The Best Man's Proposal (The Hamilton Sisters)

by Wynter Daniels

  “Takes one to know one,” she muttered under her breath.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing. I was calculating the cost of these tablecloths for the Fourth of July—”

  “About that, I’m going to have to cut the budget down. In half, actually.”

  Niki gulped. “In half? I’ve already spent more than that.”

  “Apparently, you’ll have to un-spend some of it.” He jabbed a finger at her. “But make sure it’s a kickass party. Nail it, and the London job is yours.”

  God, she could practically taste that promotion. Now what was she going to do? No, she couldn’t start returning items to vendors. Besides, she’d only ordered the bare minimum she needed for the event. As Tristan started to walk away, she hooked his arm. “I’m sorry, Tristan, but I can’t give you the event you want with such a miniscule budget. I’m going to need more.”

  He frowned at her for a moment. Then she shrugged. “Fine, do it for seventy-five percent of the original amount I told you.”

  She could work with that. “That’s fine. Next time, please give me the correct budget from the get-go. It makes us all look bad to back pedal.” She braced herself for his admonishment, but he merely shrugged.

  Tristan headed back the way he’d come but then stopped and turned to face her. “You like the band that does the Prince covers over in Hollywood Beach, don’t you? Fe Fi Foe.”

  They were local legends. She really wished the lead singer would stop doing the flying splits in the middle of the up-tempo songs, since that move had messed up the real Prince’s hips, but that didn’t stop them from being one of her favorite parts of seeing them live. “I love them. They’re amazing. My friend Amy and I saw them last year. We’ve been dying to go again, but it’s impossible to get tickets unless you know someone.”

  “Well, apparently I know someone, because I got two to their show the third Saturday in July. Consider it an apology for last night.”

  She wondered if Grant would like the band. After that kiss, she could hardly think of anything besides him.

  “We could do dinner at Napolitano before the show.” He ran a finger along the brass edge of the bar. “The cleaning crew did a piss-poor job of waxing this. Would you mind touching it up, love? Thanks so much.” He was gone before she could answer either question.

  It was getting to the point where every time he called her “love” she wanted to scream loud and high enough to break all of the wine glasses hanging over the bar.

  Then again, if she wasn’t going with Grant, what did it matter who she went with? It didn’t have to be a date just because they were having dinner first. In fact, she’d make it clear that it wasn’t a date—just an apology outing, as he’d said. Before Tristan had stood her up, she might have briefly entertained the thought of dating him. But now, after Grant had kissed her, she knew she was in no mood to look at anyone else right now in a romantic light. Especially not someone who seemed to go out of his way to behave like a selfish twit.

  Not everyone could be Captain Save-the-World.

  She arrived home three hours later to an empty house. Sarge was curled up on the sofa, but when Niki started fixing his dinner, he strolled into the kitchen like fuzzy orange royalty. She glanced at the handwritten label Grant had put on the container of soup he’d prepared for the cat. “Beef and chicken,” she read aloud. “You eat better than I do, Sarge. But at your advanced age, you deserve to. You’re a lucky boy to have such a sweet daddy.”

  The place was too quiet without Grant. Geez, she had to keep reminding herself that living with him was a temporary situation. She set the cat’s bowl on the floor then went to her room to change out of her work clothes.

  When she heard the front door open a few minutes later, she wondered why Grant was coming in that way instead of through the garage like he usually did. Barefoot, she padded down the hall toward the front of the house and found the real estate agent with a middle-aged man looking around the living room with the door wide open.

  Sarge slunk quietly toward the foyer on his belly like a soldier avoiding sniper fire, the little sneak.

  Niki gasped. “Shut that door! The cat’s about to get out.” She made a wide arc around the animal so she didn’t cause him to bolt.

  The man closed the door just as Sarge approached it.

  The feline rascal’s eyes were wide and dark. He’d been a hair’s breadth from getting out.

