Читать книгу A Pretend Proposal: The Fiancée Fiasco / Faking It to Making It / The Wedding Must Go On - Элли Блейк, Ally Blake - Страница 15

ELIZABETH woke the following morning with a headache that throbbed long after she’d downed a couple of painkillers with her first cup of coffee.

It didn’t help that Howie and the pesky squirrel started their game of chase as soon as she opened the front door. Already, her neighbor from across the street had come calling. Mrs. Hildabrand had stood on Elizabeth’s porch, decked out in curlers and a worn plaid robe, complaining and threatening to make another nuisance report.

All that before seven o’clock and a second cup of coffee.

Elizabeth was sipping that second cup now while sitting in her quiet kitchen. Howie, suitably chastised, sprawled on the rug in front of the sink. She swore he was pouting. With the mug cupped in both hands, she sat on the chair Thomas had occupied the evening before. His herringbone jacket remained draped over the back of it. Though he’d returned for it, he’d still wound up forgetting it.

But he hadn’t forgotten to kiss her … and then some.

A sloppy mix of emotions churned inside of her at the memory. Curiously, embarrassment over her enthusiastic response wasn’t among them. Perhaps she would be embarrassed the next time she saw him, but right now she was still tingling all over and regretting that he’d stopped.

She tilted her head to one side and, when she caught the scent of his cologne, inhaled deeply. Potent stuff, that. It suited him. Everything about the man packed a punch. Just as every time she thought she had him figured out, he threw her for a loop. He’d come on to her last night like a man who was very much interested in more than a business deal or friendship. Then he’d stopped. He’d apologized!

She was still struggling to make sense of his parting words in response to her foolishly uttered question about whether or not they would ever get used to kissing one another.

God, I hope so!

He’d said it so emphatically, but what exactly did he mean? And why did the possibilities leave her both excited and leery? A glance at the clock reminded her she didn’t have time to figure it out now.

After showering, she stood clad in a towel and rummaged through her closet for something to wear to the office, dismissing one outfit after another until she’d worked her way through her entire wardrobe. Maybe Mel was right about her needing some new clothes. Eyeing the panorama of outfits, it struck Elizabeth that practically every article of clothing in her closet came in one of four colors: black, white, navy or tan. A bland and boring palate that also was abundantly safe. She didn’t need to worry about drawing attention to herself, whether negative or positive, garbed in these things. No one really noticed her, and that had suited Elizabeth just fine after growing up with her “out-there” parents.

She certainly hadn’t learned anything about fashion from her mother, except what to avoid. Delphine sewed her own clothes and accessories from colorful scraps of old fabric. Sometimes she even tried to sell her creations at local craft shows. She didn’t have many takers. The outfits were creative and economical, but hardly stylish. Even so, Delphine loved the attention her homemade clothes attracted—and they attracted plenty.

At first, holey blue jeans were patched in bold hues. Later, her mother recycled them into skirts, shorts and even purses. That wasn’t so bad, but polka-dotted bedsheets or mattress ticking turned up as tunics, bandanas and skirts. The winter Elizabeth turned thirteen her mother had turned green wool blankets from an army surplus store into long, shapeless coats for the entire family. It was impossible not to stand out while wearing pea-green bedding, which was why she’d started buying her own clothes as soon as she was able to squirrel away funds from a regular babysitting gig. That is, what the family didn’t require to keep a roof over their heads.

Pushing wet hair back from her face now, Elizabeth eyed her reflection in the full-length mirror. She’d gone from one extreme to the other, from standing out to blending in, but there was no help for it now. Besides, why should it matter to her? It didn’t matter to Thomas. Indeed, he’d picked her for the role of his make-believe fiancée based on her appearance alone. She looked like a “Beth,” or she had. And she’d been in the right place at the right time.

She would do well to remember that, despite his later claims about no longer judging a book by its cover.

