Free By Design by Jayne Denker Page A

wisdom tooth—and she was too embarrassed to get any more than this next refill so she didn’t look like a lush.
    The man held out a thick, calloused hand. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Kevin Underwood. Juliet’s husband.”
    The plastic glass slipped from Emmie’s grasp and bounced on the tile floor with a clatter. She realized her mouth was open, so she tried making some words come out of it. Unfortunately the first ones that did were, “Oh! I—I didn’t know you were Mormon!”
    As the man looked at her, bemused, she hid her burning face by crouching down to pick up the glass. That’s one man, many wives, Einstein, she berated herself. She stood up and tried again. “Er, it’s nice to meet you,” she said simply.
    And then Juliet was there. She crossed to her husband—Emmie could not wrap her mind around this one—and they gave each other a peck on the cheek. They were the same compact height, but Kevin was twice as broad as his wife. “How were the kids?” she asked him, and he replied, “Just fine.”
    “I see you’ve met Kevin,” Juliet said cheerfully. Emmie must have looked puzzled, because Juliet went on, “I know it’s confusing . . .” Emmie let out a breath. No kidding. She listened eagerly for the explanation. “. . . I just always felt really strongly about keeping my own last name when we got married. Luckily Kevin didn’t mind.” She turned her smile on him. “This is Emmie Brewster, Class of ’95.” As Kevin nodded at Emmie, Juliet said, “Emmie, your cookies are right over there. Why don’t I take one container and you take the other—”
    “No, it’s okay,” Emmie said hastily, eager to have something to do, even more eager to leave the kitchen. “I can get them.” She picked up the tubs, balancing her empty glass on top—she had the feeling she was going to need that thimbleful of wine even more than she’d planned—and escaped to the living room.

    The next morning at work, Emmie was surprised to hear the bell over the door jangle. She put down the supplies she was unpacking and hurried out of the back room. No meetings were scheduled, Trish was home with a recuperating Logan, and she’d gotten past the phase where she thought every person who walked into the office was her dream man. So who else could it—
    “Juliet?” Emmie stopped short at the sight of the petite woman standing just inside the doorway, clutching the strap of a large designer purse on her shoulder. Emmie scrambled to put on her professional demeanor. “Please, come in. What can I do for you?” She gestured toward the guest chair next to her desk, but Juliet remained standing.
    She smiled nervously at Emmie and clutched her bag tighter. Her expensive cropped leather blazer creaked. “So this is Wilman Designs,” she said, taking it in with her wide blue eyes.
    “Yep, this is it.”
    “It’s nice.”
    “Yes,” Emmie lied.
    “I can’t wait to open my doors—I signed the papers on the space last week. I should be working on finalizing the details right now, but . . .”
    “You need design advice?”
    Juliet looked confused for a moment, then shook her head. “Oh. Not just yet, no.”
    Emmie couldn’t for the life of her figure out why Juliet was standing in front of her, fidgeting. Had Emmie left something behind at the party, and Juliet was stopping by to give it back? Did she do something offensive—even though she thought she had been on her best behavior—and Juliet was going to call her out about it? Did— oh, God in heaven, no —did Graham tell her that she went all googly-eyed at him the first time they met, and now Juliet was going to warn Emmie to keep her mitts off her man?
    Finally Juliet fought out, “I was wondering if you were free for lunch.”
    Well, that was entirely unexpected, Emmie thought. “Uh . . .” Instead of saying yes or no, she heard herself blurt out rudely, “It’s eleven o’clock.”
    “Is that a problem?”
    Emmie took another look at