  Niki pressed a hand to her chest and felt her heart racing. “I’m sure Grant told you about the cat,” she said to the real estate agent, unable to keep the accusation out of her voice.

  Andrea Clemson shook her head then scanned the paper in her hand. Her lips moved for several seconds before she met Niki’s stare. “Well, yes, it does say something about being careful about the cat. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s only an orange tabby,” the man said. “It’s not like it’s a Persian or some other expensive breed.”

  “He’s family.” Leaving the “you jerk” at the end of her sentence unsaid, she picked up Sarge, hugged him to her chest, and carried him to her bedroom while Andrea showed her obviously sociopathic client the house. If Sarge had run off on Niki’s watch, she’d have never forgiven herself.

  At a knock on her bedroom door, Niki opened it a crack, Sarge cradled on her forearm like a football. She scratched him between the ears so he wouldn’t get any ideas about trying to make another break for it. He purred happily.

  “We’re leaving now,” Andrea said. “I apologize about your cat.”

  Niki nodded. “It’s okay.”

  “Please tell Grant that I’m confident my client will be making an offer. This time it’ll be a good one.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Suddenly, the idea of Grant selling the house became all too real. In a matter of weeks he might be gone, and they’d never again watch a classic movie together, marveling at the dance moves and the songs they both knew by heart. Would she ever meet another guy who didn’t hesitate to help out his buddies on a moments’ notice, or who’d pull over to change a tire for elderly people, or who’d fill in for her rat bastard of a boss when he’d stood her up as her date?

  Leaving Sarge in her room with a new catnip mouse she’d purchased for him, she followed Andrea to the door. Andrea stopped to answer a phone call as her client took one last look around the living room. Remembering all of the HGTV host advice about not interacting with buyers when they’re looking at your home, Niki hurried over and gave him an insincere smile. “So you like the house?”

  He glanced at Andrea then nodded at Niki. “It’s nice.”

  She took in his fussy suit, hyper-polished shoes, the mortgage calculator app on the screen of the cell phone dangling from his soft hands, and the perfected, gelled hair and did a bit of on-the-fly guesswork. “There are some great parties in the neighborhood. You’ll love it. As long as you’re not an early riser.” She covered her mouth and gave a huge yawn, complete with sound effects. “They can go on until really, really late.”

  “Oh? Does that happen a lot?” he asked.

  “Only three, four nights a week. Well, mornings, since they last until four or five a.m.” She pulled out her cell phone and checked her text messages. “Oh, there’s one a couple doors down tonight. Starts at midnight, if you want to come by.” She’d bet her entire sad bank account that he was usually in bed before nine.

  His eyebrows shot higher. “Wow.”

  Andrea, apparently having just ended her call, stepped between them. “We should be going. Now.”

  Niki stood there wondering what had come over her. Why had she just tried to sabotage Grant’s house sale? That was so immature and dumb. Scrambling to save the situation before Andrea and her client left, she gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Seriously, I’m just kidding about the parties. Grant is a firefighter, so he couldn’t live in a neighborhood that was too loud. He needs to get his sleep when he can.”

  The man eyed her warily while Andrea waved a pack of manila folders at hi
m in an attempt to hustle him out the door and away from Niki. “I’ll be calling Grant.” She shut the door a little too hard behind them as they left.

  Niki paced the room, wondering just how much damage her rogue behavior had caused. Maybe she could give the kitchen a fresh coat of paint or try her hand at staging the living room HGTV-style to earn some good karma points back… As she was mentally moving furniture around, the doorbell rang. Opening it, she found a very short olive-skinned woman.

  The elderly lady held a plate of moon-shaped pastries. “Hola. Is Grant here?”

  “Sorry, he’s still at work,” Niki told her. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m Mrs. Rodriguez from across the street. Grant helped me with my Alfred when he came home from work the other night, and I promised to make him some pastelitos.” She lifted the plate. “He was obviously tired, pobrecito, but he still helped me out. Would you give these to him?”

  “Sure.” Niki took the pastries, breathing in the buttery aroma. “They smell delicious.”