Chin lifted in annoyance with herself as much as defiance, Elizabeth reached back into the closet and chose her oldest, most conservative black suit—the one Mel had dubbed Abbey-wear, because she claimed Elizabeth looked as if she was headed for a nunnery whenever she wore it.

She was slipping into her most comfortable pair of shoes—a low-heeled design in scuffed black—when her cell phone jangled. She glanced at the small screen. Despite her best efforts, her pulse went all wonky upon seeing the caller’s identity.

“Hello, Thomas.”

“Hi. Good morning. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

“Not at all. I’m just getting ready to leave for the office.” She gave herself a mental high five for managing to sound perfectly nonchalant and normal despite the kicked-up cadence of her pulse.

“Same here.”

“Are you calling about your jacket?” she asked. It was the reason they’d gone back inside her house last night.

“My … ah, right. My jacket. I left it in your kitchen, didn’t I?”

“Yes. I saw it on the back of the chair this morning.” And then she’d sat there sniffing his cologne like an idiot. “I’ll return it when we see each other again, unless you think you’ll need it sooner.”

“No. But that’s what I’m calling about. I realized after I left your place last night that we never decided when we would meet today.”

Probably because they’d both had other things on their minds. Business, business, business, Elizabeth reminded herself now when her barely settled pulse got all wonky again. Forcing her focus to her schedule, she said in her most professional tone, “I’ve got a meeting at ten o’clock that I can’t reschedule. After that, though, I can shuffle a couple meetings around if you want to have lunch together.”

Lunch was safe as long as it was in a populated place where public displays of affection would be inappropriate, assuming he had any such displays in mind.

“Unfortunately, I’m busy from eleven-thirty until nearly four going over the results of a marketing survey.” He waited only a beat before saying, “How about dinner again?”

“Dinner?”

“Or we could meet up later in the evening if you’ve got something going on.”

“No. Dinner’s better. There’s an Indian restaurant not far from the campus that I’ve been wanting to try. How does that sound?”

“Good. And spicy. Just like you like it.” Had she imagined that strangled tone?

“I’ll meet you there at—”

“No. I’ll come by and pick you up.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary.” Indeed, until she got her feelings under control, it bordered on cruel and usual punishment.

“If this is about last night—”

“It’s not,” she lied.

“Still, I feel I should apologize again for … what happened.”

What did it say about her, Elizabeth wondered, that she would much rather he apologized for what hadn’t?

“Don’t! I mean, there’s really no need. As you said last night, we both just got a little carried away.” Not nearly far enough that she’d woken up feeling boneless and satisfied, but enough that his obvious regrets now were starting to make her feel like a first-class idiot.

“Yes. We did.” He was quiet a moment. His tone was oddly resolute when he said, “I’ll pick you up. Just tell me what time.”

“Does five-thirty sound okay?” Arguing would only make her seem more foolish, she decided. It would make it seem as if she didn’t trust herself to be alone with him. In a car. For a short drive. To a restaurant. For spicy food.

“Sure. Five-thirty.”

“At my office,” she added hastily. “I’ll be out front at five-fifteen.”

She trusted herself, but still …

“What’s with the Abbey-wear?” Mel wanted to know even before Elizabeth had a chance to boot up her computer. “I thought we agreed that you would burn that overly conservative getup and donate the shoes to an old folks home.”

“It’s comfortable.” Elizabeth sniffed.

“Comfort can be attractive, hon.”

Her friend should know. Mel looked perfectly at ease strutting around in a pair of stilettos. Today, the stilettos were a bright raspberry color and she’d paired them with a navy suit that might have been considered conservative if not for the high slit in the skirt and Mel’s well-defined curves.

She looked gorgeous, of course. And stylish. Standing near her, Elizabeth felt especially frumpy. She was one hundred and eighty degrees the opposite of Delphine and her cacophony of colors all right. Unfortunately, that still didn’t make Elizabeth’s wardrobe choices any more fashionable.

Her irritation came out in the form of defiance.

“I’m not going to change my appearance and contort myself to fit into someone else’s ideal of beauty, especially when he probably wouldn’t care anyway.”

