by Lori Wilde
“Um . . . a few days.”
“How did he propose?”
“With a ring.”
Shelley tapped her chin with a sand-dusted finger. “Where’s the ring?”
“Oh, that.” Gia waved her left hand as if she’d forgotten her ring wasn’t there. “It’s being sized.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Madison said. “How did he propose? Did he get down on one knee? Where did it happen? Were you completely surprised? Deets. I need deets.”
Damn Madison’s dogged persistence and her attention to details.
Gia barely shook her head. She let her gaze settle on the pattern of three intersecting rings in the quilt. Just as those rings sewn into the squares composed within them the promise of comfortable union, so, too, her lie, if elaborated upon, composed . . .
What?
The mending of their family?
Or the end of it?
Her sisters stared at her expectantly.
“Um . . . right here on the beach. At sunset. He got on one knee. I was surprised, but not entirely shocked.”
Madison eyed her as if she did not believe Gia’s story. “When were you going to tell us?”
“Now. So, you can see why finishing the quilt means so very much to me . . .” She inhaled audibly, then pushed the lie further. “And Grammy. It’s more than just her dying request. Finishing the wedding quilt also means the world to me. I’ll bring the last quilt Grammy ever sewed into my marriage.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” Madison scratched her shin where the leg of her pants had risen, leaving faint pink scratch marks from her long, manicured nails.
Gia raised her shoulders and dropped them hard and quick. “I guess I was waiting for the right moment. There’s been so much going on with Gram getting sick.”
Shelley glanced at the grill and the tide creeping toward them. “And this is it?”
“So . . . Mike Straus, huh?” Madison swiveled to stare at Mike’s bungalow.
“I buried the headline, didn’t I?” Gia chuckled, but the sound came out as shaky as she felt. “I’m sorry.”
“This is wonderful news!” Shelley applauded.
“The best news,” Madison enthused. At least they agreed on something. “We all love Mike so much.”
“I always thought you guys would make a cute couple.” Shelley sighed dreamily. “I’m thrilled for you.”
“How did you two get together?” Madison asked. “Was it before Grammy got sick? Does Grammy know? When is the wedding? Where are you having the ceremony? Who’s officiating?”
Gia felt like a mouse in a trap. She had no answers for Madison’s questions.
“Stop giving her the third degree.” Shelley stood up. “And you, Gia, stop apologizing. Everything is not your fault.”
“Who died and made you the boss?” Madison snapped.
Shelley stilled, curled her hands into fists at her sides. For one dangerous moment Gia feared her sisters would go at each other again.
There was something about Shelley, dressed in ethereal white, spindly legs dug into the sand, bony elbows and knees, scraggly untamed hair whipping wild in the breeze, that scared Gia. Shelley looked both hungry and empty like the vacant lighthouse on the far end of Moonglow Cove. And more unpredictable than ever.
“Who’s hungry?” Gia asked. “I’m starving. Takeout from Mario’s? Or something else. You guys choose. I’m buying.”
Shelley and Madison exchanged glances as if deciding on whether to call a truce for the sake of Mario’s famous lasagna and to celebrate Gia’s engagement. If only it wasn’t fake.
Gia’s mind went back five years to The Incident with Raoul, when she’d helplessly watched her family unspool, drifting further and further away from her like kites snapping loose from their tethers, and wondering how long it would take before they disappeared from her forever.
They ordered from Mario’s and, as the sun set, lounged on the back porch eating from the containers, feeding Pyewacket tidbits of garlic bread, the cat’s small pink tongue rough against their fingers. They didn’t talk, and Gia was afraid to ask if they could work together to finish the quilt. Some things took time to simmer, like Mario’s Bolognese gravy.
Shelley finished her food, got up, and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Gia asked.
“Upstairs to find something to wear.” Her gaze met Gia’s. “If my old clothes are still here.”
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask you . . . what’s with that getup?” Madison asked.
Shelley didn’t answer.
