Her Surprise Engagement

by Cari Lynn Webb

  Wesley unlocked the front door and glanced at Chase. “Your place has to be better and bigger than our little house.”

  Chase stepped inside and looked around. “I like your home.”

  “But your house is bigger, isn’t it?” Wesley pressed. As if bigger always equaled better.

  “It’s being remodeled,” Chase said. “So, you’ll have to wait to see it until the construction crew clears out.”

  Or until the pretend divorce occurred and visiting Chase’s place no longer became an option.

  Wesley dumped his backpack in the entryway and raced into the kitchen. “Who wants popcorn?”

  “Hey, I... I should’ve mentioned this earlier.” Chase picked up Wesley’s soccer ball and held it between his hands. “Is there any chance you might be able to take a trip?”

  Disrupt her schedule. Adjust her to-do list. Not possible. Days off were carefully selected and arranged in advance, according to her budget and calendar. She never did anything on impulse and whim. Except fake marry Chase and the results of her one uncharacteristic move had become more than complicated. Nichole dropped the mail on the side table and studied Chase. “Why?”

  “I might’ve told my family we were going on a ski-moon.” He squeezed the soccer ball as if he’d stepped in to coach the team and now had to defend his qualifications. “I did tell them that.”

  “A what?” Nichole asked.

  “They wanted to plan a party for us this weekend. Travis wants to plan a reception.” Chase tapped the soccer ball against his head. “It was the only thing I could come up with on the fly.”

  “What is it?”

  “Basically, a ski trip to Tahoe.” Chase peered at her over the soccer ball. A cringe creasing his eyes.

  “We’re going to Tahoe!” Wesley cheered in the doorway to the kitchen and knocked popcorn onto the floor from the bowl he was clutching.

  Something knocked inside Nichole, spinning her even more out of control. She whispered, “This wasn’t part of the arrangement.”

  “I know.” Chase sighed. “I panicked.”

  Now Nichole panicked. Chase wanted to take her to Tahoe. They’d stay in the same house. They’d be together. She could discover the real Chase. Or test her attraction. Her nerves tingled. Anticipation or anxiety, she didn’t know.

  She did know that she could not go to Tahoe. Not with Chase. A ski-moon sounded too much like a honeymoon. She shouldn’t be tempted. First, she wore a wedding gown and saw herself as a bride. Now she saw herself pretending to be married in Tahoe. With Chase. This was what happened when she didn’t follow her plan, stick to her schedule. Chaos ensued.

  “Can Ben come too?” Wesley buried his hand in the popcorn bowl. “He loves the snow more than me.”

  “Works for me. Invite Ben’s parents, too.” Chase propped the soccer ball against his hip, natural and easy as if he belonged in their house. As if he’d always been in their lives. Always planned their vacations.

  But Chase had only just arrived. Barely been invited into Nichole’s world. The one she controlled. That was it—she had to take control.

  Chase added, “It can be a family getaway weekend.”

  No. It could not. They weren’t family. Nichole muted the buzz in her heart and silenced the part of her that wished. That still hoped for a complete family and love. Love? She had no wish to love and find herself set aside. Displaced and forgotten as if her love never mattered. Nichole pressed her hand against her core, pulled herself together, opened her mouth.

  “I have to go pack!” Wesley shouted first, and dropped the popcorn bowl on the coffee table. “There’s so much I have to remember to bring.”

  “Wait. Time-out.” Nichole raised her hands and regained her focus. Her sharp voice cut into her son’s celebration. “You have homework to finish right now. Then school tomorrow.”

  “So, no Tahoe?” Disappointment crushed Wesley’s eyebrows together. “No fun in the snow?”

  “Let me call Brooke and Dan.” Let me think. Let me develop an action plan. Give me more time. Nichole rubbed the back of her neck. Tahoe was a bad idea. “It’s spring break next week. Maybe we can go up there this Friday.” She looked at Chase. Another bad idea. Her heart tapped against her chest. “Friday works, right?”

  “Definitely.” Chase high-fived Wesley. “Fun in the snow is a go.”

  Wesley whooped and raced away.