“Okaaaay.” Mel pursed her lips. “I was going to ask how last night went, but I think I have my answer. I take it Thomas wants you to dress differently and you’re rebelling by wearing your, um, least flattering attire.”

Frowning, Elizabeth replied, “This suit isn’t that bad. It’s a high quality label, I’ll have you know. It didn’t come cheaply.”

“Then in addition to committing a fashion crime, you were robbed,” Mel remarked blandly.

Elizabeth let it drop since the price tag really was a moot point. Instead, she plucked at the jacket’s prim mandarin collar, determined not to recall the way Thomas had fumbled with the buttons on her blouse the previous night, and said, “Actually, this is how his Beth would dress.”

“His Beth?”

“You know what I mean, Mel. That’s his fiancée’s name as far as his grandmother is aware. I’m just the stand-in for the girl of his …”

“Dreams?”

“More like imagination.”

“So, in order for you to be plausible as his Beth, he’s encouraging you to play down your best assets.”

“No. Thomas has never said anything one way or another about the way I dress.” Elizabeth frowned again. “Although, last night after dinner, he did remove the headband I was wearing.”

He’d seemed agitated at the time. Frustrated?

“Is that all he removed?” Mel bobbed her eyebrows twice.

Another time, Elizabeth would have laughed. Mel was good at that. Her knack for levity had served them both well over the years, and it never failed to put their clients at ease. But her words had Elizabeth recalling the shirt she’d been helping Thomas remove.

“Nothing happened.”

“Nothing?” Mel crossed her arms.

Sighing, Elizabeth slumped down onto the seat of her chair. “Nothing much. He … kissed me again.”

“And you liked it. Again,” Mel surmised. “Face it. You like him.”

Some of Elizabeth’s annoyance with herself and Thomas leaked away. Frustration and a fresh dollop of confusion took its place.

“What’s not to like?” She sighed in defeat.

Her friend levered a hip onto Elizabeth’s desk. “Are we talking about the kiss in this case or the man responsible for it?”

“Either. Both.”

“Uh-oh.”

“There’s no ‘uh-oh,’ Mel. There can be no ‘uh-oh.’ Thomas is a nice guy, and he’s very likeable.”

“Don’t forget hot,” Mel inserted on a wink.

“No need to remind me on that score.” But now that she had, Elizabeth’s internal thermostat was working its way into the red. “The man sure knows how to kiss. But we’re not dating.”

She said the last part a little too emphatically. Mel’s eyes narrowed. “I gather you’re having a bit of trouble remembering that.”

“Guilty as charged. I wasn’t expecting—”

“Fireworks,” Mel finished.

Oh, yeah. And a dizzying display, no less. But since mention of their sexual chemistry was too damning to dwell on, Elizabeth said, “Actually, I wasn’t expecting us to have much, if anything, in common.”

“But you do.”

“We both like Hitchcock movies and spicy Chinese.” She chuckled at the memory of Thomas fumbling his food during dinner. “Even if he can’t use chopsticks to save his life.” Her grin was short-lived. “God, Mel. He’s exactly the kind of man a smart woman steers clear of.”

“But you have common interests, and I thought you just said he was nice and likeable and hot?”

“We do and he’s nice and likeable and hot, all right. He’s also smart and sexy, and … from what I can tell, the flattering adjectives are practically endless where Thomas is concerned.” She grabbed Mel’s arm. “Did I tell you about his manners? He pulls out chairs, opens doors. He even apologizes when he swears, not that he makes a habit of it.”

“Apologizing?”

“Swearing.” She let go of her friend’s arm.

Mel shook her head. “I’m sorry, hon. I’m not seeing the problem here. You obviously like him. I know you like the way he kisses. And he likes you.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath.

“No, Mel. Thomas needs me. That’s one of the big red flags waving madly here. This is business.”

