Page 70 of The Fake Out

I pushed up and kissed his cheek. “You did great.”

Iris groaned. “Gross. Get a room.”

Without taking her eyes off Chris and me, Sue whapped Iris upside her head.

“Ouch.” Iris rubbed at the spot.

Mama ignored them both. “Dinner’s about ready. Mae, why don’t you take our guest to the table?” She turned her head to glare at my sister. “You can help me get the food out. Now.”

Iris groaned but did as she was told, Sue following behind muttering something about “respect” and “next time I’ll smack you harder.”

Mama smiled widely. “It will be just a minute now.”

With the coast clear, I exhaled and wiggled out from Chris’s arm.

“You okay there?” he asked.

“No,” I whispered. “I am not okay. My stomach is in knots.”

He smirked. “I think that’s supposed to be my line. I am the one who is about to ask your mother for her blessing to marry her daughter.”

I groaned, twisting my hands at my waist. “This feels so wrong.”

“Hey.” With a gentle touch, he stilled my hands and waited until my eyes met his. “There’s still time if you want to back out. It’s okay.”

Oh, no. Gentle, Understanding Chris. Danger. Danger.

His eyes were kind and patient and sincere, and I knew, I knew, he would put the brakes on it all and walk right out that door. But I also knew he had a lot to lose—a sister to protect, a passion for helping those kids and families—and I didn’t want to be the reason he lost it.

Also, I wasn’t a quitter, dammit. I straightened, adjusted my glasses, and poked my finger in his chest. “Don’t think you’re getting out of this, buddy.”

Shaking his head, he held up his hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good. Now, let’s go lie our faces off.”

“How did that go? What did she say?” I asked when we were safely tucked away in Chris’s truck and driving down the road.

His grin was devilish. “She offered me a dowry of forty rabbit figurines and one geriatric cat. She promised you would be a meek and obedient wife. Oh, and something about good birthing hips.”

Laughing, I smacked him on the shoulder. “What did she really say?”

He tossed me an amused look. “She said it seemed a little sudden but she trusted your judgement and if you said yes that was enough for her.”

“Oh, that’s sweet.” A wave of guilt washed over me. “She’s going to be sad when we break up.”

Chris reached over and put his hand on my knee. We drove in silence for ten minutes before I asked where we were headed.

“You’ll see.”

Another fifteen minutes, and we pulled in front of a quaint little bed and breakfast. Chris hopped out, came around the truck, and helped me out.

“What’s going on here?”

“Don’t look so suspicious.” He grabbed one of my hands and pulled me through a side gate and around the back of the house.

When we turned the corner, I gasped. The garden was a riot of spring flowers, most allowed to grow wild in patches. Crape myrtle trees lined the cobblestone path. It led straight to a gazebo, painted white with twinkly lights twined around it. As we got closer, I saw the table set up in the middle of the gazebo. Candles flickered and a bucket held a bottle of champagne or wine.

It was beautiful; romantic, even. A flutter started in my stomach.