“Your old clothes are right where you left them.” Gia rushed to fill in the gap. “In the dresser.”
“Will we sleep in the same room?” Shelley asked. “Like before?”
“God no. Since there’re no guests, I’ll take the blue room,” Madison said, claiming the best room at the inn.
Shelley’s gaze shifted to Gia, and she raised her eyebrows, sending her a look that asked, Are we going to let her have her way?
“You can have our old room, Shell,” Gia said. “I’ll sleep in Grammy’s bed.”
Shelley simply nodded, picked her backpack up off the floor, shouldered it, and sauntered inside. The screen door bumped closed behind her.
“Whatever that’s about . . .” Madison muttered from the porch swing, “is one strange mystery.”
* * *
SLEEP ELUDED HER.
In the long hours stretching toward dawn, Gia fretted.
She fretted about Grammy. She fretted about Madison and Shelley. And she fretted about herself.
About the lie.
What else could she have done? What other choice did she have? The potential consequences of her lie were so weighty Gia felt smothered, carrying a burden far too heavy for her small shoulders.
Obviously, she would have to tell Mike, but he was a straight arrow, honest as the livelong day. He was the guy who gave back change when he’d gotten too much. The guy who’d return someone’s lost wallet. The guy who’d tell you the truth even though it hurt. Something like this . . . it could end their friendship.
That terrified her.
Mike was a staple in their lives. The constant, enduring neighbor they could always count on. She would have to clue him in and quick, before one of her sisters ran over to congratulate him on the engagement.
And if he gets upset?
Well, she’d worry about that bridge when it needed crossing. She drifted off but woke with a jolt just before sunrise, one thought on her mind. Get to Mike and get him on board so she could finish the quilt with her sisters and mend her family.
Gia crept from the bed, got dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, slipped out the front door, and scurried in the dewy grass toward the bungalow. She worried about waking Mike, but she needed to get ahead of this. Plus, she wanted it finished in time for the eight A.M. ICU visiting hours.
Gingerly, she stepped over the small stone wall separating the inn from Mike’s house. His four-door pickup truck was parked out front.
At the door, she paused with her fist held aloft, ready to knock.
Hesitated.
What if he got mad at her? Mike had never gotten angry with her and the thought sent a shiver down her spine. Uncertain, she turned to leave. Maybe it was for the best that she come clean to her sisters.
Flying pigs. Without even starting work on the quilt? What about Grammy’s letter?
Okay, okay, okay. She could do this. Gia smoothed down the hem of her shirt that had hiked up on her belly when she’d raised her hand to knock.
The door opened.
“Hey, Short Stack, why are you hanging around my porch?”
“I . . . I . . .”
Mike grinned as if overjoyed to see her and he motioned her inside. “Come on in.”
Heart thumping quick, Gia followed him.
He wore faded blue jeans and a red T-shirt that said MOONGLOW DRAGONS, the name of their high school football team he’d once quarterb
acked. He was barefoot, and his damp hair was combed back off his forehead as if he’d just gotten out of the shower. With his dark complexion, dark hair, and surprisingly out-of-context Scandinavian blue eyes, he looked like a movie star who’d taken on the role of a carpenter, liked it so much that he’d thrown over acting for his hobby. Harrison Ford in reverse. He smelled of sandalwood soap and basil-scented shampoo. Gia just wanted to take a big deep breath and sniff him.
“Are you hungry? I was about to cook eggs.”
“Sure.” She shrugged.
He seemed to want to feed her and since her breakfast was usually a protein bar, or an apple, why not? Although she wasn’t sure she could eat after she told him the shenanigans she’d involved him in.
“Scrambled?”
“That’s fine.”
“I could make an omelet.”
“Don’t go to any trouble for me.”
“Why not? You’re always doing things for other people. I still remember when you made me chicken soup because I had the flu.”
“You were all by yourself,” she said. “Your parents had just moved, and your sister and her family were out of town. You were so miserable. I felt sorry for you.”