  Nichole collapsed onto the couch and vowed she’d made her very last misstep. Tomorrow she’d get back on schedule. Back on track with the life she’d already planned.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHASE STEPPED INTO his grandmother’s apartment and scrambled into the kitchen. “Nonna, what are you doing?”

  “Boiling potatoes and preparing my statement.” Nonna peered into a large pot on the stove and pointed at her notepad perched on the end of the kitchen counter.

  Chase scratched his chin, wondering where to start: the potatoes or the statement. “You’re not supposed to cook without one of us here to help.”

  “Nichole. My dear. Thank you for making time to visit me on such short notice.” She elbowed Chase and his declaration aside, then hugged Nichole. “Now, where’s my new great-grandson?”

  “It’s Wednesday and a school day.” And a workday, but Nonna had demanded Chase bring Nichole to see her when he’d bailed from the family intervention yesterday. “Wesley had to go to school.”

  “That’s unfortunate.” His grandmother scowled. “Being with family should always come first.”

  “Wesley was quite upset, Nonna.” Nichole smiled. “He offered to do extra chores for three months if I let him skip school today.”

  “Sounds like a good boy.” Delight lifted Nonna’s paper-thin cheeks. “Now let’s look at you. You’re lovelier than ever, dear.”

  “You always were too kind, Nonna.” Nichole gripped both of Nonna’s hands as if she wanted to hang on and not let Nonna go.

  Chase wanted Nichole to hold on to him the same way. As if she wanted him beside her and never intended to let him go. He picked up a fork, tested the potatoes and pierced his misdirected thoughts. One potential ski-moon had rewired everything. “Nonna wasn’t always kind to me.”

  “You didn’t need kindness.” Nonna tucked Nichole’s arm around hers. “Still don’t.”

  His grandmother always minced garlic and never words. Chase concentrated on the pot and hid his smile. Arthritis had stolen the strength from his grandmother’s grip but hadn’t slowed the quickness of her wit. “What do I need?”

  “You need a good reason to stop seeking thrills and quit avoiding home.” Nonna guided Nichole into her apartment as if Nichole was the guest of honor at a society gala, not an old acquaintance. Nonna glanced at him. “But you just might have found a very good reason to come home.”

  His grandmother had been reciting a version of her accusation for over a year now. Despite the fact Chase lived less than ten minutes from her, fifteen minutes from his mom and both of his sisters. He was surrounded in every direction on the compass by his family and home. Family dinners belonged to Sundays and weekday visits happened at least twice a week. Avoidance would not be tolerated by the Jacobs family. Yet Nonna accused him of constantly being on the run. Chase stabbed at the potatoes. “Why are you boiling so many potatoes? You have at least two dozen in here.”

  “Haven’t lost your ability to count. It’s good to keep your mind sharp.” Nonna led Nichole to the pair of kitchen barstools. “Your mind will be all you can count on if you reach my age.”

  Chase tapped the stainless-steel fork against the pot. “About the potatoes.”

  “Those are for the gnocchi we are going to make.” More delight infused her voice. “Together.”

  Nonna stressed the word as if to underscore she’d heard Chase earlier about needing assistance. It wasn’t the last Chase would hear about h
is impertinent reminder of her weaknesses. Still, she could’ve lost her hold on the knife and cut herself. She had a scar on her forearm from just such an accident and that scar wasn’t alone.

  “I can’t cook.” Nichole gripped the wrought iron back of the barstool.

  “No one in our family cooked as good as my own mother.” Nonna patted Nichole’s shoulder. “We all have challenges we must face.”

  “How were you going to overcome the challenge of lifting this pot up to drain the water?” Chase used the fork to point at the oversize pot. Osteoporosis had weakened each one of his grandmother’s bones. A sign outside her apartment door read Fall Risk. Though she’d chopped potatoes and filled the pot as if she’d intended to cook for the retirement home lunch rush.

  “I wasn’t going to lift it. You are.” Nonna gave two quick, irritated tugs on her blue-striped apron. “My hands work a little slower these days, but they still work. It’ll do you good to remember that.”

