Читать книгу A Pretend Proposal: The Fiancée Fiasco / Faking It to Making It / The Wedding Must Go On - Элли Блейк, Ally Blake - Страница 11

“SO, HOW did it go last night?” Mel asked the next morning as she and Elizabeth sat at the small round table tucked into the corner of Elizabeth’s office at Literacy Liaisons. Her friend grinned broadly. “Did you seal the deal and get great gobs of money for our endowment fund?”

“Not exactly,” Elizabeth hedged.

She sipped her coffee, her fourth cup so far, and tried to think of a less damning way to explain the “deal” that Thomas had proposed. She still couldn’t quite wrap her mind around what he’d suggested … er … proposed. Much less the fact that she had agreed. She told herself it was the agency’s needs that caused her to tell him she’d do it, but every time she recalled that kiss in the parking lot, she knew she was lying.

She replayed it now, remembering the feel of Thomas’s mouth when it met hers. He’d watched her carefully—curiously?—not closing his eyes until the last moment. Elizabeth knew this because she’d kept both of hers wide open, afraid even to blink lest she find him and the entire evening a figment of her imagination.

But a figment didn’t kiss like he did. No one she’d ever met had kissed like he did, evoking responses and tugging forward needs she didn’t know she possessed. Thomas had ended the contact before things could progress too far. She’d wanted to think that he was being considerate, chivalrous even. The man was so courteous. His expression, however, said otherwise. He looked surprised, a reaction that could be taken a couple different ways, unfortunately, one of them not so flattering.

“Earth to Elizabeth. Earth to Elizabeth.” Mel was snapping her fingers. Then she demanded, “What exactly does ‘not exactly’ mean?”

“Well, what it means is … um, it means—”

“That I haven’t presented her with the check yet.”

Thomas stood in the doorway, his expression infused with amusement and something else Elizabeth couldn’t quite decipher. Was he embarrassed? Uncertain? Was he recalling that kiss that he’d said had been intended to put both of them at ease? And—God!—what if it actually had put him at ease?

“Mr. Waverly!” She shot to her feet. Her hip bumped the table’s edge and her coffee spilled, spreading over the tabletop in a brown wave and threatening to drip into Mel’s lap.

“I thought we agreed you would call me Thomas.” His smile was engaging and just this side of intimate, no doubt for Mel’s benefit. Before either woman could react, he walked over, took the handkerchief from his pocket and laid it over the puddle of java to prevent further damage.

Not that the coffee was what held Elizabeth’s attention. No. It was the man and the ridiculous effect he was having on her. One simple smile—calculated for maximum impact, most likely, since everything between them was intended for show—and her insides were whipping around like the blades of a ceiling fan stuck on high. But who could blame her? Look at him. He was gorgeous. The lean cheeks and square jaw. The blue-green eyes set off by slashing dark brows. The tidy hair that was just this side of black. And that build. She couldn’t help it. She sighed.

No matter what he wore, he wore it well. Already, she’d seen him in casual attire and a three-piece suit. Today, he’d paired a herringbone jacket with dark jeans, managing to look more put-together and sophisticated than men who were going for just that effect.

Meanwhile, she was back to wearing sackcloth. Well, not exactly. But she might as well have been. Her stint as Cinderella had ended, and Mel’s borrowed clothes had been returned. In their place, Elizabeth had tucked a plain white blouse into a navy pencil skirt. The strand of imitation pearls around her neck added little in the way of embellishment to an otherwise boring outfit.

The sad thing was she’d picked it out with care that morning, hoping for simple sophistication. Now, she merely felt plain, especially sitting next to Mel, who wore a leopard-print wrap dress tamed by a black blazer.

“I wasn’t expecting you yet. You’re early,” Elizabeth said. She glanced at her wrist before realizing no watch was strapped to it. She’d opted to leave it off today since it was a little clunky.

Mel cleared her throat, reminding Elizabeth of her manners.

“Oh. Mr…. Thomas.” She managed a smile. “This is my good friend Melissa Sutton. Mel’s in charge of Literacy Liaisons’s volunteers, both recruiting them and then training them to tutor our clients.”

Elizabeth held her breath after the introduction, well aware of the effect her best friend had on men. Not that it mattered in this instance. From a purely practical standpoint, however, it wouldn’t do for him to be attracted to other women if he was trying to convince his grandmother he’d fallen head over heels for Elizabeth.

