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you’d be here soon enough.” He gestured toward the dining room. “Maggie’s been in the kitchen all day and I’m starving. Shall we?”
    C.C. spent the next twenty minutes nibbling on a romaine salad and taking in the situation. As much as she’d like to find a long list of faults with her father’s fiancée, she couldn’t. Candace was sophisticated, intelligent, poised, beautiful, and dammit, she was nice. It was the niceness that bothered C.C. most of all. She’d wanted her to act like a wicked stepmother, so C.C. could dislike her for more than just being too young for her father.
    “Catherine?” Candace turned her attention on C.C. “Did your father give you any details on the wedding yet?”
    “No, actually he hasn’t.”
    “We’d like to get married at the club, just small and informal.”
    “Oh. Sure. Sounds great.” She’d thought Candace would demand an audience and a ritzy venue. Could her preconceived notions have been all wrong? “Where will you honeymoon?” The answer would be telling.
    Before Candace could answer, Maggie burst through the kitchen door, chiming in an overloud voice, “More wine, anyone?” She held a bottle of chardonnay between her chapped hands.
    “Thank you,” Candace smiled at Maggie and held out her glass. “Everything is lovely. I’m hoping you’ll give me a few lessons in the kitchen. I hate to confess, I can barely scramble an egg.”
    Maggie shrugged and busied herself pouring wine. “I’m here every day. Make a list of what you want to know.”
    “I will.” And then, she turned to Max. “Are you and Rhyder still partners?”
    Max nodded. “We are.”
    “Please tell him I said hello. I’m sure he’ll be delighted.”
    Was that sarcasm in her voice, C.C. wondered, looking for anything negative.
    “No doubt he will.”
    “Have you met Rhyder Remmington yet, Grayson?”
    “No, but I’ve heard a good deal about him.”
    Candace lifted her wine glass and said, “He’s brilliant. Charming when he wants to be. Very protective of Max.” She shot her ex a look. “And more amphibian than flesh and blood.”
    Max’s mouth worked into a smile. “I’d say the feeling’s mutual. I’ll send him your best.”
    More sarcasm, definitely.
    She saluted him with her wine glass. “Please do.” She sipped her wine and in an obvious attempt to change the subject, asked, “Are you still running marathons?”
    “No time,” he mumbled, tearing into a roll.
    “Karate?”
    “Nope.”
    “Boxing?”
    He looked up from his plate and said, “Why are you so interested in my exercise routine?”
    A hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “You look good. Something’s agreeing with you.” She glanced at C.C. “Or someone.”
    The brackets on Max’s mouth deepened. “I run five miles a day, lift weights three times a week, play racquetball whenever I can, and I row.”
    “Row?”
    “It involves an oar and water.”
    She laughed. “I know that. I just wasn’t aware you were involved in that sort of thing.”
    “A lot can happen in three years.”
    Her smile faded and a look of pain flashed across Candace’s face. “That’s true. People change,” she said softly.
    Did that look have anything to do with Max? Had he left her? There was a mountain of history between Candace and her ex and C.C. hated to admit it, but she wanted to take a peek at their past. How long had they dated? Were they serious, or just passing by? Did they ever talk about marriage? Children? Visions of dark-haired babies flitted through her brain and made her light headed.
    His blue gaze narrowed on Candace’s face. “Some change, others just change their tactics.”
    The pain flitted across her expression again, then disappeared. “Or they learn from their mistakes.” She toyed with a piece of romaine lettuce and said in a light, inquisitive voice, “Are you still afraid of mice?”
    He scowled, his face contorting into equal parts distaste and anger. “I am not afraid of mice,”