The corners of Mel’s mouth turned down in dismissal and she shook her head. “I’m not buying that. He likes you, and as more than a pal,” her friend insisted again. “You’ve already agreed to spend some time with him acting like a happy couple. So what if a little pleasure is starting to slip into your business arrangement? What will it hurt? For that matter, who knows where it will lead?”

“I know where it will lead. Nowhere.”

But Mel shook her head again. “You are one of the smartest, most self-assured women I’ve ever met when you’re dealing in a professional capacity. But you don’t give yourself enough credit where men are concerned. He may just fall gorgeous head over pricey wing tips for you, for real.”

No wonky pulse now. Instead, Elizabeth’s stomach took a roller-coaster-worthy plunge. Is that what she wanted to happen? She wasn’t sure. They didn’t know one another well enough. Yet. Even if everything she knew about him so far, she liked. Except … “He’s anti-commitment,” she told Mel.

“Come on. Did he actually say that?”

“Yep.” Elizabeth nodded. “He made it clear in no uncertain terms when we had dinner the first night that he has no plans to settle down. Ever.”

“All men say that.”

“No. He means it.” Her heart squeezed as she relayed what Thomas had told her the previous night about his parents, the horrifying car accident that had claimed his mother and his father’s subsequent alcoholism. “He thinks of love as a disease, a chronic one is how he phrased it.”

Mel nibbled the inside of her cheek, uncharacteristically quiet. At last she said, “In his defense, he had a tough break. He was a kid when the accident happened and so it was easy for him to see love as the reason his father is the way he is. But that doesn’t make it so. His father suffers from a disease all right. Alcoholism. That’s why he basically abandoned his son. The accident might have been the trigger, but.” She lifted her shoulders. “The poor guy. It’s no wonder he turned out so gun-shy.”

“I know.” Elizabeth sighed again. “I wish he could be just a jerk, though. You know?”

“Yeah. A garden variety misogynist would make your situation less complicated,” Mel agreed. “You could always tell him that you’ve reconsidered your bargain and want out. We can find another way to make Literacy Liaisons’s endowment a reality.”

“I’ve thought about that, but I’ve committed myself.” Ironic laughter followed her statement. “At least one of us is capable of doing so.”

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

Elizabeth hesitated only a moment. “I’m sure. It’s only for a matter of days. This time next week, Thomas and I will have gone our separate ways.”

Yet that thought brought precious little in the way of comfort, a fact Elizabeth tried to ignore.

“Well, at least your eyes are wide open,” Mel said.

“Yep. Wide open. There’s no changing someone who doesn’t want to change. You can push and prod and you just wind up shoving them further away.”

“Are you okay?”

“Sure. I like Thomas, and I’m definitely attracted to him, but it’s not as if I’m in love with him or anything,” she hastened to assure them both. “Right now, I’ve got paperwork to catch up on.” She swiveled in her seat and began typing her password as Mel started for the door.

“Elizabeth?”

“Hmm.” She glanced up from her computer screen in time to catch Mel’s worried frown.

“Your eyes, I know you said they’re wide open, but prop them that way with toothpicks, ‘kay?”

In lieu of toothpicks, Elizabeth got down to business. Personal business. There would be no meandering conversation during dinner tonight, she decided. That was too much like what occurred on real dates. Nope. She would treat this like a job interview even though, technically, she’d already been hired. She created a file and made a list of questions she needed answered. Then she spent the next fifteen minutes ruminating over what more to tell him about herself.

She decided to break the information down into likes and dislikes. Since he already knew her preferences when it came to movie genres, directors and actors, she started with music, moved on to authors and completed the entertainment category with board games, adding in the dislike category her disdain for the computer variety.

From there she moved on to her basic values, causes beyond literacy that she supported and a very brief sketch of her education, since he already knew she’d attended State. She considered attaching her high school and college transcripts, but that seemed overkill.

As for her childhood, Thomas had met Howie and she knew that as a child he’d owned a cockatiel named Hitchcock. She jotted down the names of the guinea pig, flop-eared rabbit and pair of very long-lived goldfish she’d had while growing up.