He smiled politely and pumped Mel’s hand. A cadre of bangle bracelets jangled. Thomas, however, showed no outward sign of being interested.

Hmm. This was a first. Elizabeth had witnessed men of all ages—married, single and every status in between—come on to Mel in one form or another with no encouragement whatsoever. A young seminary student had opted not to pursue the priesthood after meeting her, such was her friend’s natural allure. But Thomas’s only interest in Mel apparently was to point out, “My handkerchief didn’t cover everything, I’m afraid. You’ll be wearing some of that coffee if you don’t move.”

“Oh!” Mel glanced down and managed to shift out of harm’s way a second before coffee dribbled over the table’s edge. She divided her gaze between Thomas and Elizabeth as she rose. “I’ll just go get something to clean this with.”

“It was nice meeting you,” Thomas said.

“The same.” Mel offered a cheerful smile. She waited till she was at the door and Thomas’s back was to her before she mouthed to Elizabeth, “Oh, my God!”

“I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time,” Thomas said. “I did say nine.”

The clock on the wall read eight forty-five. He was early again, which she should have expected. But Elizabeth had been running uncharacteristically late all morning. She hadn’t slept well. In fact, other than a couple of hours just before her alarm went off, she hadn’t slept at all. Who could blame her? Forget Thomas’s “proposal,” it was that kiss that had caused her insomnia.

She touched her lips now, remembering it, savoring it. Lost in recalling exactly how his mouth had felt pressed to hers, it took her a moment to realize that the man responsible for that kiss was smiling at her. She pulled her fingers away.

“Nine. Right. You said nine.” She nodded, mortified at the way she was acting. “I remember that now.”

He nodded, too. Then, when the silence threatened to become awkward, he spread his hands wide. “So, this is Literacy Liaisons.”

Work. Good. Excellent. It was the center of her life, what she poured most of her time and effort into, which meant it would be easy to talk about. And that would help take her mind off how sexy Thomas looked in that herringbone blazer and crisp blue oxford shirt sans necktie.

“Let me show you around,” she suggested.

She started in the main meeting room, which resembled a classroom, with the letters of the alphabet posted on the walls along with pictures that corresponded to the sounds those letters made. Instead of rows of desks, however, there was a large conference table. Elizabeth had found that adults responded better to that setting than the more traditional one. Some of them had had bad experiences with school. Others were embarrassed by their situation. A conference table made it seem more like a workplace. Even though they were students in the true sense of the word, her clients also felt more like respected adults here. She explained that to Thomas.

He glanced around, nodding in appreciation. “I guess I never thought of it that way.”

“It’s not an issue for some people, but when we realized it was for a lot of our clients …” She shrugged. “The goal is to make them as comfortable as possible so they can focus all of their attention on learning to read.”

“How exactly do you do that? The teaching, I mean.”

“There are a variety of different methods. For instance, the Barton Reading and Spelling System has proved a good fit for a number of our clients. It focuses on phonics and recognizing the sounds letters make.”

Thomas’s nod was perfunctory. He found her work interesting, but the woman even more so. His gaze kept straying to her mouth. He’d hoped to find he was wrong, but the fact remained that last night’s attempt to quell any nerves over upcoming physical contact had backfired miserably. One kiss, and now he kept imagining a second and a third. His gaze strayed to her open collar. With only the top button left undone, he could only make out the hollow of her throat. Since when did he find that part of a woman’s body so arousing? He watched her swallow and other sorts of intimate activities an engaged couple—or any consenting couple—would enjoy popped into his mind. Activities that would take place in a bedroom with the door closed and without the barrier of clothes or the bother of inhibitions.

Disturbed and aroused at the direction his thoughts kept taking, he had to exhale slowly between his teeth. Even then, a portion of his pent-up groan escaped.

“Am I boring you yet?” Elizabeth inquired.

“Sorry. Not at all. In fact, quite the opposite. I’m fascinated,” he admitted truthfully. He forced his gaze from her lips again. “That is, with what you do here. It’s … fascinating.”

