Alan Barnes looks me up and down with a frown that's either mere curiosity or disapproval, and then he drops the sandpaper and sits down on a backless stool, resting the heels of his boots on the bottom rail that circles the legs of the stool.
I clear my throat again.
"What are you doing way the heck out here at this hour?"
It's only 7 AM. Most of the clan is still indoors in various states of sleeping, showering, or preparing breakfast.
"Heh," I attempt a good-natured laugh but my throat's too dry to pull it off convincingly, "yeah, I had to sneak out before Courtney woke up."
Mr. B's frown grows deeper, it's starting to look more like a scowl and that doesn't make me feel any better about interrupting him.
"Well, you found me, so I take it Jeanine must have sent you out here for something." He's definitely scowling now as he reaches for a coffee mug on the edge of his work space with the hand that was holding the sand paper a minute ago.
"Uh well, yeah." I hear myself stammering and I wish I could start over.
It's too late for that now though. I only have a few hours to get this done if I want the rest of my plan to work out.
Courtney's been kinda antsy lately and I'm sure it's got a lot to do with the fact that we both wanted to be married by the end of the year and here it's Thanksgiving already and she doesn't even have an engagement ring on her finger yet.
I suspected that was part of why she's been a little off lately and, after talking to Mrs. B this morning, I know how right I am about that.
Mr. B is starting to get up from his stool, muttering under his breath for a minute.
"Well, I guess I better get in and see what she needs then," he says as he picks up the sandpaper again and runs a few strokes along the curve of the rocking horse's neck.
"Actually, Mr. Barnes," I speak up, "Mrs. B doesn't need anything-- I do."
Now I have his attention. The scowl melts back into mere frown as he peers over the glasses at me again. Then he turns his attention back to sanding the rocking horse.
I don't know if I'm less nervous talking to him while he's busy doing something else, or if I'd rather he sat down again.
"They're gonna have breakfast ready soon, so if you have something you want to talk to me about in private, you'd better hurry up."
I think I detect a note of bemusement in his voice but if he's onto me, there's no other signs to give it away.
"Well, Mr. Barnes--"
"Alan."
"OK, Mr-- Alan--" I start over, hoping that the request to use his first name is a good sign," Well, sir, you know I met your daughter through a--"
Alan nods sagely without looking up from his sanding.
"Yeah, I know she hired some fancy match maker to find her a husband," he tells me.
He does not sound impressed.
"Yes sir, and I--"
"And you're the one Jeanine and the girls picked out."
With a cough, I try to turn the conversation back on target. "And Courtney was the woman that my own team thought was the right woman to be my wife," I tell him seriously.
Alan makes a face that looks like he's trying to avoid saying what's really on his mind and then he puts down his sandpaper again.
"Yeah, my wife explained how it works," he tells me.
Alan pulls the stool up close to the edge of his work table, the metal feet make a loud, screeching sound against the concrete floor of the work shop.
"So you're gonna marry my Courtney because a stranger said you two were a good match after you both paid her?" He sits back down, takes the glasses off, setting them down on the table next to him, and looks at me steadily.
I realize Courtney's father and I need to have a much more serious talk than I'd prepared myself for.
"Uh...Well, sir," I search for something to sit on myself and can't see anything within reach, "if Mrs. B-- uh, Jeanine-- explained it then you already know Mrs. Swann's process is a lot more complicated than that so I know I don't have to assure you that even though we paid a marriage broker to simplify the process, both Courtney and I are one hundred percent committed to the institution of marriage and we both share the same values and come from similar family backgrounds and Raven-- our marriage broker-- well, she's got a hell of a success rate with what she does and she believes Courtney and I have an excellent chance at a long term future together and--"
It's not until I pause to take a breath that it dawns on me that I'm rattling on in one long sentence that's starting to not even make sense. Which might be why Mr. B appears to be on the verge of a grin right before he drowns it with a gulp of coffee.
When he sets his mug back down, his face is as stoic as before and the glimmer of hope that I'd been clinging to dies.
"But what I wanted to talk about, sir--"
Mr. Barnes raises his hand and waves in my general direction like I'm annoying him. Which I probably am.
"Just slow down a minute, son," he tells me, "give me a chance to get a word in edgewise here."
He sits up straighter on his stool and leans toward me.
My mouth goes dry and right about now I'm starting to think there's a reason guys don't do this anymore.
"I had to listen to my wife go on about you and how perfect you were for our Courtney since the day that Raven character emailed her your information. And ever since your people got the same notion in their heads about Courtney being perfect for you too, it's been non-stop wedding talk what with Austin and Shannon engaged too."
Alan leans back again with a sigh and sips his cooling coffee.
"Now, it's pretty clear that Courtney is head over heels for you and I'm not going to deny that you've been a good fit for the family so far, but from what I understand, the whole point was that you two are supposed to be getting married and I can't help but notice that my little girl showed up for the holiday without a ring on her finger."
Alan Barnes reaches up and takes his glasses off, sets them on the work table next to his coffee cup and eyes me squarely-- and very seriously.
