rounded bottom."

"Shut up, Grimm."

Charley's eyebrows rose slightly. "You're starting to repeat yourself, Kingston."

Harvard tried to calculate how much trouble he'd be in if he just stuffed the stupid thing in Charley's mouth. If it made him stop talking it might be worth it.

"Come on, man," Charley blathered on. Harvard watched his mouth move, and his fingers tightened convulsively around the glass. "It's not like Meg's going to call the cops on you for drenching her with water."

Harvard's eyes flew up to meet Charley's. "You weren't serious about that, were you? Does Meg's father really want to rent out his downstairs apartment?"

Shrugging, Charley leaned his chair back on two legs. "That's what she said. I don't know, though," he added after a few seconds. "Arthur's been very hands-off since his wife died. I don't know why he's concerned about Meg all of a sudden."

No wonder Meg didn't want to talk about her dad, Harvard thought with a pang. For all his faults, at least his own father cared enough to talk to him every day.

It occurred to him that perhaps he and Meg were at opposite ends of the parental spectrum. Hers were practically non-existent, whereas his wouldn't leave him alone to do his job in peace.

"I wonder," he said slowly, "how Mr. Bailey would feel about renting it out to someone else."

Charley slowly lowered the legs of his chair back to the floor. "I'm listening."

By the time the girls came back from the ladies' room, Harvard was feeling decidedly more optimistic.

*** *** ***

Harvard grasped Meg's hand when he walked her to his car. "Are you sad that Charley and Whitney decided to walk around the gardens for a while without us?" he asked quietly.

She shivered, and Harvard let go of her long enough to shrug out of his sports coat. She smiled as he draped it over her shoulders. "Not at all," she admitted. "It's kind of chilly out."

He glanced down at her still-damp skirt and grimaced. "I'm so sorry about that," he said, hoping that she wasn't getting tired of hearing those words coming from his mouth. "I didn't mean – "

Laughing, Meg bumped him with her shoulder as he leaned over to open her door. "Stop apologizing," she chided, sliding into the seat. "Really, it's okay." She glanced at him, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly. "It is kind of funny that I have your handkerchief again. I think I'll have to buy you another set after all."

Harvard thought about this as he walked around the car. As far as he was concerned, she could keep it. Maybe it was somehow influencing his actions around her.

Once they were back at her house, Harvard pushed Meg down the hall toward her bedroom. "Go change out of your wet things," he said. He hoped he didn't sound too pushy. "I'll be in the family room when you're done."

He wandered around the room, glancing at her pictures while he waited. There were a lot of Meg with an older couple. The woman had Meg's eyes, and he couldn't help smiling. In every picture, Meg was either smiling or laughing. He wondered how long it had been since she'd been that carefree.

Meg was hovering next to the couch when he finally turned around. She was watching him, a strange expression on her face. "I hope I'm not prying," he said, trying not to notice her legs. He didn't think he'd ever seen her in anything but a dress or a skirt, so to have her stand there in something with legs was a little disconcerting.

"You aren't." She sank down onto the couch and patted the cushion next to her. "You look tired."

"So do you. What did you do on your day off?"

She tilted her head back and laughed. "Promise not to make fun of me."

"Never." Harvard was surprised by the conviction in his voice.

She snuck a look at him, her cheeks flushing. "I was cleaning."

Harvard snorted. "You're kidding. Why didn't you do something relaxing? You clean all the time."

Shrugging, she leaned back into the cushions and propped her feet on the coffee table. "I went down to do my laundry and almost choked on the dust coming from the first floor. I couldn't just leave it like that."

Harvard watched her get settled into the couch before placing his own sock-clad feet on the table next to hers. The next time he looked at her her eyes were drowsy. "Why does it matter if there's a little dust down there? No one lives there right now."

"It bothers me," she said simply. "And anyway, if Dad really wants to rent it out it needs to be clean."

Harvard shifted uncomfortably. It was one thing to tell Charley that he could finagle a way into Meg's house; it was another thing altogether to actually do it. "Was he serious about that?" He stretched his arm over his head, feeling too obvious. It was like he was back in high school, taking a pretty girl to the movies. He wondered idly if Peggy Johnson had seen through his arm-stretching then.

Meg sighed. "I don't know. Maybe. I don't really want a detective or a police officer or a judo instructor living down there with all my mother's things, though."

Taking a deep breath, Harvard closed his eyes. She couldn't have left him a better opening if he'd written her a script for a bad sitcom. "How would you feel if the guy living down there was me?"

Meg blinked at him for a few seconds. "I thought you already had somewhere to live," she said.

He grimaced. "Yeah, a hotel room next to the mall. I know your dad'll be back at the end of the summer, but I'm only planning on needing temporary housing for a while."

"Why? Are you going to another property when you're done here?"

Harvard tore his eyes away from her, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. "Maybe . . . "

"Well, either you are or you aren't."

Now Harvard was starting to sweat. It wasn't like he could just come out and tell her why he was in Michigan, but he didn't want to lie, either. "My plans aren't entirely set yet, that's all. I should know more in July or August."

Meg thought about this for a minute, making Harvard wish that if he were lucky enough to gain a superpower, it'd be mind-reading. "I'd have to talk to Arthur first," she finally said. "It's his house, after all."

"I could call him for you." Harvard knew he sounded too eager, but the fact that she hadn't outright told him to stay in his hotel was enough to push the adrenaline through his veins. His fingers tightened involuntarily around her shoulder, and he inched her closer to his side.

"That might not be a bad idea." She yawned and rested her head against his arm. "I'll write his number down for you before you leave."

"You could just tell me now," he said hopefully. "I'm good at remembering numbers."

Half an hour later Meg was asleep, his arm was around her, and his cell phone was in his hand. His finger hovered over the call button when she placed her hand on his chest and smiled in her sleep.

If living in her downstairs apartment meant more evenings spent just like this, Harvard thought, he might just slow his work down to a crawl. He sighed contentedly and pushed the button.

"Hello, Mr. Bailey. This is Harvard Kingston. I know it's late . . . "