smaller one. After they died, my family could only justify keeping the land if someone wanted to live there.”
“So if not for you, your family would have made a killing with that property? Just asking.”
She stared at him, exasperated. “I’m glad you aren’t a real-estate agent. I can see you, calling me every morning at 8:00 a.m. sharp. Miss Morgan, have you changed your mind yet about selling?’ Miss Morgan, I have it on good authority that your property taxes are about to skyrocket’.”
“I’m only trying to get to know you,” Alec said. “Don’t forget that I’m supposed to be your fiancé. I have to at least pretend I understand you.”
So Alec thought he should try to understand her? He didn’t know that not understanding her was what had made her so appealing to the guys who’d immediately started thinking about marriage at the first sight of her. They’d never looked beyond her girl you could take home to mama persona. But Claire knew that mama and her boy would probably faint if they ever caught a glimpse of the real inner her.
Sarcastic, a bit goofy, with thoughts that ran a hundred miles an hour. Scott was the only man with whom she’d shared that side of herself. When he’d rejected her, he’d rejected the real her. That was what made it so hard to accept.
Alec seemed oblivious to her growing moroser by the minute mood. “Listen, Claire. We’ve got less than an hour to synchronize our answers on this wedding thing. So start asking me some questions.”
“Okay,” she said. “When are we getting married?”
“December.”
“No,” she said automatically. “My parents married in December, and they spend their anniversary at the mall cafeteria while they Christmas shop. Let’s say October. I can plan a wedding in five months. Is it small or large?”
“It’s at your parents’ house, and it’s small.”
“My parents retired to Florida last year,” Claire said. “It’s at your parents’ house.”
“My sister and her family live with my parents,” he said. “It’s so cramped, we couldn’t even squeeze in a bridesmaid. So let’s say it’s going to be at one of those historic old homes around Ridgeville. We haven’t decided which one yet, but we’re leaning toward the Ramsey-Ivy house.”
“That’ll work,” Claire said, admiring his taste. The Ramsey-Ivy house was one of her favorite local homes. She wondered if Alec really liked it, or if it was the first thing that popped into his head. “We’re going to live in my house, right?”
“No,” Alec said. “We’re going to sell your house, take our share of the money and buy a condo.”
“You have no soul,” Claire told him. She tried to think of other questions people asked prospective couples. Dwelling on her own disastrous last engagement wasn’t a good idea, so she tried to remember what she had asked women who told her they were engaged. “The ring,” she said. “Where’s my ring?”
“What ring?”
“The ring a man gives a woman when he asks her to marry him.” She held up her left hand. “I don’t have one.”
“Not everyone has an engagement ring,” Alec said. “Poor young couples like us can decide to get married, then scrimp and save for the ring.”
Claire shook her head, surprised by how strongly she felt about this issue. She grabbed the tail of Alec’s untuckedknit shirt. “You spent at least seventy dollars on this shirt. You can afford to get me a ring.”
“This was a seasonal markdown item last year, so it was just thirty-five dollars.” He turned and stared at her. “Listen to yourself, Claire. You aren’t serious, are you?”
“Yes, I am,” she said, letting go of the shirt. “I’m not stepping out of the car at Miranda’s unless I have a ring.”
“Look,” Alec said. “Be reasonable. We probably should have thought about this ring thing, but there’s no way we’re going to get one at this late stage.”
“I’m sorry,” she said stubbornly.
“So if not for you, your family would have made a killing with that property? Just asking.”
She stared at him, exasperated. “I’m glad you aren’t a real-estate agent. I can see you, calling me every morning at 8:00 a.m. sharp. Miss Morgan, have you changed your mind yet about selling?’ Miss Morgan, I have it on good authority that your property taxes are about to skyrocket’.”
“I’m only trying to get to know you,” Alec said. “Don’t forget that I’m supposed to be your fiancé. I have to at least pretend I understand you.”
So Alec thought he should try to understand her? He didn’t know that not understanding her was what had made her so appealing to the guys who’d immediately started thinking about marriage at the first sight of her. They’d never looked beyond her girl you could take home to mama persona. But Claire knew that mama and her boy would probably faint if they ever caught a glimpse of the real inner her.
Sarcastic, a bit goofy, with thoughts that ran a hundred miles an hour. Scott was the only man with whom she’d shared that side of herself. When he’d rejected her, he’d rejected the real her. That was what made it so hard to accept.
Alec seemed oblivious to her growing moroser by the minute mood. “Listen, Claire. We’ve got less than an hour to synchronize our answers on this wedding thing. So start asking me some questions.”
“Okay,” she said. “When are we getting married?”
“December.”
“No,” she said automatically. “My parents married in December, and they spend their anniversary at the mall cafeteria while they Christmas shop. Let’s say October. I can plan a wedding in five months. Is it small or large?”
“It’s at your parents’ house, and it’s small.”
“My parents retired to Florida last year,” Claire said. “It’s at your parents’ house.”
“My sister and her family live with my parents,” he said. “It’s so cramped, we couldn’t even squeeze in a bridesmaid. So let’s say it’s going to be at one of those historic old homes around Ridgeville. We haven’t decided which one yet, but we’re leaning toward the Ramsey-Ivy house.”
“That’ll work,” Claire said, admiring his taste. The Ramsey-Ivy house was one of her favorite local homes. She wondered if Alec really liked it, or if it was the first thing that popped into his head. “We’re going to live in my house, right?”
“No,” Alec said. “We’re going to sell your house, take our share of the money and buy a condo.”
“You have no soul,” Claire told him. She tried to think of other questions people asked prospective couples. Dwelling on her own disastrous last engagement wasn’t a good idea, so she tried to remember what she had asked women who told her they were engaged. “The ring,” she said. “Where’s my ring?”
“What ring?”
“The ring a man gives a woman when he asks her to marry him.” She held up her left hand. “I don’t have one.”
“Not everyone has an engagement ring,” Alec said. “Poor young couples like us can decide to get married, then scrimp and save for the ring.”
Claire shook her head, surprised by how strongly she felt about this issue. She grabbed the tail of Alec’s untuckedknit shirt. “You spent at least seventy dollars on this shirt. You can afford to get me a ring.”
“This was a seasonal markdown item last year, so it was just thirty-five dollars.” He turned and stared at her. “Listen to yourself, Claire. You aren’t serious, are you?”
“Yes, I am,” she said, letting go of the shirt. “I’m not stepping out of the car at Miranda’s unless I have a ring.”
“Look,” Alec said. “Be reasonable. We probably should have thought about this ring thing, but there’s no way we’re going to get one at this late stage.”
“I’m sorry,” she said stubbornly.
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