"Well sir," I'm impressed at how steady my voice stays between attempts to clear my throat, "that's actually what I wanted to talk to you about."
Courtney
When I finally made my way downstairs this morning to help Mom with the Thanksgiving dinner prep, she told me Blake had headed out to Dad's shop early this morning, armed with nothing but a piece of toast in his hand.
I didn't see him until Mom announced it was time to eat when he showed up being pulled by the hand by a beaming Kendra.
At least he survived Dad.
Before 9 AM, you're taking your life in your own hands if you bother Dad in his work-shop. Especially on holidays when the house is practically bursting at the seams from all the friends, family, and neighbors gathered.
The shop is Dad's sanctuary. The only place he can sneak off to get some downtime for himself. And Mom says he's been working on some super secret project out there for the last couple of weeks that he won't even tell her about.
So when Blake shows up in one piece, grinning from ear to ear, being towed around by his little groupie, I'm pretty relieved.
But when I asked him about what he was doing up at the crack of dawn, he just gave me a kiss and sneaked in a quick squeeze to my ass before shrugging off my questions. He didn't even mention Dad, so I don't know if he found out the hard way that Dad's not much for company out in the shop or if he got smart and found something else to keep him busy this morning.
"Hey Princess," Blake coos at Kendra as he picks her up from the chair next to his at the table, "how about you let your aunt Courtney sit next to me?"
He lifts her high in the air and all the other adults in the dining room cringe as Kendra's head nearly grazes the low ceiling, but Kendra just squeals with delight as Blake brings her down and puts her on the floor.
"Honey, why don't you come over and sit with us?" Shannon attempts to lure her daughter to the smaller kitchen table where she and Austin are
sitting vigil with Kelsey's high chair set up between them.
Kendra's pout at being displaced from her chosen seat next to Blake turns into a skeptical wrinkle of her nose, then a dramatic sigh as she stomps her way to the waiting chair on the other side of her mom.
I guess even the best looking guy in the room is no match for cola with dinner-- which is a pretty rare treat for Kendra that only comes with major holiday dinners.
"Wow," I joke with the best looking guy in the room, "I can't believe I actually get to sit next to my fiance."
As soon as the word tumbles out of my mouth in front of my entire family sitting around Mom and Dad's formal dining table I'm self conscious. I can't help but notice how many serving spoons pause in mid-mashed potatoes and macaroni salad and how many questioning eyes glance my way and then to Blake before quickly resuming their mission.
The silence is brief but I notice it.
Apparently Mom and I aren't the only ones who've noticed I showed up looking suspiciously un-engaged after there's been so much family gossip flying around for the last couple of months about my impending change in relationship status.
I sit down fast and pull my chair in, a little too fast and a little too far so now my ribs are touching the table and my boobs are practically in my plate-- which is saying something considering I'm not very gifted in that department.
My eyes flicker around the table as my relatives and the various strays we inevitably take in for the traditional holiday dinner busily pile their plates with more food than most of us normally eat in a week, conversation quickly ramping back up as cranberry sauce and gravy boats make their rounds before we quiet down and take time for the blessing.
It's not like Blake and I haven't talked about our plans to get married. It's not like I'm worried he's going to back out or that he's going to drag it out for a year before he asks.
In fact, he was in just as big a hurry as I was to get married. At least, that's what he told me when we met.
As I take the bowl of green beans from the cousin on my right, find a place for some of them amidst the mashed potatoes and turkey already on my over-full plate, then return Blake's smile as he takes the bowl from me, I worry briefly that something might have changed.
What if this full-immersion family holiday has been too much for him? What if he's having second thoughts or got cold feet after being thrown into the fray with a dozen cousins and their kids for 3 days?
The thought takes root and haunts me through dinner even while Blake talks and laughs easily with the clan through the meal with his hand on my knee whenever he has the chance.
After dinner, there are too many helping hands clearing the table for me to get a chance to start a conversation with him and then Mom and Aunt Bonnie are pulling pumpkin pies out of the fridge and ice cream out of the freezer while the smell of fresh brewed coffee starts to overshadow a day's worth of cooking aromas.
I'd been hoping for a chance to get Blake alone after things settled down, maybe take him for a walk around the neighborhood before it gets too cold out.
I think it might be time to just cut to the chase and ask him point blank if he plans on proposing to me properly or if he thinks we're just going to hop on a plane to Vegas without any planning-- or rings.
Of course, my plans to sneak him out the back door are completely destroyed when, amid the clink of dessert forks being set on the table beside plates as people start filtering back in for pie and cheesecake and ice cream and cookies and whatever other sweets have magically appeared from where ever my mother manages to hide things so no one gets into them early, I see Blake escorting none other than Norma Wilkerson through the kitchen with what appears to be yet another cake box in his hands.
Blake and Norma look like old friends, thick as thieves, both of them grinning from ear to ear, sharing a private conversation between them despite the noise levels in my folks' dining room.
Mom's cutting slices of pie and Shannon is dishing ice cream onto the plates that are disappearing off the table as fast as they get filled with sweets.