  “He’s a keeper, that Grant.” She smiled at Niki. “And he’s not bad to look at, either.”

  “Oh, we’re not…” But before she’d finished her sentence, the woman was gone.

  As if Niki hadn’t felt guilty enough before, now she knew that Grant went around helping out little old ladies even when exhausted after a shift. As she set the pastelitos on the breakfast bar, she heard the whirr of the automatic garage door lifting.

  Grant came in wearing his work clothes. His hair was tousled, and dark circles ringed his eyes, yet he was still the most handsome guy she knew.

  “Hey. Mrs. Rodriguez left those for you.” She tipped her chin at the pastries.

  Glancing at the sweets, he smiled halfheartedly.

  “You look wiped out again,” Niki said. “Why don’t you get some sleep? Or I can fix you some real food to eat if you’re hungry.”

  “No thanks. Busy shift.” He sank into the sofa. “What’s up?”

  I tried to sabotage the sale of your house and then tried to un-sabotage it, but I’m not sure if it worked. “Not much. But it looks like I’ll be getting that promotion.”

  Grant brightened. “That’s fantastic!”

  Why was he so damn excited about her leaving? Did he want her to go?

  “I got some good news, too, just a few minutes ago.”

  She noticed his cell in his hand, and she swallowed hard. “You did?”

  Stashing the phone in his pocket, he nodded. “I got a pretty good offer on the house.”

  Her mouth went dry. The cat snob? Seriously? Now she found herself regretting her efforts at repairing her fib about the loud parties. She did her best to plaster a sincere smile on her face. “Yeah? Did you accept it?”

  “Not yet. I’m thinking about it. It’s a little lower than my asking price.”

  He wanted her to take the job, and he was going to sell his house. And they had absolutely no chance at a future. This was it. “You should. You never know when another close offer will come along.”

  He met her stare and held it for a long moment. “You really think so?”

  Something inside her wanted to scream out, “No! Please don’t sell. That guy is a cat hater. Let’s see what this is between us.” But what came out was, “Sure.”

  At his nod, she had to turn away or risk him seeing that her eyes were filling.

  “By the way, I’ll be away next weekend. Can you take care of Sarge for me?”

  “Are you finally taking that camping trip?”

  He went to the fridge, took out a water bottle, and twisted off the cap. “Actually, my folks are hosting a sixtieth-anniversary party for my grandparents. It’s kind of a big deal, so I figured I should fly up and spend a couple days.”

  “Sixty years? Wow.” Her eyes burned. The tears she’d held back a minute before refused to be contained any longer.

  Grant set his water bottle down and rushed over. “What’s wrong?”

  When he wrapped her in his arms, she gripped his shoulders, feeling as if she was on a trampoline with no way to stop bouncing. “I have no idea.” She sniffled and buried her head against his chest. “It’s just that I’ve never known a couple to stay together that long. Aunt Bev and Uncle Clyde almost made it, but he died after their fifty-ninth. It’s so sweet that your grandparents have been married for all those years, you know?”

  “That makes you sad?”

  “I guess.” God, she sounded like an idiot. “Maybe I don’t hold out hope that I’ll find that.”

  Grant held her at arms’ length. “Why would you think that? Your mother married Jack, and they’re happy together. My parents have been together for thirty-five years. Lots of couples have long-lasting relationships.”

  Backing out of his arms, she laughed at herself. She really had to get a grip on her feelings. She wasn’t about to confess that she’d teared up because she was starting to miss him already, but passing her sudden emotion off as a spinster’s lament wasn’t doing a lot for her dignity. “Apparently, those people make better choices than I do.”

