Ally Blake - A Pretend Proposal - The Fiancée Fiasco / Faking It to Making It / The Wedding Must Go On

Her frown told him she didn’t quite care for the description, even before she said, “I prefer to think of it as being flexible, maybe even a little imaginative. Add fresh strawberries, chocolate syrup, caramel, peanuts, what have you and you’ve crafted a new flavor.”

“The possibilities are endless.” Suddenly, he was seeing vanilla in a whole new light, just as he’d already begun to see Elizabeth differently.

They chatted about coasters and ice cream for the remainder of their meal. When they finished eating, he helped her carry their dishes to the sink. She tried to shoo him back to his seat.

“There’s no need. Really. You’re my guest.”

“Actually, I’m your fiancé, remember?” He chose not to ponder how easily the word rolled off his tongue. “My grandmother was a stickler when it came to household chores. From the first day she came to live with us, she drilled into me the importance of cleaning up after myself.”

“Smart woman.”

He nodded. “That bit of instruction has served me well. I may be a bachelor, but my house isn’t a pigsty.”

Her brows rose. “Cleaning lady?”

“Well, yeah. But she only comes every other week.”

Elizabeth grinned as she finished rinsing off their plates and stacking them on the counter next to the sink. Afterward, she turned toward him, her expression both innocent and beguiling when she asked, “So, now what?”

Now, there was a question. Usually after dinner with a woman one of two things happened. If it was early in a relationship, they engaged in prolonged foreplay. If they’d been dating awhile and were mutually agreeable, they skipped all pretense and headed to the nearest bedroom. Maybe it was just as well that Elizabeth’s was currently occupied with one very large and not so friendly canine.

He glanced at his watch. It wasn’t quite nine. The last time he’d ended an evening out with a member of the opposite sex this early, he’d been a teenager with a curfew. Besides, they had barely scratched the surface. He didn’t know nearly enough about Elizabeth to satisfy either his grandmother’s or his own curiosity.

“I’m eager to hear more revelations. What other dark secrets are you hiding?” He said it in jest, but for a second she looked … guilty?

He must have imagined it, he decided. Because a moment later she was grinning gamely when she announced, “Well, I like to play poker.”

“Poker?”

“It’s not like I’m a contender for one of those televised tournaments where the stakes are huge or anything, but I enjoy the game.” She rinsed out their glasses. “More water?”

“After that revelation, I think I could use a glass of that wine you offered me earlier.”

He uncorked the bottle while she got out a couple of what appeared to be handblown goblets.

“Fancy,” he commented as he poured.

“They were a gift from a client, one of our first. Cassidy McClurg. She’s on track now to earn her sommelier certification. Her dream is to work someday at a top New York restaurant. I think she’s well on her way”

“To Literacy Liaisons and changing lives.” He handed Elizabeth one of the glasses and then clinked his against it.

They adjourned to her small livingroom then. Since the windows were open, he could hear the crickets chirping outside and sundry other noises associated with nightfall in a neighborhood. He missed those sounds now that his windows were always closed with the central air-conditioning humming.

Like the kitchen, the room needed updating. The carpet, a nondescript brown color, was faded in places with well-worn paths from the postage-stamp-sized foyer to the kitchen and the hallway that led to the bedrooms. But the place was tidy. And homey thanks to all of the little touches that, quite frankly, were lacking in the sprawling house he’d lived in for more than half a decade.

He settled into the recliner after Elizabeth sat on the love seat. Their positions made for easier conversation. That’s what he told himself anyway, since the empty cushion next to her looked way too inviting.

“Let’s get back to you and poker.”

It turned out she played mainly at charity fundraising events and had never been to any of Michigan’s American Indian tribe-run casinos, let alone the huge gambling venues found in Las Vegas. But she knew the difference between a full house and a straight and, given that serene, guileless expression of hers, he’d bet she was a pro at bluffing.

Still, she threw him for a loop when she added, “Mel, a couple other friends and I have been getting together about once a month for the past couple years. We play for bragging rights mostly.”

A bunch of women playing poker on a regular basis? “Please tell me you don’t sit around smoking cigars and talking sports, too?”

Amusement shimmered in her eyes. “Sports, sometimes. If it’s college football season, Mel and I usually have a side bet going. She went to State like me, but she’s still a Wolverine fan. Family tradition.”

“I’m surprised her family didn’t toss her from the fold when she decided to attend State then,” he teased.

“She had a full-ride scholarship. It was kind of hard for her parents to be upset with her choice in universities when they didn’t have to pick up the tab for a Big Ten school’s tuition.” Elizabeth shrugged. “Not that my scholarship stopped my parents from being upset.”

“You had a full-ride scholarship to State and they were unhappy about it?” he asked incredulously.

“Not exactly a full ride, but enough that I was able to afford my four years there when supplemented with student loans. My parents’ objections were more … generalized.” She shook her head. Before he could ask what she meant by that, Elizabeth said, “Back to Mel, she chose State because it has a strong program in her field of study.”

“Which was?”

“Package engineering.”

“So, she went from designing the packaging for products to vetting literacy volunteers?” He scratched his chin, not quite able to connect the dots. “I’m not seeing the correlation between the two professions.”

“That’s because there is none. Mel was great at her job and made a lot of money at it, but she didn’t like what she was doing or where she was doing it.” Before he could ask, Elizabeth supplied, “San Francisco.”

“Yeah,” he replied dryly. “I can see how living in the ‘City by the Bay’ would be a real downer, especially in the middle of winter when we’re buried in snow here.”

Elizabeth laughed. The sound was lyrical and the way her face lit was, well … he liked it. A lot.

“She didn’t miss Michigan’s weather, Mr. Smarty Pants. She missed the people here.”

“Mr. Smarty Pants?” he repeated with brows raised.

Thomas couldn’t recall a single woman who had ever referred to him as such. Well, except for his grandmother. The young women of his acquaintance had other, far more flattering pet names for him. Names that usually couldn’t be repeated in polite company since they had to do with things that had occurred behind closed bedroom doors. Those names had helped stroke his ego. Yet he found himself more amused than offended by Elizabeth’s assessment. Her engaging grin probably had something to do with it.

“You think you have all the answers.” The charge was leveled too lightly to be an accusation.

“Do I now?”

“Just an observation.” She shrugged and reached for the wineglass she’d set on the coffee table.

“My guess is you were one of the things your friend missed about Michigan.”

“Well, we are BFFs.” Elizabeth smiled fondly.

That had come through loud and clear when he’d been introduced. As had her friend’s protectiveness. She might be as petite as Elizabeth, but Thomas got the feeling she would cheerfully scratch out his eyes if she thought he’d hurt Elizabeth.