When it came to her parents, she filled in their vital stats, leaving out their lack of a marriage certificate and their other free-spirited oddities. As for her brother, she touched on Ross only briefly, in part because she knew so little about him these days, including his whereabouts.

She swallowed thickly and touched his name on the computer screen. She missed him. As always, she wondered if he ever would decide to come home. Unlike her parents, she did not view her brother’s vagabond lifestyle as freedom even if it was a kind of escape. No, Ross had run away. It didn’t matter that he’d been five months shy of eighteen years old at the time, close enough to adulthood, according to their parents, to make his own choices.

“He’s happy,” Delphine had claimed at the time. “You like school and you were smart enough to get a scholarship. But not everyone’s cut out for book-learning and college, Lizzie.”

Skeet had seconded the opinion. And why not? Their father had gotten by on charm and luck, working odd jobs to raise his family. More often than not he’d been paid under the table. If at times they’d had to live with relatives or crash in friends’ apartments that was okay in his book.

It’s all good. That was Skeet and Delphine’s mantra.

But they weren’t to blame for Ross’s leaving. No that fell squarely on Elizabeth’s shoulders. Where their folks hadn’t been tough enough on Ross, Elizabeth had been unyielding in her nagging after he quit school.

“You’re squandering your life,” she’d raged during that final argument before he’d left home for good. “You’re going to end up penniless, homeless.”

“Mom and Dad have done just fine.”

“That depends on your definition of fine, Ross. How many times would we have wound up in a shelter if not for friends or family opening their homes to us? In the meantime, the job market has only gotten more competitive.”

“You’re competitive enough for all of us.” He hadn’t intended it as a compliment. “When are you going to accept that I’m not smart like you?”

He was smart, every bit as bright as she was. Intelligence and literacy didn’t go handin-hand. But she’d nicked his pride and had put him on the defensive, a mistake she never made these days with Literacy Liaisons’s clients.

If she hadn’t been so critical of Ross, so self-righteous and pushy, he would have been comfortable confiding in her what their parents had long known. Ross could barely read above a third-grade level. Instead, he’d bolted without speaking another word to her.

Thomas thought her cause noble. He thought she was so selfless in starting up her nonprofit and wanting to see it survive. Indeed, last night he’d told her she was perfect.

Elizabeth knew the truth. She was anything but.

After that steamy encounter in her living room, Thomas worried that he would have a hard time keeping his hands to himself the next time he saw Elizabeth.

He worried that once again he would be compelled to satisfy his curiosity where she was concerned. And that was all this was, he assured himself, a really severe case of curiosity.

What else could it be?

Of course he liked her. It was impossible not to. She was smart, ambitious, interesting and all of that. A little voice in the back of his mind kept reminding him that brains and spunk had never proved such a huge turn-on in the past. Nor had he ever found himself this wildly attracted to a woman he would describe as cute and petite.

And then there was that tantalizing glimpse of pink lace he’d spied beneath her blouse. The memory of it was eating away at his peace of mind. Like a rip in the paper wrapping on a Christmas present, it invited his imagination to fill in the blanks. And was it ever.

Even so, he would make sure everything between them returned to normal—or as normal as possible given the odd set of circumstances surrounding their relationship.

They didn’t.

The first indication came that evening almost immediately after he picked her up for dinner.

“This is for you,” she said. They were stopped at a red light when she presented him with what amounted to a resume that included her background and interests.

“Ah, this is … helpful …” The light turned green and he pulled ahead, not sure what else to say.

“I thought it would be. Time being so tight and all.” He barely had a chance to digest that when she told him, “I made a questionnaire for you to fill out.”

“A questionnaire.”

“You don’t need to fill it out tonight. You can get it back to me later. By tomorrow afternoon, say. I included my fax number at the top of the first page.”

“Fax,” he repeated inanely.

“Yes. I thought this would be a time-saver. Of course, you can email it to me if you’d prefer. My office email address is on the business card I gave you.”