  “My grandfather says that the day he first saw Grandma, he knew she was the one.” Grant’s green eyes lit up when he spoke about his family. “Grandma’s parents owned a feed store in the next town over, and when Grandpa’s father had an argument with the man who ran the store in his town, he decided to take his business elsewhere. He and his sons made the twenty-mile trip, which is where he met my grandmother. To this day, Grandpa says it was fate because my grandmother didn’t usually work at her parents’ store, but that day her mama wasn’t feeling well, so Grandma stayed home from school to help her dad and met the man she’d eventually marry. She had on a pair of giant overalls that he said practically hid the fact that she was a girl. Grandpa told her he’d carry the feed he bought to his truck himself. Well, she just glared at him, threw a 30-pound sack over her shoulder like it was full of feathers, and marched off in a huff. He asked her out as soon as he caught up with her, and the rest was history.”

  Niki couldn’t help but feel a bit wistful. “That’s an adorable story.”

  “It’s the truth.” The pride and love in Grant’s voice was evident when he spoke about his family.

  “I can tell how much you care about them,” she said.

  He looked at her with a puzzled expression. “Of course I do. My family is why it’s so important for me to sell this house and move up there. Well, one of the reasons.”

  Getting away from Carrie was likely the other.

  “My brother Ben and his wife had a baby last year,” he continued. “He can’t be there for Mom and Dad as much now. My grandparents live with our folks. Along with taking care of the farm, it’s a lot for my parents to handle. And I miss them. All of them.”

  She wanted to leave Miami to get away from the shadow of her family, while Grant needed to leave to be closer to his. Niki couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony.

  “What’s so funny?”

  The two of them might not ever see each other again after she moved to London and Grant back to New York. She’d never been to a farm, had never wanted to go to one. Until that very moment, because it was such a big part of who Grant was.

  “Not a thing,” she said. Taking his hand, she pulled him to the couch and sat him down. “I have a crazy idea. I could go with you to New York, if you want.”

  When he didn’t say anything, she figured he was mulling it over, wondering about her reasons. She didn’t even know her reasons. All she knew was that he was going to New York, and she wanted to be there, too. She wanted to meet his wonderful family. She wanted to see his farm and understand the pull that place had on him.

  Maybe getting a taste of his country-boy dream would help her close the door on whatever this was developing between them, so she could move on to her city-girl future. Alone.

  But she couldn’t blurt all that out. So she merely said, “I’ve always wanted to see New York.” She gave him a hearty, just-friends smack on the sh
oulder. “We could ask Dex and Lucy or the lady who brought the pastries to look in on Sarge every day.”

  Grant shot off the sofa as if he’d been stung by a bee. “Not Dex and Lucy. I don’t know about this, Niki.”

  “We can sleep in separate rooms, Grant.” Wow. As if her ego hadn’t already taken a beating this month, Grant wasn’t even interested in a repeat performance of their no-strings hotel-room hijinks. She’d just made a total fool of herself.

  …

  Grant had no idea what to say, what to do. Niki’s behavior was so confusing. Until a minute ago, he’d have sworn that all she wanted from him was a free place to live. Sure, he knew she was attracted to him, but she’d made it pretty damn clear that she wasn’t interested in more than an occasional dance partner, a kiss when the mood struck her.

  Now she suddenly wanted to go meet his family?

  His first instinct was to take her up on her offer, but if he did, would he be able to hold back…whatever the hell it was he felt for her?

  Yet he had to admit that Niki had already gotten under his skin. Why else would watching her sit on the floor playing with Sarge make him feel as if he’d just drunk a glass of champagne? Hell, he had the same reaction every time she walked into a room. It took all the restraint he could muster to keep his hands off of her, and that was with only seeing her a few minutes a day. How the hell would he manage that, being with her around the clock for several days?

  If he took her home with him to meet his family, opened the door to that part of his past to her, he could be taking their relationship to a deeper level than either of them was prepared for.

  If he didn’t, he could lose…something. Exactly what, he didn’t know.

  Niki shook her head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. Forget I mentioned it.” She stood and backed away.

  Before he could stop himself, he grabbed her hand, pulling her back to sit beside him. “I want you to come.” He probably should have let her go at that point, but he didn’t. “Please come with me.”