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go over well.
    Magda had been bustling around, conspicuously busy and not listening to our conversation. She'd been bursting to say something all morning. Once Jus was gone, she let loose. "Mr. Jus never does interviews!"
    I couldn't tell whether she was condemning him or me or what. But I was glad she'd been concentrating on the interview and not our vacation.
    "He should. He really should!" I said with that burst-of-pride voice. Where had it come from? "He would be fantastic at them! He shouldn't let Riggins hog all the spotlight all the time. You should have seen Jus at the hospital yesterday, Magda. He charmed everyone!"
    Magda had been slowly warming to me day by day. Since I'd followed her advice and changed my name, I'd gotten on her good side. She smiled approvingly—at both my sentiment and the way I was gushing about Jus—and nodded. "That's what I say! But will he listen?"
    I took a sip of coffee. "Are you sure you don't want to come backstage with me and that new personal assistant, Andrea, that Lazer sent over to help me? If you're lucky, you might get a chance to meet Sunshine Sheri." I singsonged the last bit, trying to entice her.
    Magda brushed my suggestion aside. "No, thanks! I'll be much happier in the audience. But maybe I could just get her autograph after the show."
    Sunshine Sheri was the affectionate nickname Seattle gave Northwest Mornings host Sheri Carmichael. She'd picked up the moniker when she'd begun her career as a weather girl during the record-breaking hot, dry Seattle June of 1992. I, of course, was barely born, so I didn't remember it. All this was according to her LinkedIn bio. Not the nickname bit. The part about the start of her career. The name stuck, in large part, because of her upbeat attitude and sunny smile.
    Magda loved her and watched her daily morning show while she cleaned the penthouse and attended to her duties. She was something of a Sunshine Sheri fanatic. Since I'd gotten the interview, she'd worked Sheri any way she could work into conversation, subtly or, in most cases, obviously. It was getting pretty hilarious, really. I'd had no choice but to invite her along and get her a ticket in the studio audience.
    Sheri was an aging star now, in TV terms, and relegated to the semi-popular morning show that did puff pieces, human interest, and public service announcements. She was the friendly, perky TV host talking to minor celebrities and locals of note. She did a weekly segment with a local gardening expert, cooking pieces with regionally known top chefs, that kind of thing. Going on her show was like being tossed a slow-pitch softball by someone who wanted you to get a home run. There was no reason for nerves. How could anyone be afraid when they had Sheri to make them look good?
    Three hours later, Sheri's makeup and wardrobe people did a last-minute touchup to me backstage while Sheri gave me a glowing introduction to her audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm so pleased. The theme of today's show is one of my favorites—summer weddings! Well, it's June, so what else could we do?"
    She flirted expertly with the audience. "Our special guest today is the summer bride of the season. Please welcome the new bride everyone is talking about. And every single Seattle girl wishes she were. Come on out, Kayla! Ladies and gentlemen—"
    Gentlemen? I peered out at the crowd from backstage, looking for one. Were there any gentlemen? Or even any regular guys, gentlemanlike or not?
    "I give you Mrs. Justin Green!" Sheri clapped.
    That was my cue. One of Sheri's crew checked my mic a final time.
    Andrea gave me a gentle push toward the stage. "You're on! Relax. You'll be great!"
    I walked across the stage, smiling and waving to the studio audience while they applauded politely. Sheri's producer had given me a brief two days ago, asking me to dress like a guest at a summer wedding. The perfect outfit had come to mind immediately.
    I was wearing my favorite, flirty little yellow dress I'd