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

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.

ELIZABETH hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but a little over two hours into their trip she dozed off. Before then she and Thomas hadn’t spoken much, other than to comment on the good weather—forecasters were calling for sunshine and warm temperatures through the early part of the following week—and go over a few details of the visit.

She missed their easy conversation, but keeping things all business was for the best. The lines of their relationship weren’t likely to become too blurry that way. So, she’d pulled out a magazine she’d brought with her and made a point of reading it. Or, rather, pretending to read it. Now that she was awake, she couldn’t recall a single article.

She straightened in her seat and stretched before sending a sheepish smile Thomas’s way.

“Sorry about that. I guess I drifted off.”

“That’s all right. You only snored a little.” He winked after saying so. She could only hope he was kidding.

“Where are we?”

“About fifteen minutes south of Charlevoix. I thought we’d visit with my grandmother a bit before checking in at the bed-and-breakfast where we’ll be staying.”

In separate rooms. He’d made that clear after she’d made a point of asking him about it via email. Still, they would be under the same roof and that was enough to have her nerves and newfound needs percolating on high.

Elizabeth had never been to Charlevoix. Though her family had moved around a lot during her childhood, they’d done so mainly in the much more populated southern part of the state. So, she stared out the window as they made their way down Bridge Street with its quaint assortment of shops and eateries, acting the part of the tourist. Thomas indulged her, pointing out a fudge shop and other sights of interest, and giving her some background. The vast expanse of Lake Michigan stretched to the west of the town. The much smaller Lake Charlevoix was to the east.

“It’s pretty here.”