by Lyle, Linda;
“Would you care to sit down?” he asked.
She took a seat at the couch, bewildered by his sudden formality. Something was definitely up. He joined her on the couch and motioned toward a tray of spinach dip and vegetables. She took a bite.
“This is my favorite dip,” she exclaimed. “How did you know?”
“I didn’t know it was your favorite. Small world.” He smiled a little too brightly. She noticed his hair was dry and lying in waves over his head. She buried the urge to run her fingers through it and took another bite to cover her nervousness.
“I thought you promised me a tour of the house.”
“After dinner. I don’t want the food to get cold. Let’s go to the dining room.” He motioned for her to go first. When she headed for the kitchen, he led her gently in the other direction. “I thought we would eat in the dining room for a change.”
“I didn’t think you had a table.”
“I do now.” That was an understatement. A beautiful rosewood table was surrounded by matching chairs covered in a cream brocade. The hardwood floor was covered with a beautiful area rug. The set was completed by a matching buffet and hutch.
“It’s beautiful,” Rachel gasped.
“I’m glad you like it.” He seemed very pleased by her compliment.
“The table setting is beautiful too.”
The table was set with matching cream linens and the centerpiece was a vase of cream-colored roses mixed with deeper wine roses. There were lit candles on both ends of the table, but the places were set at the head of the table. Randy held one of the chairs for her.
“I’ll be right back.” He went into the kitchen, making sure he closed the swinging door behind him. A few moments later he returned with the salad.
“Let’s pray.” He blessed the food and they made it through the first course and the main course without a hitch. Randy kept up the small talk about finals and his renovations, but Rachel could tell that there was something he wasn’t saying.
“I’ll get dessert.” He stood and placed the folded napkin next to his plate.
“Let me help you.” Rachel pushed her chair back to stand up.
“No!” he shouted. Then he lowered his voice. “I mean, I can take care of it. You’re my guest.” He gave a little bow and a sheepish smile and backed into the kitchen. A loud crash and the sound of breaking glass sent Rachel scurrying into the kitchen.
“Are you all right?” She pushed open the door to find Randy surrounded by takeout boxes from their favorite Italian restaurant and a tempting chocolate mousse lying at his feet.
“I’m fine, just a case of butterfingers. Just go back and sit down and I’ll take care of everything.” He waved her toward the dining room, but she ignored him.
“I will not. You stay right where you are. You’ll only make it worse. Where are your cleaning supplies?”
“In the closet under the stairs.” He looked like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. She tried to hide the smile that jerked at the corners of her mouth.
“I’ll be right back. Don’t move,” she warned, pointing her finger at him until he nodded in agreement. She found everything she needed and entered the kitchen from the hall.
“Here, let me.” He held out his hand for the dustpan and broom, but she moved them out of his reach.
“No. I’ve got to get the mousse up before it starts to melt.” With a practiced twist she used what was left of the platter to scoop the soggy mess into the trash can. Then she carefully brushed the glass from his shoes and wiped up the remains of the mousse before trying to sweep up the broken shards.
“I can take it from here. Thanks.” She handed him the broom, but kept the dustpan.
“I’ll hold while you sweep.” She looked up at him with a smile. His face was flushed and he merely nodded. She emptied the rest of the glass into the trash can and stood up. “You’ll probably need to sweep again very carefully and then mop so that the mousse doesn’t make the floor sticky.”
“I’ll take care of that later. Why don’t you go sit in the parlor and I’ll bring the coffee.”
“Why don’t I help you clean the table and the kitchen?” Rachel offered.
“No. I’ll take care of it later.”
“It won’t take long.” She walked into the dining room as she talked. “I can clear the table and you can start in the kitchen.”
He grabbed her arm. “No. I don’t want you to help clean. You’re a guest. Please have a seat in the parlor and I’ll bring the coffee.” His face was still flushed, but she could tell he was getting agitated.
“Okay.” She shook her head. “I’ll meet you in the parlor.”
He watched her walk out of the room, making sure she was really gone. As she took her place on the sofa, she wondered what was wrong with him tonight. Maybe he had decided that he needed to explain about the kiss, let her know he had a girlfriend. Her face warmed at the very thought. The last thing she needed was a “talk,” the old “let’s just be friends” routine. She thought about leaving right now while he was still in the kitchen, but she knew that would be rude.
