I Want You To Want Me. Kathy Love

      Also I want to thank my editor, Kate Duffy, and my agent, Jenny Bent.

      They’ve made this year much easier for me.

      And finally, and most important, thanks to my daughter, Emily.

      She reminds me everyday what matters in life.

      I love you, Boo.

      Chapter 1

      “Is there something wrong with the left breast?” Erika Todd asked her friend as she peered at the torso in front of her.

      Maggie tilted her head, considering. “Yes. It’s—crooked or something.”

      Erika’s head tilted too. “Maybe it needs to be bigger.”

      “Or higher.”

      Erika sighed, throwing down the clay-encrusted towel she’d been using to wipe her hands, and turned away from the sculpture. “Argh! I just can’t figure out what my problem is. I’ve been struggling with all of my pieces lately. And I’m getting more than a little frustrated.”

      “Maybe it’s just a matter of getting used to your new surroundings. A lot has been going on for you in the past three months,” Maggie said.

      Erika shrugged. “I suppose, but it’s all been good stuff. I should be feeling inspired, not…” She glanced back at her latest creation. “Lopsided.”

      “Well, you’ve been pushing yourself,” Maggie pointed out. “Moving is hard. Maybe you just need to allow yourself a little break.”

      Erika nodded even though she didn’t agree. She hadn’t found the move hard. In fact, taking the apartment in Maggie and her husband Ren’s building had seemed natural. The right move. She loved New Orleans. It spoke to her creativity.

      All signs to the contrary. She frowned at the sculpture again.

      “Well, I don’t have much time. My show is in a month, and I’d hoped to have three new pieces done for the exhibit.”

      It was Maggie’s turn to simply nod. Her friend knew how important this show was to Erika. The Broussard, a renowned gallery in the French Quarter, was doing a show dedicated just to her work. She needed it to be perfect.

      After years of struggling, working jobs she hated, living on macaroni and cheese and ramen, listening to her father tell her she had to think about getting a “real” job, things were finally falling into place for her, and she didn’t want to lose momentum. This was her dream.

      But maybe Maggie had a point. Obviously, working continuously wasn’t creating the results she wanted either.

      She surveyed the piece again, then sighed. “This piece is supposed to be called ‘Fallen Angel.’ Not ‘Fallen Boob.’”

      Erika dropped down onto the worn blue velvet chair she’d just purchased at a secondhand shop on Decatur. Maggie sat down on her sofa—an equally worn, yet lovely gold brocade sofa. Another secondhand find.

      “You will get the pieces done, and they will be a huge hit. And you will gather rich patrons galore.”

      Erika laughed at her friend’s certain optimism. “We can only hope.”

      “You will,” Maggie assured her, with an encouraging smile.

      Erika, with her artist’s eye, assessed her friend. Maggie had always been cute—cuter than she ever gave herself credit for. But now, Erika studied her friend’s profile as she’d just done her sculpture, but unlike her creation, she found her friend truly lovely.

      Maybe it was the way her loose curls framed her face, accenting the softness of her cheeks and the delicate point of her chin. Or maybe it was the new style she’d embraced, clothes that displayed her rounded curves. Or maybe it was the happiness in her eyes, making them practically dance with unbridled joy.

      “So where is Ren taking you this week?” Erika asked, knowing he was the one from where much of that joy stemmed.

      Maggie’s eyes brightened, glimmering happily in the lamplight. “I have no idea. It’s a surprise.”

      “No hints?”

      Maggie sighed. “Not even a tiny one. And believe me, I’ve tried every tactic imaginable to get him to slip.” Then Maggie’s