He wanted to appreciate her professional approach to the matter, but he’d been enjoying the way they had been going about getting to know one another.

They arrived at the restaurant and Thomas handed the keys to the valet. Elizabeth was out of the car and almost to the door before he caught up with her. For a small woman, she moved fast and with just enough sway to her hips to make up for the severe cut of her suit.

Was she wearing anything pink and lacy underneath it today? That question, inappropriate though it might be, occupied his thoughts through the salad course, and had his gaze straying time and again to the prim mandarin collar. He imagined himself unfastening the top button, albeit with a bit more finesse than he’d exhibited the previous night, and then working his way down.

He reached for his ice water and downed half the glass before setting it back on the table.

“So, tell me about your day?” He worked up a smile. “Any success stories to share?”

He’d asked the question as much to break the silence as to redirect his thoughts. Whatever his motives, though, he was rewarded with a smile.

“One of our clients read Mr. Brown Can Moo! Can You? today. Aloud. Cover to cover. Dr. Seuss in case you’re wondering.”

“My mom used to read it to me. It was one of my favorites as a kid.” He smiled, surprised by the happy memory. He’d locked away so much of his pre-accident childhood that the good had been banished along with the bad.

“Mine, too. Anyway, our client got through the entire story with no mistakes. And there wasn’t a dry eye in the room afterward.” Elizabeth’s eyes grew bright now at the recollection. “He’s thirty-four, has twin toddler daughters and when he first came to see us more than a year ago his goal was to be able to read them a bedtime story.”

“Now he can. That’s nice. For him and for you.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to her. “Your job must be very satisfying.”

“It is.” She sipped the diet cola she’d ordered. “What about you? What did you do today?”

“Nothing quite as rewarding as hearing someone read their first book.” He shrugged. “Mostly I shuffled through paperwork with Waverly’s chief financial officer. We had plans for an expansion, but they’ve had to be put on hold. Some of our financing fell through. Now, we’re busy trying to line up some other investors.”

“That can’t be easy in this economy.”

“About as easy as reaching your endowment fund’s goal.”

“You’re making that possible.”

Though she smiled after she said it, the warmth of a moment earlier was gone. She returned to business mode and, before long, had him hauling out the form she’d filled out. Before the waiter came to ask if they wanted dessert, Thomas had a bad case of indigestion, but he knew that Elizabeth had once owned a guinea pig named Ziggy, a floppy-eared bunny named Kip and a pair of goldfish she’d called Bonnie and Clyde.

How was it possible, Thomas wondered, that even though he knew a lot more about her, he found her more of a puzzle than before?

After they finished their meal, he drove her back to her car in Literacy Liaisons’s parking lot. The ride had been nerve-gratingly quiet. Now, as he stood next to her car after opening the door for her, the mood progressed from strained to outright awkward.

“Good night.” He leaned in to kiss her, intending a quick, chaste and perfunctory peck, but she stuck out her hand instead. It poked him just below his breastbone.

“Sorry.” She coughed. “I know you said we should get used to kissing and pretending to be affectionate with one another, but I’m really not comfortable doing that.”

This came as a surprise, and not necessarily a good one. Here he’d been steeling himself for physical contact, determined not to let a simple kiss boil out of control, and she was essentially telling him thanks, but no seconds for me. He’d never had a complaint when it came to his kissing and Elizabeth hadn’t seemed to mind it the previous night. In fact, she’d participated rather enthusiastically, if memory served correctly. His ego had Thomas pointing that out.

“You seemed pretty comfortable last night.”

“Yes, well, I think it blurs the lines a little too much given the true nature of our relationship.”

“Uh-huh.”

She swallowed and he needed to believe her expression held some regret before she added, “But don’t worry, Thomas. When we’re around your grandmother, I won’t pull away if you put your arm around me or anything.”

“Gee, that’s good to know.”

“As for the rest, if she asks, maybe you could just tell her that Beth isn’t comfortable with public displays of affection.”