“Ahh, pity soup.” He winked. “Nothing tastes quite like it.”
That wink unraveled her in a bizarre way. Why? “I owed you. You looked out for me plenty of times. Remember that guy who got handsy with me at that Labor Day beach party a few years ago? You knocked him flat on his ass.”
“No one messes with one of the Moonglow sisters when I’m around.” He went to the fridge. “Just made a pot of coffee,” he called over his shoulder. “Help yourself.”
She poured a cup of coffee and perched on a barstool, watching as he assembled the ingredients for an omelet on the kitchen counter.
“How’s your grandmother?” Adeptly, he cracked the eggs and whisked them in a bowl.
“I don’t know. They sent us home last night and told us to come back this morning at visiting hours.”
“I’m sorry for what you’re going through.” His eyes met hers, latching on to her gaze for a beat too long, then he shifted his attention back to his work, and melted a pat of butter in an omelet pan.
Heat simmered in her belly, but she had no rational excuse for it. “Thanks.”
“What was happening with you three on the beach yesterday?”
Gia took a long sip of coffee and avoided meeting his eyes again. “You saw that spectacle?”
“I was varnishing a table on the back porch.”
Gia ducked her head. This was it. Her opening.
“Wanna tell me why Maddie was pouring lighter fluid on a quilt and trying to barbecue it?”
She explained.
Mike winced. “Ouch, that puts you in a tough spot.”
“Exactly.”
“Knowing you, Short Stack, you tried to make peace.”
“Guilty as charged.” She raised her hand halfway.
“Did you convince them?”
“Um, yes, but—”
“I had no doubt.” He chuckled. “Trust you to negotiate a truce. You might have missed your calling. You should have been a diplomat.”
“Don’t do that,” she whispered.
“Do what?” He cocked his head and watched her as he flipped the omelet.
“Don’t praise me. I’m not a diplomat. I’m just a liar.”
“What did you lie about?” His tone changed from amused to curious.
Guiltily, Gia set down her coffee. She looked for judgment in his face but saw none. She shivered and covered her eyes with her hand. “Ugh. I still feel slimy over it.”
“Lying isn’t optimal . . .” He paused, understanding in his voice. “But does the end justify the means?”
“I don’t know.” She peeked at him from behind her palm and studied his face.
“What did you lie about?”
Here it was. The reason she’d come over. “Um . . . well . . .” she hedged. “I told them the quilt was for my wedding.”
He looked shocked. “You’re getting married?”
“No, that’s the lie.” Gia covered her head with her arms. “I’m a horrible person, aren’t I?”
“No,” he murmured. “Not horrible. You just want everyone to get along and to honor your grandmother’s wishes. But I am concerned.”
Her stomach took a nosedive. “What about?”
“I know you. The lie will eat you up inside. Is finishing the quilt worth your peace of mind?”
“It’s not about the quilt. The quilt’s just a symbol. If we can finish the quilt, then maybe, just maybe, we can mend our family.”
“They’ll forgive you.” He gave her a look so tender that it stole her breath away and made her wonder when things had changed between them. “No one can stay mad at you for long.”
Wow. Her heart skipped. Was she reading more into his expression than was actually there? “Yes, but will you?”
“Me?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Why do you need my forgiveness?”
“Because I kinda told them you were my fiancé.”
Mike’s eyes widened, his smile vanished, and his voice raised. “You did what?”
“I told Shelley and Maddie you were my fiancé.”
“Huh.” He looked shocked and paused as if mulling it over.
“I was desperate.”
“Gia, I don’t know what to say.” He shook his head vigorously, mouth pressed into a grim line.
“I shouldn’t have done it. I freaked out. It was stupid.” Oh gosh, she’d upset him. Gia raised her shoulders to her ears, cringed.
“Not stupid. Not you. Not even.” His voice gentled. “In fact, it seems natural.”
“What do you mean?” she whispered, feeling all tingly.
