Smart, stylish Richard Bruce wooed her with soft-serve ice cream and kissed her silly under the sycamore. Richard, who was in every way the perfect guy. Dazzlingly suave, he made her laugh and showered her with dahlias and, unbelievably, seemed to want her. Maybe he wasn’t Prince Charming. But she’d choose Dr. Charming any day of the week. Prince Charming always seemed like a bore.

She plucked a dandelion puff, closed her eyes, and blew.

Let the carpenter build and to heck with the consequences. Tessa had a ticket to the ball.

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

“It was ‘Maneater.’ ” Nibbling her straw, Tessa flashed a naughty grin over iced coffee in the hospital volunteer office the next morning. Her coffee habit was getting out of hand, but she could imagine worse vices.

Claire swallowed a cappuccino spit take. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. They played ‘Maneater’ twice during the No Repeat Nine to Five, and I heard it and called in.” She shook her head. She never won anything—not even musical chairs. Even now, weeks later, she could hardly believe her luck.

Claire lifted sable brows. “And won fifteen thousand dollars?”

“Honest to goodness. I was stuck in my crummy faculty apartment grading finals while everyone else sunbathed on the quad. I don’t think a single sofa was still indoors. So, when I won, I couldn’t find anyone to tell.” She plunked her elbows on the desk and rested her chin in her hands. “The whole experience was unreal.”

“I never knew which was Hall and which was Oates.”

Savoring a frosty sip, she frowned. Thanks to the band, she was fifteen thousand dollars richer. She should at least know which was which. “Wasn’t Hall the one with the moustache?”

“I thought that was Oates.”

“Well, regardless, because of ‘Maneater,’ I can volunteer all summer, build my parents a gazebo, and worry about work in the fall.” The cup was clouded with condensation, and she traced the shape of a heart on its side. “At this point, I can’t function outside of an academic calendar anyway.”

Claire tipped her chair against a file cabinet, teetering on two legs. “Does Richard know?”

“About the radio contest?”

Claire nodded.

“No.” Wiping away the heart, she snatched the cup and drained the final drops. “I’m pretty sure he thinks I should find a real job.” She held up a sample Midsummer Ball invitation. “Too wedding-ish, right?”

“Agreed.”

She tossed the card onto the “no” pile. August first was on the horizon, and she and Claire needed to finalize the “Swing into Summer” invitations posthaste. Only two choices remained. One was traditional with sweeping script and elegant, small caps on creamy cardstock. The other was a retro design with a dancing couple inside a whimsical pocket watch and art nouveau lettering reading, “Party Time.” She presented the final contenders. “Drumroll, please…which is our lucky winner?”