He couldn’t believe it. After all these years had he cracked the ice with Phoebe? If so, he owed it all to Delaney.

As Phoebe disappeared into the owner’s skybox, he pulled out his cell so he could share the news with Annabelle, but before he punched in her number, Delaney reappeared. He probably couldn’t have reached Annabelle anyway. Unlike him, she didn’t believe in leaving her phone on.

Annabelle had never been a big opera fan, but Delaney had box seats for Tosca, and the Lyric’s lavish production was exactly the distraction she needed to take her mind off her mother’s phone call that afternoon. Her family, it seemed, had decided to descend on Chicago next month to help Annabelle celebrate her thirty-second birthday.

“Adam has a conference,” Kate had said, “and Doug and Candace want to visit some old friends. Dad and I were planning a trip to St. Louis anyway, so we’ll drive up from there.”

One big, happy family.

Intermission came. “I can’t believe how much I’m enjoying this,” Annabelle said as she bought Delaney a glass of wine.

Unfortunately, her old friend was more interested in talking about Heath than in discussing the trials and tribulations of Tosca’s doomed lovers. “Did I remember to tell you that Heath introduced me to Phoebe Calebow on Saturday? She’s lovely. The whole weekend was fabulous.”

Annabelle didn’t want to hear about it, but Delaney was on a roll.

“I told you that Heath left for the coast yesterday, but I didn’t tell you that he sent flowers again. Unfortunately, more roses, but he’s basically a jock, so how much imagination can you expect?”

Annabelle loved roses, and she didn’t think they were all that unimaginative.

Delaney tugged on her pearls. “Of course, my parents adore him—you know how they are—and my brother thinks he’s the best guy I’ve ever dated.”

Annabelle’s brothers would have liked Heath, too. For all the wrong reasons, but still…

“We’ll have been together five weeks this coming Friday. Annabelle, I think this might be it. He’s as close to perfect as I’ll ever get.” Her smile faded. “Well…Except for that small problem I’ve been telling you about.”

Annabelle slowly released the air she’d been holding in her lungs. “No change?”

Delaney lowered her voice. “I was all over him in the car on Saturday. It was obvious I was getting to him, but he didn’t follow up on it. I know I’m being paranoid—and I’d never say this to anybody else—but are you absolutely sure he’s not gay? There was this guy in college, totally macho, but he turned out to have a boyfriend.”

“I don’t think he’s gay,” Annabelle heard herself say.

“No,” Delaney shook her head firmly. “I’m sure he’s not.”

“You’re probably right.”

The bell rang to announce the end of intermission, and Annabelle slithered back to her seat like the miserable snake she was.

Rain pummeled the window behind Portia’s desk, and a bolt of lightning split the late afternoon sky.