In a lavish ballroom, Marie Jordan swooped across the floor in a splendid evening gown, held close in the tender, yet firm hands of a handsome escort. Music, laughter, and the sounds of others gliding across the floor surrounded them, but Marie heard nothing except the captivating beat of her lover's heart as it pounded against her chest, and the sloshing of his feet.

Her serene expression switched to one of utter perplexity. Sloshing? Marie looked down at the wet floor, and her eyes followed the trail of water to the mop in her hands. "Ah, my Prince. The dance is over so soon?"

Marie's shoulders tightened and the last lingering haze of daydream swept away as a gust of raging hormones in blue jeans spun her in a way no Prince ever could. Bobby, a sixteen-year-old tornado in baggy pants flew through the kitchen in a mad dash for the door.

"Bobby! Wait," Marie hurried to a cabinet and grabbed a breakfast bar. She tossed it, and it was caught in midair. "Lunch money?" Marie slumped a bit on the handle of her re-acquired mop.

"Got it!" Bobby's hand held the door jam tenuously as he attempted to stop. His bright blue eyes sparkled. His hair…Marie grimaced.

She hurried for the door, her mop once again a discarded partner. She reached for the blond mess, but Bobby recoiled from her touch.