We're not much for sitting down at the table for dessert, so the clan crowds into the kitchen and around the dining room table, continuing what ever conversations they were engaged in before they found their way to pie and fresh coffee.
Norma manages to elbow her way between me and my uncle Frank.
"Happy turkey day, Courtney." She greets me with a smile as she reaches for an empty plate and a fork. "What are you thankful for this year?"
She waits patiently while Blake sets the cake box holding her contribution on the table and carefully unpackages it.
Her question hangs in the air unanswered. I'm thankful for a lot of things this year, of course, including the distraction that Blake provides so I don't have to answer a question that always feels more like a dare than an inspiration.
Still, my brain silently begins running down the list, keeping me mentally occupied just long enough to miss the fact that the noise level around me has died down considerably until I hear Blake's voice.
"Hey, can I have every body's attention for just a second?"
Blake has a plate in his hand and it's now that I notice Norma's cake box is filled with ornately decorated cupcakes.
"I just wanted to take a moment while everyone's all in the same place to tell you all how much I've enjoyed meeting the entire Barnes clan," Blake tells the unusually quiet crowd. "I know Mrs. B did her duty of spreading the gossip about me and her daughter--" all eyes turn to me and Blake winks at me, "--and I know I got plenty of side-eye and even some pretty blunt opinions--" this time he looks at my brother, "--about that."
Some muttering briefly erupts through his audience as Blake takes a minute to clear his throat.
"Court," Blake addresses me directly, the whole room goes silent, and I feel my throat go dry, "I know this is really cutting our plans close but I wanted to make sure I did it right."
I can't help but notice my dad has moved in close behind Mom. I see him slip his arm around her waist and rest his chin on her shoulder.
"That meant waiting till I finally had a chance to talk to Mr. B in person," Blake's voice has taken on a nervous vibration and he's not talking to anyone in particular anymore so much as to the cupcake on the plate in his hand.
"Sweetheart, I gotta admit, your dad is a scary sonofabitch when he wants to be." Blake looks up at me with a crooked smile that immediately turns apologetic when he realizes the kids are standing just as enthralled by his speech as the adults.
My family doesn't flinch at the moderate profanity though. Ordinarily, I think the moms in the group would give him shit for it, but right now everyone's far more interested in what he's saying.
"But," Blake clears his throat again, "I'm happy to say that Alan was willing to hear me out and--"
Blake hands me the cupcake on the plate. It's topped with a mountain of piped on frosting that's been airbrushed in fall colors and several carefully crafted fall leaves that look like they must be made of hard candy, giving them a stained glass appearance.
Nestled between a red maple leaf and a yellow one is something much shinier that isn't made of candy at all. But before I can say anything, Blake keeps talking.
"--I was finally able to ask for his blessing to marry his daughter."
Blake
I had no idea proposing was going to be so nerve wracking.
After all, Courtney and I had talked about getting married since we met. Hell! We both paid a professional match maker to find each other just so we could get hitched.
Still, when I was standing at the dining room table, watching Courtney's entire family watch her look at the ring sitting on top of her cupcake and waiting for her answer-- shit-- I was still holding my breath, suddenly terrified she was going to laugh at me.
I wanted to get down on one knee and hand her the ring box. Be real traditional about it. But when I pulled the box out and took a good look at it, I realized it had been riding around in my pock
et for so long, the velvet was worn off the box in lots of places, not just the corner that I always rub with my thumb.
The little box looked like I'd found it in a dollar store bargain bin.
There was no way I could present that to Courtney.
When Mrs. B mentioned that Norma was coming for dessert and bringing the cupcakes, that's when I got the idea to put the ring on one of them.
Of course, as soon as I handed it to Court, I felt like an idiot. What if she didn't notice it? What if she bit into it? What if she broke a tooth on that rock?
What a lame proposal story we'd be telling our kids for years to come, all about how we spent Thanksgiving night at the ER because their mom choked on her engagement ring because I was stupid enough to think it'd be cute to stick it on a fucking cupcake.
Thank God that's not what happened. Thank God, Courtney's eyes zeroed in on the flash of light off the center diamond pretty much before I could even get the words out of my mouth.
Thank God she said "yes" right away and the whole Barnes clan broke out in cheers.
Thank God Courtney's face lit up like a million watt spot light as I reached over and plucked the ring out of the icing, thinking what a damn dumb idea it was to do it that way while I reached for a napkin to wipe off the greasy butter cream icing.
Thank God Courtney didn't think it was a dumb idea at all.
She just laughed and grabbed my wrist, pulling my hand to her mouth and licking the icing off the gold band before holding out her finger so I could slip the ring on and make us official.
Thank God Courtney Barnes is so excited about marrying me that not only did she not give a fuck about putting on a ring covered in icing, and instantly forgave me for waiting so long to pop the question as soon as she found out I'd been waiting to talk to her dad, but she dragged me out of the house before everyone was even done oohing and ahing over the ring and congratulating us on the engagement.
A New Resolution: A Modern Match-Maker Romance Page 10