He didn’t remind her that he no longer thought she look like a Beth. The name was beside the point. She’d referred to herself in the third person. If that didn’t imply distance, Thomas didn’t know what did. What could he do but respect her wishes? He shook her hand, bid her good-night. Just before she slipped into the car, he told her, “I’ll have that questionnaire filled out and faxed over first thing in the morning.”

By the time Thomas arrived home twenty minutes later, he was feeling particularly cranky. The house, a large ranch-style on a cul-de-sac in a newer subdivision populated with professionals, was quiet. Though the evening air was hot and humid, he turned off the air-conditioning and opened the windows. The sound of crickets, however, did little to ease his agitation. Nor did filling out Elizabeth’s questionnaire.

His inseam and sleeve length? Really? Thomas might have found her attention to detail amusing if not for the fact that he had dozens of questions when it came to the woman, and not one of them focused on her clothing sizes.

Two hours later, he was pacing his bedroom when the telephone on the nightstand rang.

“Tommy, hello,” Nana Jo greeted him when he answered. “I wasn’t sure I would catch you at home.”

A glance at the clock showed it was after ten. Worry came instantly, as it always did where his grandmother was concerned. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine. Just getting excited about the weekend.”

“I am, too.” It was the truth, for the most part. He always looked forward to seeing his grandmother.

“I can’t wait to meet Beth. You’re both still coming, right?”

“On Friday, yes.” He pushed aside his nerves. “In fact, she and I talked about the weekend over dinner tonight.” He had to admit, it felt really good not to have to lie to his grandmother, even if he still wasn’t being completely truthful.

He heard the smile in her voice when Nana Jo asked, “Did you take her to a fancy restaurant with candlelit tables and strolling violinists?”

“I don’t know that they have those anyplace but in old movies,” he replied. “We ate at an Indian restaurant. It was more comfortable than fancy, but our table did have a candle on it.” He recalled the way the flame had reflected in Elizabeth’s dark eyes. “It was nice.”

“An Indian restaurant. I’ve never been to one. It sounds exotic and spicy.”

Thomas smiled at Nana Jo’s assessment. “Elizabeth has an adventurous palate.”

“Is she with you now?”

“Nana Jo, she’s not that kind of girl,” he said on a laugh that only served to mock his libido. “Besides, we both have to work in the morning.”

“I know how young people are now. I’m just pleased you decided to get married rather than move in together. That seems to be what everyone does nowadays. But when it’s right and you’re in love, why not make it legally binding?”

Because Thomas found what his grandmother was saying to make way too much sense, he decided to end the conversation.

Thomas figured he would see Elizabeth again before the weekend, but it didn’t happen. They spoke by telephone a couple of times, and she’d emailed him once to let him know that she’d received his fax. Other than that, nothing.

He had to admit that he was disappointed, especially when she turned down his offer to see a Hitchcock film at the restored Michigan Theater on Thursday night. He’d been sure she would jump at the chance. Indeed, he’d thought of her the moment he’d spied the marquee announcing performance times for Vertigo while driving down East Liberty.

He’d been thinking of her a lot, regardless of—or perhaps because of—the way she’d insisted on shaking his hand when they parted on Wednesday night. But no more face-to-face meetings occurred, let alone sequels to that heated encounter in her living room that still ran through his mind in a never-ending loop.

If Elizabeth were another woman, he might think she was playing hard to get. He didn’t like the fact that if she were another woman it wouldn’t be working.

Thomas was eager to see her again, a fact that had him nervous as he packed his bag for the long weekend early Friday morning. His trepidation increased tenfold when he arrived at her home to collect her just after nine and she met him at the door with no suitcase in sight.

“I appreciate a woman who packs light, but don’t you think you’ll need a few things?” he asked.

She tucked her hands into the back pockets of a pair of khaki capris. “I was thinking we could just go for the day instead of for the entire weekend.”

