On a Tucson summer’s night about a century and a half ago when I was in high school, a boy I knew asked me to go to a campfire sing—kind of a group thing. He was a really nice guy, although not the type of person I usually dated. But I’d broken up with my boyfriend a month or so earlier and up ‘til then the summer had been a total drag. I said, “Sure. Why not?” There were several other kids in the car when they picked me up. One of them was a nice-looking dude with deep brown eyes and a great laugh. His name was Dale, and, OMG!, he was the lead guitarist in a local rock band.

The guy had a goofy sense of humor and made me laugh. I really liked that. I really liked him. So, yes, logistically I was with someone else that night, but I flipped my hair and batted my eyes a lot anyway. I mean, what was my “date” thinking when he invited me on an outing with an unattached rocker twinkling big brown eyes in the mix? I really did think of the other boy as just a friend even though I learned weeks later that wasn’t how he thought of me.

The campfire thing was okay, just so-so. I had more fun on the ride there and back talking to this Dale guy. When we got back to town, the chaperone left a few of us off at my friend’s house. The guitar player had wheels and offered to take me home.

He was cute and funny, and I could tell he liked me too. Dale, a couple of other kids, and I piled into the car. I called shotgun and, oh what a shame, had to sit thigh-to-thigh with Dale when a third person got in the front seat. He dropped the others off first then took me home last. I sent a strong signal by not scooting to the right side of the car when the  other person in front got out. Dale evidently got the message, asked our mutual friend for my number, and began calling me a couple of days later. We’ll be married 50 years next March. Turns out he was a keeper.

Sally

On a fine Chicago night in June twenty years ago at a bar called “The Living Room,” I met my girlfriend Jeannette and my mystery date for the evening. Jeannette had talked about Mike for some time, and I finally agreed to meet the mystery man. Being her old devilish-self, Jeannette failed to mention he was shorter than I. I wore three-inch red heels and stood 6′ tall that evening. If she’d given me a heads up, I would have worn flats.

Jeannette introduced us with a gleam in her eye. I smiled and took Mike’s hand, and he said, “I like my women tall. That way I can see them in a crowd.”

That broke the ice. I laughed and loved his sense of humor. I winked at Jeannette. She didn’t win this round.

Well, you know what they say, “Don’t judge a man until you get to know him. Tall, short, heavy, thin, whatever the wrapping may be.” Mike turned out to be the, funniest, smartest, and most caring man I ever met. He didn’t leave my side all night and asked for my phone number. The minute I got in my car he called me for our next date. I’m happy to say a year later we married. All I can say is thank you, Jeannette, for the sweet introduction.

Jean

The Evidence Suggests:  Whether it’s a planned or unplanned encounter, fate has a way of putting together two kindred souls. But wait, there’s more…

And here’s the way Jordan Welsh, our heroine in Stealing the Moon & Stars, met her business partner and lover, Eddie Marino. (Excerpt)

Gathering courage that didn’t come with her genteel upbringing, Jordan drew her gun, got out of the car and crossed the street, wishing she hadn’t indulged in that second chai tea latte.

Showtime.

Ten minutes later, she was inside the warehouse, every sense on the alert. The two men were there, somewhere.

She silently rounded a set of gorilla shelves at the far end of the warehouse. One of them knelt at a spot by the wall, using some kind of handheld monitoring device. In four quick steps, she had the drop on him.

“Don’t move, dirt bag.” Lord, she’d always wanted to say that.

If she hadn’t been shaking so badly, it would have sounded tougher.

He turned his head slightly to face her. Wow. Good-looking dude. The thought barely had time to cross her mind before her feet were swept out from beneath her, and she was on her back with the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on lying spread-eagled on top of her, holding her body and gun hand immobile—or trying to. She bucked and lurched like a wild mustang, but he held on.

“Be still.” His voice was husky and low-pitched.

She bounced a few more times then gave in to formulate a new strategy.

“Good girl, Jordan.”

That got her attention. “How do you know my name? Who the hell are you?”

“Eddie Marino. Pleased to meet you, gorgeous, and how.”