If only he’d left it at that. But he lifted his hand to her face, and brushed his fingers over the slope of her cheek before tucking some hair behind her ear. He’d done something similar while they’d stood next to her car the previous evening. Though her hair was back to being stick-straight today, it was just as soft, and blessedly free of the sticky hairspray and comb teasing the women of his acquaintance tended to use in abundance.

“Thomas?”

He lowered his hand. “I was wondering.” He let the thought go unfinished since it was heading to boggy territory. He needed to keep their interaction professional, even if everything about their agreement was rooted in being personal. He cleared his throat. “Will it be possible to meet again this evening? We have a lot yet to learn about one another.”

“I suppose so.”

“Maybe I could come by your place, bring some Chinese food? Do you like Chinese?”

“M-my place?”

It sounded so much more damning when she said it, especially since her eyebrows were raised in alarm. So, he amended with an easy smile, “I’m eager to meet Howie.”

The door had barely closed behind Thomas when Mel grabbed Elizabeth by the arm and began peppering her with questions.

“Okay, what exactly is going on? He looked like he was really into you. Not that I was spying or anything. I mean, the door to the main meeting room has a glass panel in it after all.”

“Nothing is going on.” Elizabeth wasn’t trying to lie or be evasive with her friend. The truth was, she was having a hard time processing the events of the past twenty-four hours.

“He caressed your cheek.”

A simple touch to which Elizabeth’s entire body had overreacted foolishly. Indeed, just recalling it caused gooseflesh to prick her arms now.

For her benefit even more than Mel’s she said flatly, “It’s not what it seems. Nothing about it is.”

“Really? It seemed pretty romantic to me.” Mel crossed her arms. “Men don’t touch women like that unless they’re interested in more than making some sort of charitable contribution, worthy cause notwithstanding, sweetie. If you don’t get that you’ve been off the dating circuit for far too long.”

“They do in this instance,” Elizabeth noted wryly. She glanced at her wrist again.

“Your watch still isn’t there,” Mel pointed out. “Now you’ve got me really curious. You’re acting all air-headed. That’s not like you at all.”

“It’s a long story, one you’ll want to dissect, and we have clients coming in a few minutes.” Besides, Elizabeth wanted to dissect it first.

“Fine.” Mel sighed. “We’ll talk about this at length over lunch, but for now, give me the abridged version.”

Elizabeth sucked in a breath. “Thomas has agreed to make a personal donation to our campaign, a large one that will match the one coming from Waverly Enterprises.”

Mel’s expression barely flickered. “And?”

“You could at least act excited about that. We’ll be meeting our goal.”

“I am glad. Yay, us.” Mel flashed a grin that was gone almost as fast as it appeared. Then she cocked her head to one side. “And?”

“He needs a favor. Yes, that’s all it is. He needs a favor.”

“You do realize that when I said to give me the abridged version, I didn’t mean for you to speak in some sort of code,” Mel replied dryly.

Elizabeth took another deep breath. “Okay, here’s the long and the short of it. He needs a fiancée. More precisely, he needs a woman to act as his fiancée, just for this weekend when he goes to visit his grandmother.”

Her friend’s eyes widened. “Did you say fiancée?”

“Act is the key word here,” Elizabeth stressed. “He’s asked me to act as his fiancée. He’s not interested in me in that way at all.”

Despite that bit of clarification, her friend grabbed her wrist none too gently and pulled her toward the office. “Our clients can wait. I need you to start at the beginning and tell me everything.”

The closer it came to the time to meet Elizabeth, the more unsettled Thomas became. It didn’t make sense, yet it did. While he never was nervous before a date, when it came to an important business deal? Yes, occasionally. So that part fit. But he didn’t slap on cologne before business meetings, no matter how vital they were. Nor did he change his clothes—twice—and even then worry about his appearance and what signals it might send to the other party. Too casual? Too formal? In the end, he wound up back in the same herringbone jacket, shirt and pants he’d worn to her office.

In the right front pocket, he’d tucked the box holding the engagement ring his father had given his mother more than three decades before. It was a pretty ring, more old-fashioned than timeless because of its carved white-gold setting. The diamond was a half-carat, round brilliant cut. It had come to be in Thomas’s possession only after his father had pawned it to buy more liquor during one of his mad binges when Thomas was a child. He’d saved up his pennies and bought it back, able to afford it only because the shopkeeper’s wife was sentimental. He’d kept it all these years, not to give to his own glowing bride-to-be someday, but as a reminder of the pain that kind of love and commitment carried.