“The day? My grandmother lives in Charlevoix, Elizabeth.” The city was located on the northwest side of the Lower Peninsula, a good four-hour drive from Ann Arbor even without the added holiday traffic they were likely to encounter despite getting a jump on the weekend.

“I realize that, but the less time we spend with her, the fewer questions she’ll be able to ask. I’ll share the driving,” she offered, as if to sweeten the deal.

“Nana Jo is going to have questions either way and, believe me, she won’t hesitate to ask them, whether in person or over the telephone.” Of course, then answering them would be his problem to deal with rather than hers.

“Do you talk on the phone often?”

“Pretty much every day, but I haven’t seen her in months. I miss her.”

He hadn’t intended to use the sentiment to score points, but Elizabeth softened. He saw it in her expression.

“Tell you what,” he began. “We can come home on Sunday instead of Monday. You mentioned before that you’d canceled some of your plans to accompany me. Maybe the weekend won’t be a total bust for you if we leave a day early.”

“I was just going to go to the beach with Mel and some other girlfriends.” She shrugged. “It was no big deal.”

“Don’t you do anything with your family?”

“My parents have an annual barbecue on the Fourth.”

She hadn’t told him much about them, and even the written biography she’d given him the other evening contained precious little information beyond their names and dates of birth, so he was intrigued. “Good. Then you will be able to attend it. Will your brother be there? Ross, right?”

She shook her head. He’d said something wrong, something that made her sad, though he wasn’t sure what. But then, he knew better than most people that sometimes innocent questions about family could be as wounding as daggers. Hoping to chase the shadows from her eyes, he said, “There’s nothing like a good barbecue to celebrate Independence Day.”

He was relieved when Elizabeth’s smile reappeared. “You don’t know my parents,” she said wryly.

No. Thomas didn’t. He’d always made it a point not to meet the parents of any of the women he spent time with. He didn’t worry about passing parental inspection. Rather, he knew the signal it would send to the other party. Meeting the parents made even the most casual relationship seem serious, at least where the marriage-minded were concerned.

Oddly, he found himself wanting to meet Elizabeth’s, even—or maybe especially—after she asked, “Have you ever had tofu shish kebabs?”

“I can’t say that I have.”

“It’s an acquired taste, believe me. The same can be said for soy-and-kelp burgers on unleavened bread.”

“Soy and kelp, huh?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I hope you’re not too bored with Nana Jo’s tame cooking. I think the most exotic recipe in her repertoire is fried green tomatoes. She started making them after she saw the movie of the same name.”

“I’m nothing like my parents,” she replied hastily, giving Thomas the impression that, just as he was, she was eager to ensure that the apple fell far from the tree and then kept right on rolling.

Elizabeth invited him inside while she packed her bag. Howie wasn’t there. Mel had taken him back to her town house. If the dog were there, Thomas had little doubt it would be growling menacingly. It was if the hound knew that something about his owner’s relationship with Thomas wasn’t all it seemed to be.

Thomas paced the living room. His gaze kept straying to the love seat, specifically to the arm where he’d sat the other evening while he and Elizabeth had eagerly started helping one another out of their clothes. Sanity had prevailed, but he’d been going crazy ever since. After fifteen of the longest minutes of his life, Elizabeth finally emerged with a small carry-on-sized suitcase in hand.

“You really do pack light.”

She shrugged. “A couple pairs of walking shorts, two shirts and nightclothes don’t take up much room. You didn’t specify a dress code.”

She sounded defiant.

“There isn’t one. My grandmother is pretty laid-back.” He pointed toward the bag. “A bathing suit might come in handy. There’s a nice stretch of beach nearby.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I burn easily.”

And blushed easily, too, he noted.

“Well, I brought mine, but suit yourself.” He took her bag. “Ready?”

In answer, she started for the front door, which she carefully locked behind them. Then they were on their way, heading toward the interstate in his car as Bruce Springsteen belted out “Born in the U.S.A.” on the radio.

For better or for worse, there was no turning back now.