Page 26 of My Best French Wedding

Most people didn’t realize how much psychology was involved in being a magazine editor. It wasn’t enough to understand what readers wanted or why a certain story mattered. You also had to have a feel for how your writers were wired, since most of them were as high-strung as racehorses.

Case in point: Walter Burns, the first reporter she’d ever managed. Hildy had intuited early on that he had a chip on his shoulder about growing up without a lot of money, so it was her job to reframe situations to keep him from getting twitchy.We’re not going out to dinner; it’s just a cup of coffee. Talentwrites its own ticket, so walk into that place like you own it. That kind of thing.

It had worked well… until it didn’t.

That was a long time ago, though. Grown-up Walter had no problem holding his own at fancy weddings. Where Hildy had to practically turn cartwheels while twirling a baton, all that was required of Walter was to fix those big brown eyes on someone and listen like his life depended on it. Which proved Hildy’s point that money wasn’t the only currency that mattered.

Not that Walter would be lacking in funds for long if things got serious with his Prescott heiress. International-travel-plus-family wedding didn’t exactly say “casual.” Interesting how he didn’t have an issue withMaude’sbackground. Apparently some women were allowed to come from wealthy families without it counting as a character flaw.

Fiona waved, her other hand clutching the arm of a smiling blond guy with the side part and slicked-down hair of a little boy in an old-time sitcom, though the muscles and tan were very much of the modern gym era.

Time to work. Hildy put her shoulders back, relaxing her face into a smile as she approached the happy couple.

“Hildy, this is Robbie,” Fiona announced, bouncing with excitement. “I’m so glad you finally get to meet him.”

Robbie offered a firm handshake and the easy grin of someone who had been described by his college roommate as “the guy most likely to sleep through having his eyebrows shaved off and not be mad about it afterward.”

“Hi,” he said. “Pleased to meet you. Thank you for coming.”

“Hildy’s the one doing the story about us,” Fiona whispered, since Robbie clearly had no idea which of their many guests he was addressing.

“Sweet.” Robbie blinked like he was searching for somethingelse to say. “Can I get you some of me and Fee’s favorite pink wine? We like to drink it while we watch the sunset, because the colors kind of match. Pink sky, pink drink. And it’s less sweet than a cosmo.”

Hildy could picture the two of them in matching Adirondack chairs, clinking glasses. She smiled at the image, and also because it was important to get Robbie on her side.

“Thank you so much for inviting me here to help you capture your wedding memories in a glossy, full-color format you’ll be able to look back at and really cherish for the rest of your lives.” As opposed to finger-staining newsprint.

“Cheers to that!” he replied. “You can never have too many pictures of Fee. Especially when she dresses up.”

“Aww, sweetie!” She buried her face against his shirt, nuzzling him with her nose.

“What did I miss?”

Hildy tried not to flinch. She couldn’t let Walter know he’d caught her off guard, creeping up from behind like a shadow. “They’re really excited about the awesome wedding story I’m going to write.”

“Sounds like I got here just in time.”

“Not how I’d describe it.” She turned to face him, watching as he absorbed the impact of her dress, from the strapless bodice to the flirty little skirt.

Walter had changed too, into a loose button-down the color of green grapes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him in short sleeves. Of course Hildy knew in theory that he had forearms, but it was different witnessing the actual shape of them, with the skin and the hair. Blah blah blah, muscles etcetera; plenty of people had them. “Where were you anyway?”

“Doing some background research.” His tone was deliberately vague, as if that would keep her from digging.

“About what?”

“The wine.”

She paused in case he wanted to come up with a better answer. “You have never been a bigger nerd than you are right now.”

“I’m sorry, some of us didn’t grow up drinking wine at every meal.”

“That’s too bad. It was really soothing for me as a toddler. Cheerios and Chardonnay. I took the best naps.”

He frowned, but it looked less like disapproval than repressed amusement. “What if we both do it?”

“Do what?” Hildy asked.

“The story.”