Susan Phillips - Match Me If You Can

Beneath the painting, Portia and Phoebe stood with their heads together, probably plotting world domination. Molly bent down to listen to Pippi. The others had congregated around Rosemary. As Annabelle grew aware of his presence, she separated herself from the group and came toward him, that private smile he loved claiming her face. He took in Pip and the book club, then his beautiful red-haired wife. This was what he'd been searching for all his life. Women who'd stick.

"Any chance you can get your coven out of here in the next ten minutes?" he asked in a low voice as she reached his side.

She touched her son's cheek, and the baby instinctively turned toward her hand. "I doubt it. They haven't had dessert."

"Set it on the porch."

"Behave."

"That's what you're saying now," he whispered, "but you'll be singing a different tune later."

She laughed, pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth, then the baby's head. Across the room, Phoebe Cale-bow caught his eye, and they exchanged a look of perfect understanding. Next week they'd be battling over Dean's new contract, but for now, peace reigned.

While Pip helped Annabelle serve dessert, he carried the baby upstairs to his expanded home office. He let the baby sleep in his lap while he made a few phone calls. With Bodie as a full partner, Heath's workload had hghtened considerably. Instead of operating the biggest sports agency in the city, they were focusing on being the best, and they'd become highly selective in choosing their clients. Still, they could only control so much, and under Portia's direction, the new women's division had been growing by leaps and bounds, although she, too, had set limits. It had been a couple of years since he'd seen that pinched, frantic look on her face. Amazing what a good marriage and twenty extra pounds could do for a woman's disposition.

Perfect for You was also thriving. To the relief of Annabelle's seniors, Kate had given her daughter the Wicker Park house as a wedding gift. Acting on Portia's advice, Annabelle had hired both a secretary and an assistant. Ignoring Portia's advice, she continued to cater to a hodgepodge of clients. That was how she liked it.

Finally, he heard the book club beginning to depart. Trev was getting hungry, and the noise awakened him. As soon as the coast was clear, Heath carried him downstairs.

Annabelle stood by the wedge of windows, the afternoon sunlight pouring over her like liquid amber. As she heard him approach, she smiled as though she'd been waiting for this moment all day, which she probably had. He gave her the baby, then sat contentedly to watch his son feed. He and Annabelle talked a little. Not much. Upstairs, he heard his fax chime, and a few minutes later, his cell vibrated. He slipped his hand into his pocket and flicked it off.

Eventually, they bundled up their son, and the three of them went for a walk. A man and his family. A fine Chicago afternoon. The Sox on their way to a pennant.

"Why are you smiling?" his wife asked, with a smile of her own.

"Because you're perfect."

"No, I'm not," she laughed. "But I'm perfect for you."

The Python couldn't have agreed more.

Fortunately, I have a very talented family. My heartfelt thanks to every member for cheering me on, as well as sharing personal expertise. Dana, I don't know what I would have done without you. Thanks, Zach and Ty, for picking up the phone, even when you knew I was on the other end of the line with another question. Gloria, your special powers meant more to me than you'll ever know. Lyd, what are sisters for? And, Bill, once again you not only steer me through but give me a title as well.

Thanks to Bud Stanner at IMG for talking to me about the business of being a sports agent. A big thank-you to the professional matchmakers who spoke with me. (And also that very nice lady running the nude dancing business, although surely all those girls couldn't be working just to put themselves through college.)

Thanks to my good buddies Jennifer Crusie, Kristin Hannah, Alison Hart, Jayne Ann Krentz, Cathie Linz, Lindsay Longford, Dawn Struxness, Suzette Vann, Margaret Watson, everybody at Writerspace, and all the "Seppies" on the SEP Bulletin Board (join us at www.susanelizabethphillips.com).

Barbara Jepson and Sharon Mitchell, my able assistants, how could I write without you?

I've run out of ways to thank my longtime editor, Carrie Feron; my agent, Steven Axelrod; and everyone at William Morrow and Avon Books for their enthusiasm, friendship, and hard work. I'm one lucky lady.