On the way to her house he picked up the Chinese food he’d ordered ahead of time. Since he hadn’t thought to ask Elizabeth her preference, he’d gone with a few options: one sweet and sour, a basic chicken stir-fry and, since he was fond of a little bite, something off the Szechwan side of the menu. Coming out of the restaurant, he spied the florist shop next door. A cart full of bundled fresh flowers was parked out front.

Women liked flowers. In Thomas’s experience, they were especially fond of roses, attaching all sorts of meaning to them, especially when they were red and long-stemmed and came in a ribbon-tied box. With that in mind, he picked out a simple bouquet of white daisies in a cone of cellophane. They made a suitable hostess gift.

He drove slowly to Elizabeth’s house, taking a mental inventory of all that he hoped to learn during the evening ahead. How her skin felt and what her hair smelled like were off the list. Instead, he needed to find out basic things, such as her date of birth and family background. Were her parents still alive? Were they together? Where did they live and was she on good terms with them? Did she have any siblings? If so, their names and ages, etc.

Should he ask about ex-boyfriends? He swallowed. Or … ex-husbands? No, he didn’t want to go there. Her romantic history was of no importance to him, at least where Nana Jo was concerned, which made it difficult to explain the odd twist in his gut whenever he thought about Elizabeth sharing a bed with someone else.

He stopped for a traffic light, waited for it to turn green. When it did, he shifted more than the car’s gears. His focus was now on the very safe topic of her education. The problem was, he already knew which university she’d attended, what discipline she’d studied while there and what she’d opted to do with her life upon graduation. Okay, that left her spare time. What did she do when she wasn’t working? What were her hobbies and interests?

What were her vices?

On a groan, Thomas switched on the radio, flipped the station until he found some mind-emptying, bass-thumping rock and listened to music for the remainder of the drive.

Fifteen minutes later, he turned on Clement Avenue, going slow, not only out of deference to the children who were outside playing, but also so that he could read the address numbers.

Elizabeth lived in one of the city’s older neighborhoods. As such, the street was lined with mature trees and with homes that, while generally well-kept, were in need of a little updating. Hers was no exception, Thomas thought, as he pulled his car to a stop in front of a small bungalow. The faded green aluminum awnings that covered the porch and front windows harkened back a good half century. They reminded him of the awnings that had graced his parents’ house. The home he’d grown up in until the accident that had taken one life and irrevocably changed three others.

Nana Jo had moved into the house with Thomas during his father’s first unsuccessful stint in rehab, appalled to discover that her son had removed every last trace of his late wife from the rooms. Gone were the photos, the mementos, even some of the furniture that Lynn had purchased. Indeed, gone in some places was the plaster, where Hoyt had smashed his fist through the wall as he’d raged against God and fate, and drank himself into oblivion while his young son watched, frightened and baffled.

Four more stints in rehab followed before Thomas started middle school. At first, Hoyt came home between his stays at Brighter Futures Addiction Recovery. Sober, he was full of apologies and promises, but also weighted down with guilt and the dooming grief that he was never able to shake. Eventually, he stopped going to rehab and he stopped coming home. Thomas would have wound up a ward of the state, the house lost to back taxes, had it not been for Nana Jo.

She had been, and in many ways remained, Thomas’s rock.

Gradually, she’d brought more of her belongings over from her own house across town. Doilies appeared on the living room tables, knickknacks on the empty shelves that bracketed the kitchen window. A cheery, hand-crocheted afghan was draped over the back of the sofa, and new linens appeared on the beds. The walls were patched and repainted. The house became a home again and Thomas’s busted-up life was put back together, too.

Nana Jo sold the house after he left to attend college and then purchased her condo in Charlevoix, which had no yard work or outside maintenance for her to do. He still missed that little house sometimes, but only because of the good memories that Nana Jo had taken such care to preserve and later create.

Dated or not, Elizabeth’s house managed to be every bit as inviting as his boyhood abode thanks to a vivid assortment of flowers that spilled from a pair of large pots on either side of the front walk. From one side of the porch, a fern dripped from a hanging basket. The word Welcome was printed on the mat, but it didn’t need to be.

Home, he thought. And that word stayed in his mind, even after the woman appeared in the door.