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faithful viewers. Since I haven’t seen him after that interrupted moment the day he helped me move in, I’m a bit uneasy.
    Ah . . . no. I promised myself—and, more importantly, God—I wouldn’t wishy-washy myself again. I’m not a bit uneasy. I’m rapid cycling between teenybopper giddy (and I’ve never been so beset before in my entire thirty years of life, I’ll have you know) and sweaty-palmed, deer-in-the-headlights scared.
    No way is anyone going to convince me this is good.
    “Get a grip,” I mutter as I walk into my dressing room.
    But it’s hard to get a grip when your heart won’t quit flippity-flopping every time you think the object of your flusteration—is that a word? It works for me, so it is now— might walk in at any moment. And that’s how I head off to hair and makeup. My cohost’s lanky self is usually plunked in the makeup chair next to mine. And he’s usually as punctual as I am.
    But not today. I can’t squash my disappointment.
    As Allison Howard, our makeup genius, dabs on the last bit of beautifying potion on my right eye, the phone on the counter rings. Framed by the big, round Hollywood-starlet lights around the mirror behind her, Allie answers. “Yes, Miss Mona?”
    That catches my attention. Miss Mona rarely calls any of us. She prefers to hustle on down and do one-on-ones. Allison listens, then waggles her eyebrows at me, a wicked grin on her lips. “She’s right here.”
    “For me?”
    She holds out the phone and jabs a makeup brush toward me. “Lucky you.”
    I laugh—briefly—then check in with our boss. “Hey, Miss Mona. What kind of trouble do I have to get you and Aunt Weeby out of this early?”
    “Nuh-uh-uh-uh!”
    Her singsong voice intrigues me. What is the woman up to?
    “Why don’t you come on up to my office, Andie, dear? I think you’re going to like what I have to say.”
    “What’s up?”
    “Nuh-uh. Come on over. I have coffee and a tray of goodies all set up for us. Aa-aand, I can even see some chocolate from where I’m sitting—”
    “O-kay. You got me with the chocolate. I’ll be right there.”
    I hang up but catch Allison’s arched eyebrow. “Chocolate?” she says. “That’s not the right shade for your lips, you know. If you go snacking with Miss Mona, I’ll have to do some heavy-duty touch-up before you go on.”
    “Are you going to tell me you expect me to believe you’d turn down ooey-gooey chocolate for the sake of a smear of lipstick?”
    Allison laughs. “No, but I’m not the one headed to a chair in front of a camera and the peepers of America’s zillion bling-bling–hungry women.”
    From out in the hallway, I hear a familiar voice. I even recognize his footsteps. My heartbeat speeds up. I glance in the mirror, and smile at Allison’s results. Better than the last time he saw me, all dirt-streaked and tired from moving.
    Oh, good grief! Am I pathetic or what? The footsteps approach, and my middle does that flippety-flop thing again. I wonder if any other woman in history has tuned her hearing to a guy’s footsteps? Okay, fine. I am a little weird. But Max does have that lean, panther-like walk, a perk I suspect he’s gained from his sports mania.
    I slide off the revolving chair. “Thanks, Allie. Gotta go see what the boss is up to. Gotta move, gotta groove.”
    As I step past Max, the appreciative smile he gives me slows me down. “Nice,” he says, his voice low and intimate.
    Be still, my heart! My eyes open wide with pleasure. I purse my lips, almost as if for a whistle, but only let out a happy puff of pent-up breath. Then I smile.
    “Thanks,” I say in the dopey voice of the shape-shifting alien who’s moved into my body. “See you in the merchandise room when Allie’s done her thing with you.”
    “I’ll be there.”
    Wild horses won’t keep me away .
    But first I have to see what our fearless leader is up to. And, oh, do I ever mean fearless! Nothing fazes the woman.
    I sail into Miss Mona’s