She’d handled her meeting with the conference chair for the writers’ convention, had briefed her staff one last time for the influx of guests that would be arriving over the following two days, and had checked and rechecked the details with the banquet manager, maintenance and shipping, catering, room service, and housekeeping.

At one, she’d fueled herself with coffee and a candy bar and headed out to Pretenses. The one bright spot in the day had been Kate’s semi-hysterical call just as Laura was racing out of the shower that morning.

“It’s pink! It turned pink. I’m pregnant. Byron, put me down. Did you hear, Laura? I’m going to have a baby!”

She’d heard, and they’d laughed together, wept a little. Now Kate was wandering in a dream state around the shop.

“How about Guinevere if it’s a girl?” Kate wondered. “Byron’s family has this tradition of choosing names from literature.”

“Guinevere was a weak-moraled round heel,” Margo commented. “She boffed her husband’s best friend. But if that’s the kind of thing you want—”

“I’ve always liked Ariel,” Laura put in. “From The Tempest.”

“Ariel De Witt.” Kate took a notebook out of her pocket and jotted it down. Names were a serious matter, she thought, and had to be considered from all angles. Had to sound right, look right. Feel right. “Hmmm.” This one definitely had potential. “Not bad.” She pocketed her reading glasses as she looked at Laura. “Laura’s nodding off again.”

“I’m not.” Caught, she jerked her lolling head up, struggled to focus. What the hell had they been talking about? “Names,” she said quickly, as though it was a pop quiz. “Girl names for the baby out of literature. Hester, Juliet, Delilah.”

“And your prize for the correct answer is a complete home entertainment center.” Kate arched a brow. “Would you like to move on to round two and try for the trip to Honolulu?”

“Very funny.” Laura resisted rubbing at her eyes like a cranky child. “I rather like Juliet.”

“We’ll put it before our distinguished panel of judges. Laura, take five before you fall on your face.”

“And if anyone knows the consequences of over-extending herself,” Margo put in, “it’s our pregnant pal with the dopey look in her eyes. Why don’t you go in the back and catch a quick nap?” As she studied Laura, Margo polished glassware. “Spending the night with Michael’s bound to sap a woman’s energy.”

Laura winced and looked around to see if there were any customers within hearing distance. “I told you we were birthing a foal, not tearing up the sheets.”

“Which only proves you’ve got your priorities skewed. Kate, I think that customer’s ready for a little push.” Margo nodded toward a man contemplating snuffboxes. “He’s got his eye on you,” she added when Kate walked away.

“The customer?”