  “I was only trying to help, Nonna.” Chase added a dose of remorse to his words. “Mom would scold me if I didn’t remind you of the rules.”

  “Your mother needs to concentrate on her own rules and let me live like I’m used to.” Nonna sniffed. “Now find yourself and Nichole some aprons.”

  His grandmother intended for them to cook together. Nichole included. But Nonna had always been selective about who she allowed in her kitchen. Who she shared her recipes with. The kitchen had always been reserved for those his grandmother considered family. Cooking was an event from the preparation to the cleanup. An intimate, private experience. Almost sacred. Nichole and Chase cooking together as if they were a real couple. “This was only supposed to be a quick catch-up visit. Nichole has to work on her business.”

  “Do you have any family traditions, Nichole?” Nonna shifted away from Chase to focus on Nichole.

  Again, Nonna acted as if he hadn’t spoken. Her typical default once she’d heard something that went contrary to her intentions. Chase crossed his arms over his chest, intending to stare his grandmother into cooperation.

  “Not opening Christmas presents until Christmas morning.” Nichole’s hands fluttered in front of her. “Homemade eggs Benedict. It’s the one thing I can make.”

  “We’ll make eggs Benedict together another time.” Nonna nodded, pleasure spread into the creases fanning from her eyes beneath her round glasses. “Today we’re making one of our family favorites.”

  No. No cooking. Chase cooked alone at his house. Never invited anyone he’d dated to cook with him. He couldn’t recall cooking a meal for anyone he’d dated. That would’ve invited a woman into his house, granting her permission to critique his food and him. There were too many obstacles to surpass before they cooked together. Before he knew for certain they’d work well together. Neither Chase nor his past girlfriends had been interested in escalating their relationships beyond casual and informal.

  His grandmother believed gardening and cooking opened the mind and the heart to love’s true meaning. Chase already knew what love meant. Love meant exposure and rejection. No one wanted to face that. Besides, he’d avoided his heart for so long, there were too many weeds to find it anymore.

  “This is our family tradition. Every new couple learns a family recipe from the current matriarch.” Nonna shuffled into the kitchen beside Chase. “Your grandfather and I cooked with my grandmother. Chase’s mother and father cooked with Chase’s great-grandmother. Of course, Chase’s father burnt the sausage and spilled the olive oil. We should’ve honored that unfortunate sign from Fate.” Nonna nudged Chase aside and opened a drawer. Aprons burst forth like wishes on a shooting star. “Never underestimate the importance of signs, dear.”

  His grandmother always packed a lot of words into one breath as if worried she might be on her last breath. As if she might not get the chance to finish her thought and get her message across. There was always a message.

  Nichole reached for the apron, her movements slow and hesitant.

  But Nichole wasn’t Chase’s real wife. They weren’t a real couple. Surely there was some kind of sign happening now. Something not to be overlooked. But all he saw was his petite grandmother, her shoulders stooped, her faith strong, and Nichole, welcoming and kind and all too appealing. Chase stumbled for an excuse to leave.

  Nichole stepped into the kitchen, set the apron strap around her neck and turned her back toward Chase. “Can you tie this please?”

  “You have work.” Chase kept his hands at his sides and his gaze fixed away from the dangling apron straps. I never promised this.

  “I can go back further in the family tree.” Nonna pulled a stainless steel bowl from a cabinet. “Generations in our family have been honoring this particular tradition and proving that food brings you closer together and love bonds you. We had a rather impressive streak until Chase’s father.”

  “I can call on vendors and businesses later.” Nichole twisted and took Chase’s hand, easy and effortless as if she’d been reaching for him always. She squeezed his fingers. “This is important to Nonna.”

  It was even more important not to act like a couple. Not to link his fingers with hers or notice how her hand fit inside his as if they belonged. Chase might start to believe in more than a business agreement between them. Chase might start to believe in walks down the aisle, vows and a different sort of future. But Chase only knew how to succeed one way: on his own.

  “I wouldn’t imagine you’d want to go out and about at all today.” Nonna set the mixing bowl on the kitchen table next to the cutting board and cookie sheets.

