The Man She Married by Ann DeFee Page B

room.
    Clay wasn’t too well-versed in brass band music, but the selection sounded vaguely familiar. “What was the name of that song?” he asked when the band quit playing.
    The trumpet player was the first to speak up. “It was Sousa’s version of the ‘Wedding March.’ Way buck, huh?”
    “Very buck,” Clay agreed, not having a clue what that meant. And clever. How in the world had Maizie pulled this off?
    “Here’s a message.” The trombone player pulled an envelope from his pocket. “It’s from your wife.”
    Clay couldn’t wait to see what she’d written so he opened the envelope right there in the lobby. It was an apology done Maizie style that made him laugh. That girl had a way about her. Sometimes he couldn’t decide whether to kiss her or throttle her, and that’s what made their marriage so good. So why was he holding out? Could they regain the trust they once had? Maizie seemed to think so. Clay wasn’t quite so sure.
    Okay, Maizie and her buddies had had their last shot at theatrical comedy. The courting was going to begin in earnest. And this time he planned to do it right. No more burgers and drive-in movies. They’d start all over and see if they could get through this rough patch.
     
    M AIZIE AND L IZA HAD THEIR noses pressed against the tearoom window across the street from Clay’s office. Although it wasn’t exactly a ringside seat, they could see the crowd, and what a crowd it was. With the right incentive, Cora Lee could recruit a cast of thousands.
    “Do you see him?” Maizie asked. Her heart was beating a mile a minute wondering how Clay would react to the ruckus.
    “Over there!” Liza pointed to the side door of the engineering firm. She was literally bouncing in her chair.
    “Where?” Maizie scanned the area several times before she spotted him. He was tall, blond and handsome as all get-out—and he was holding a handmade sign that read, “Maizie Walker you’re a naughty girl. Give me a call.”
    Maizie didn’t know whether he could see her through the window, but a couple of minutes later Clay waved, did a thumbs-up and walked back into the office. Darn him—he thought he was in charge here. He wasn’t, was he?
    Maizie was so busy thinking about her husband’s request that she missed the fact someone had come up behind her and Liza.
    “Hello, ladies. May I join you?” It was Trip Fitzgerald, looking as buff as ever.
    “Yeah, okay,” Liza answered, scooting over to make room for the newcomer.
    “Hi, Trip. I haven’t seen you in a while. What have you been doing?” Although Maizie wasn’t at all interested in him—other than as a friend—that didn’t mean she couldn’t be polite.
    “A little of this, a little of that. Mostly working. Are you coming back to the club soon?” Trip grabbed a scone from the plate in the center of the table.
    “Probably not, I’m swamped at the boutique,” Maizie said with a shrug. “I thought I could make the time, but it hasn’t worked out.”
    “I can do a private lesson whenever you want. You name it and I’m yours.” He took a bite of the purloined scone.
    “That’s so sweet. I’ll let you know.”
    “Okay.” He turned to look out the window. “I presume you ladies are responsible for the excitement across the street?”
    “That’s right.” Liza said.
    “Cora’s column called this the War of the Walkers. Is that correct?”
    “I wouldn’t believe everything that’s in the paper.” It was too embarrassing to talk about this with the man who was indirectly responsible for the argument with Clay, so Maizie changed the subject. “Would you like a cup of tea to go along with your pastry?”
    “Sure, do you have an extra mug?”
    Maizie motioned to the waitress, who brought one over.
    The three of them sat quietly for a few moments. Trip took a sip of his tea before he picked up Maizie’s hand. “I’m serious about the private lessons. Let me know if you change your mind. I’m available.” He put