“I’m right next door. We’ve been friends for as long as either of us can remember. Why not?” His smile was back, and he looked as if he might be warming to the idea of being her pretend fiancé. He was such an amenable guy.
Her heart swelled against her chest and she felt an odd pressure in her throat. “I’m sorry. Do you hate me?”
“I could never hate you, Short Stack.”
“But I lied and roped you into this crazy drama.”
“For a good cause.” He raked his gaze over her. His eyes were kind, and his smile understanding. “The best cause, actually. Family.”
“Still . . .” She scrunched her nose and bit her lip. “It’s not right.”
“Just out of curiosity . . .” He lowered his voice, and his gaze never left her face. “Why did you pick me?”
“You said you’d do anything for me. Anything at all . . .”
“I meant like mow the yard, or cook dinner, or drive you to the hospital or sit with your grandmother . . .”
“I know. I know. I’m so sorry. It’s way too much to ask for you to be my pretend fiancé. It’s like something out of a goofy romantic comedy. I’m such an idiot.” She dropped her forehead to the bar.
“Hey, I like goofy romantic comedies.”
“I didn’t mean to rope you in. I was desperate to stop Madison and Shelley from fighting and it just popped out.” She banged her head on the counter. “Never mind. I’ll tell the truth. Maybe just knowing I was willing to lie to make this happen will convince them to stay and finish the quilt.”
“Gia?”
“Yes?” she mumbled.
“Look at me.”
She raised her head. The glimmer in his eyes kicked the air from her lungs. “What is it?”
He cupped her chin in his palm and tilted her head to meet his beautiful blue-eyed gaze. “Will you marry me?”
“Wh-what?” Stunned, she gaped at him, her skin tingling from his touch.
“Say yes. Then it’s not a lie. We’ll be officially engaged.”
She shook her head. “Nooo . . . Mike, you don’t have to do this.”
“I know.”
A dozen different emotions pelted her, most of them conflictin
g. “I—”
“Say yes and it’s not a lie,” he repeated.
This was too much to ask. He was so nice for trying to make her feel better.
“Say ‘Yes, Mike.’” He locked his gaze onto hers. “‘I’ll marry you.’”
Why was her pulse going nuts? Spiking hard and fast against her veins. “Yes, Mike,” she parroted. “I’ll marry you.”
“Good. I’m glad we got that out of the way.”
“Me too,” she said, feeling marginally better and yet slightly faint. “But this is a lot to ask.”
“We only have to be engaged until you guys finish the quilt, right?”
She nodded.
“So only a few weeks?”
“We could finish the quilt much faster if Shelley and Madison can get over themselves and work together instead of yanking in opposite directions.”
“I’m sure you’ll whip them into shape.”
“I wish I was as confident in me as you are.”
“What’s next?” he asked, plating the omelet and setting it in front of her. She wasn’t so sure she could eat.
“We’ll need an engagement ring. My sisters were already asking about one. I fibbed and said it was being sized. Maybe I could find a cheap zirconia we could use.” She picked up her fork.
“I have a ring,” he said casually.
She put down her fork. “You have an engagement ring?”
“Yeah. It’s not a big honker or anything. But it’ll make me look better than a zirconia.” He laughed.
“You bought someone an engagement ring?”
He shrugged, looked sheepish.
“Seriously? I didn’t know you’d ever been engaged.” Gia took a bite of the omelet. It was delicious, loaded with cheese, onions, and mushrooms, but she was too tense to enjoy it.
“I wasn’t,” he said. “Until now. Until you. I never got around to asking her.”
“But you were close enough to marriage to buy a ring for a woman?”
“I was serious.”
“And you never returned the ring?”
He shook his head, plated his own omelet, poured a cup of coffee, and came to sit beside her at the bar.
“Why not?”
His shrug was easy. “I dunno.”
Mike was their neighbor and a close family friend. How had she not known he was on the verge of becoming engaged? This bugged her. She thought she knew him.