  Chase narrowed his eyes. All evidence of crafts had been replaced by cooking supplies. Not a scrap of wreath ribbon or forgotten silk butterfly littered the table. Nonna had planned their cooking session. If he wasn’t mistaken, she had help preparing. Now he had his mother and sisters to blame too.

  Nonna added, “I’m sure the media will be tracking your every move.”

  “I work from home.” Nichole released him and tugged several strands of hair from beneath the apron strap around her neck. The movement distracted Chase. He wanted her hand back inside his and he wanted to help her. “And nothing I do is all that interesting.”

  “But you’re the headline, my dear, and that makes you interesting. The press announced your identity late this morning on the news.” Nonna shuffled into the kitchen and picked up the salt container. “Nichole, if you’re going to be tied to my grandson, you have to make the news part of your morning routine like brushing your teeth and eating breakfast. None of it can be skipped or you risk ruining your entire day.”

  “That’s not possible.” Chase had factored in one day, maybe two, before the media figured it out.

  “The press knows my identity?” Nichole smashed the front of her apron between her hands.

  “Released your full name in the article.” Nonna returned to the kitchen table and her makeshift prep station. “Marie is a lovely middle name, my dear. Is it a family name?”

  “After my grandmother.” Nichole fiddled with the apron, her tone distant.

  “A touching tribute.” Nonna checked over the table.

  Releasing Nichole’s name in the press was not touching or a tribute. “Nonna, why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

  “I told you I was preparing my statement for the press.” Nonna waved toward her notepad; her focus remained on the table.

  Chase summoned his patience. “You won’t need to make a comment.”

  “One never knows.” Nonna tucked her hands into the pockets on her apron and looked at Chase over the rims of her glasses. “Last week, Harold Mathis and Mary Lou Tanager spent the night together at a motel. Both of their families were contacted for comments as if we haven’t earned the right to do as we please.”

  “I have an agent.” Chase wiped his hands on his jeans as if that would remove his unease. “Travis fields these
very things for me. To help protect my family.”

  “Where was Travis yesterday?” Nonna eyed him. “If you wanted to remain anonymous, why were you at the school yesterday out in the open together?”

  He’d gotten out of the car to support Nichole. Panic had paled her cheeks; worry had drained the color from her lips. He’d wanted to help.

  “I was quite certain your whole marriage was a farce.” Nonna stepped over to the kitchen counter and shifted her notepad to face Nichole and Chase. “However, now that you made it simple for the press to identify you, dear, I believe there might be merit to your impulsive union. Such an emotional hug.”

  Chase edged closer to the counter, close enough to see the pictures displayed on Nonna’s notepad. Yet not close enough to touch, as if he stood outside a rattlesnake’s nest and feared an attack. The larger picture included Chase, Wesley and Nichole. Wesley had wrapped his thin arms around Chase and hung on. The boy had been enthusiastic and his embrace all-encompassing, as if Wesley had been more than thrilled to call him Dad. As if Wesley had believed Chase could be his dad. Dad.

  Chase’s world tilted again. He’d never imagined being called Dad. Never considered the humbling power and overwhelming emotion in one word. He’d clung on to Wesley until his own feet had settled back on solid ground.

  After all, Chase knew little about being a dad. Even less about how to be a good dad. But he knew one thing for sure. A good parent was never selfish. He had only to look at his mother, Nonna and Nichole. As for Chase, he owned the title on self-centered and hadn’t earned the privilege of being called Dad.

  “And your wedding gown, my dear. Wherever did you find it?” Nonna clasped her cheeks between her hands and shook her head. “I learned to sew at my grandmother’s knee. That gown was not a hasty store purchase.”

  Nichole bumped Chase as they both leaned closer to the notepad. The second picture, although smaller, pulsed with energy. Nichole in Josie’s wedding gown. Her hand, with her new ring, on Chase’s lapel. Their gazes locked on each other as if it’d been their actual wedding day. His heart thumped in his chest and picked up its pace. The same as yesterday—it’d skipped at seeing Nichole in the gown. Raced with Nichole in his embrace. So reckless. So careless. And way too alluring.