Randy returned with the silver service a few moments later and set it up on the coffee table. “Cream or sugar?”
“Both. I like a little coffee with my cream and sugar,” she quipped. He smiled and seemed to relax. “You know, this is the first time I’ve ever seen anyone use a coffee table for serving coffee.” He laughed.
“Me too, come to think about it.” He handed her a dainty cup and saucer. When he picked up his own, she was surprised at how easily he held the cup in his hands and yet he still looked so masculine. His large hands were well-worn from work, but they were gentle with the fragile china. She wondered what it would feel like in his arms, to have those hands holding hers. She shook the image away.
“Are you cold?” he asked, immediately concerned. “I can turn up the heat.”
“No. No, I’m fine. Just a shiver.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive,” she assured him. The last thing she needed was more heat right now. She could feel her face beginning to burn. She sipped her coffee, unsure what to say. He did the same. When she had finally swallowed the last drop, she put the cup down on the table.
“Would you like another cup?” he offered, reaching for the coffee.
“No. One cup is all I need this late.”
“Oh, of course. I should have made decaf.” He looked disappointed.
“I believe you were going to give me a tour of the rest of the house,” she said, relieved to have something to do besides sit and stare at her coffee cup. This was so unlike Randy.
“Yes, I was. Let me show you the rest of the downstairs.” He gave her a guided tour of the other rooms, noting what he had done. They were all as beautiful as the parlor. The den was void of furniture except a television and a recliner.
“What are you going to do in here?” Rachel asked.
“I’m going to buy some lived-in furniture for this room. I consider this to be the place where the real living is done. A place for a family to gather and watch television or play games or just talk. What do you think?” He looked at her as though he were judging her answers very carefully.
“I think that’s a great idea. You wouldn’t want children climbing on those antiques in the parlor.”
“Exactly. This is a room for kids to play in or adults to put their feet up on.” He smiled in a way that made him seem very satisfied. She passed the test whatever it was. She tried not to imagine Kathryn and Randy curled up on a sofa in front of the couch. “Now, let me show you upstairs.”
He took her through all the rooms, most of them still devoid of furniture, except the one where he slept. It only had a bed frame and a dresser. He stopped in front of the master bedroom for a moment and then turned around.
“I saved this room for last because I took your advice about the colors and I wanted your opinion on the finished project.”
H
e opened the door and she gasped in surprise. The room was exactly as she had described it. He had even put up the window treatments she had suggested and a new comforter and sheet set were sitting on the ladder-back chair. The chair was the only piece of furniture in the room.
“Where’s the bed?” she asked.
“Well, I think a bedroom suite is something a man and wife should pick out together. Don’t you?” She could feel his eyes on her back, waiting for a reaction.
“Of course.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. He was asking for more advice. He probably still felt insecure in his relationship with Kathryn. “I’m sure Kathryn will love shopping for this room.”
“Why would I want Kathryn to pick out the furniture?” he asked. She turned around to look at Randy. He looked truly puzzled.
“When you get married, of course. She’ll want to pick out the furniture.”
“My wife would pick out the furniture, not Kathryn.” Randy ran a hand through his hair, obviously frustrated. Then he looked up at her, and he snapped his fingers. “You think I’m marrying Kathryn.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Well, aren’t you?” Rachel asked.
“No. Kathryn’s my sister.” Randy’s smile went from ear to ear.
“Then, if you aren’t marrying Kathryn, who’s picking out the furniture?”
“You are, you silly woman,” Randy said, the grin getting wider by the minute. “Why do you think I brought you over here tonight? Why do you think I had this room decorated to your exact description?”
“I don’t know,” Rachel said, dizzied by what he was saying.
“I did it because I love you, Rachel Grant, and I want you to help me fill this house with love, and furniture, and children.” He crossed the room and grasped her shoulders firmly in both hands. “Will you marry me?”
Rachel stared into his eyes and began to shake. He pulled her closer into his arms to hold her steady.
“Rachel?” he questioned. She stared at him in shock until he shook her firmly. “Rachel, are you all right? Speak to me.” She took a deep shaky breath.
“Yes.”
“Yes, you’re all right, or yes, you’ll marry me?”
“Yes to both questions.” He hesitated about a second before he took her in his arms and kissed her. It felt like home.