Her Perfect Proposal

by Lynne Marshall

  “I’ll talk to him tomorrow, then.”

  Another secret meeting? She’d have to stake herself out in the bushes again.

  As they ate, she watched Gunnar relax and his face brighten. Food could do that, bring back good memories.

  “Good as Momma used to make?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Almost.” He smiled. “I always think about picnics and camping trips from when I was really young, when I ate cold potato pancakes.” He gazed at her. “They travel well.”

  “Did you do a lot of camping when you were a kid?”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  Not her. In fact, she couldn’t remember a single family vacation until she graduated from high school and her parents decided it was time to take a trip to Europe. “Actually, I went to camp a lot, but never went camping.”

  He screwed up his face, not figuring out what she’d meant, like it was some sort of riddle.

  She nibbled on some beef. “My parents always sent me away to these themed camps in the summer. They’d ship me off to Maine or Montana or Washington. All over the country. Every summer.”

  “Did you like it?”

  The memories were sad and lonely, but she knew how to put a carefree spin on things so as not to make Gunnar feel sorry for her. “I learned a lot.”

  “Did you make friends?”

  The question almost threw her out of breezy mode, but she didn’t miss a beat. “A few. Mostly other nerds and castaways like me.”

  His head popped up. “You? A nerd? Never.”

  She laughed. “The thing is, when I figured out my gift was writing and I’d proved it by getting my first C ever in science, and was only mediocre in advanced math, well, let’s just say it didn’t go over well with good old Dad.”

  She didn’t want to lay a sob story on him, but she certainly had his interest so she forged ahead. “That year Dad found a science camp on Catalina Island off the coast of California. Though I did enjoy the outdoor activities, hiking and kayaking and snorkeling, it didn’t set a fire in my heart for science. We suffered through a few more rocky semesters in school before I admitted I wanted to major in journalism.”

  “And Daddy didn’t like that.”

  She shook her head, suddenly losing her appetite even though the aroma of the apple cake was out of this world. She picked at her share, claiming to be too full to eat more. One lonely memory forced its way out of the recesses of her mind, where she’d packed it away in her busy life. She’d entered a statewide writing contest and had taken first place. The day of the awards ceremony neither of her parents could be there, both claiming they had important appointments with clients that couldn’t be rescheduled. What had started out as a moment of great pride had turned into one of the loneliest mornings of her life, and in the Matsuda household, there were many to choose from.

  As if reading her mind about something much deeper going on than she’d let on, Gunnar reached across the table and wrapped his big warm hand around hers. The look in his eyes was both tender and understanding, and for an instant she wanted to give him another mind-boggling kiss. Instead she gave a weak smile, hoping her eyes weren’t welling up.

  The waitress appeared. Evidently while Lilly was buried in her thoughts, he’d asked for the check and a small box to take the apple cake home in. Since things had gotten a little too heavy for her liking, she was grateful for the change in venue.

  After a long and incredibly delicious meal, Lilly was glad they’d walked to the restaurant, desperately needing the exercise or she’d fall asleep from the overabundance of comfort food.

  Gunnar had been right, the vodka did enhance all the different flavors. She definitely planned to write a spotlight article on the place, and had gotten the owner’s name and phone number on her way out. Lilly looked forward to hearing more about the free-range ranchers and the local farmers the owner used for the ingredients. The man mentioned that many of the farmers came to the weekly farmer’s market held right in the center of town. She’d already gotten a huge response from her shout-out regarding stray animal stories, and wanted to keep the human interest aspect of Heartlandia rolling in the newspaper. Who knew, maybe subscriptions might go up, too.

  The minute they stepped outside into the fresh night air a fire truck zoomed down Main Street…toward the Heritage.

  Gunnar looked at her. “I wonder what’s going on?”

  “Me, too.”

  They walked briskly and arrived at the scene. A small but growing crowd filled the sidewalk.

  Gunnar went up to one of the firefighters he knew and she stuck to his side like seaweed on rice. “What’s going on?”

  She fished in her purse for her notepad.

  “Someone set off all of the fire alarms. We’re evacuating the entire hotel until we know for certain everything is safe.”

  “A prank?” she asked.

  “We don’t know yet. Just being cautious right now.”

  “But I’m staying here.”

  “We can’t let anyone in until we’ve checked everything out.” Where were they supposed to go? How long would they be stuck outside? She glanced at Gunnar.

  “Guess that means you’re coming home with me to wait things out.”

  She yanked in her chin, letting her shock register in her eyes. “But I need to submit this info for the Heartbeat on Heartlandia log. Ack, but my laptop is in my room.”

  “You can use mine.”

  There might not be any way around this. Regardless of what she’d told him about her shoes being comfortable, right about now her toes were aching, and the thought of hanging out on the street for God only knew how long, wasn’t the least bit appealing. Plus she could upload her newspaper info on Gunnar’s computer. He must have been reading her thoughts. Again.

  “It’s either that or stand around in those high heels on this cold sidewalk until they let you back in.”

  He made a solid point, and she was a reasonable person. Plus all that comfort food, and not to mention the vodka, had made her very sleepy. “Okay, but don’t get any ideas.”

  He paused, as if some great plans had been dashed. “Okay—no hanky-panky…unless you ask nicely.”

  Chapter Six

  Lilly was beyond impressed with Gunnar’s semi-A-frame house. Modern-looking, built of solid wood with loads of windows and a wooden deck to sit and stare out at the river, the house nestled in the center of a tree grove. When he escorted her inside, she glimpsed his Swedish heritage in every room. There were clean white walls and light blond wooden floors, with pale gray club chairs and a white L-shaped couch, the only color contrast being a black throw rug under the glass-and-chrome coffee table. Oh, and the black modern-looking fireplace that hung a foot off the floor, extending like a triangular mushroom at the end of a long black vent pipe anchored high up the wall.

  His taste in art seemed to be heavily Asian influenced with the exception of one modern art, pen-and-ink drawing that looked like a Picasso knock-off.

  The spotless kitchen matched the white of the rest of the house with the only contrast being stainless-steel appliances and some surprisingly colorful yellow-and-blue curtains. Could a guy get any more Scandinavian?

  Truth was, Lilly liked it. It was clean and well kept, and it said something about this man. He was proud of his heritage, just like she was proud of hers.

  “Hey,” he said. “While you make your newspaper entry, why don’t I open a bottle of wine?”

  Even amidst the ultramodern atmosphere, Gunnar had still managed to pull off a homey feel, and when he put logs in the fireplace, she decided a glass of wine in front of a real fire sounded fabulous.

  “Sure.”

  She got right down to business logging into the newspaper before the midnight print deadline and posted her information, then called Bjork who wore many hats in the small twice-a-week paper operation, including final copy editor, layout manager and printer. The jobs Lilly would have to learn and do if she wanted to become a small-town newspaper mogul
. By the time Gunnar had opened the bottle of Pinot Noir and placed two glasses on the table in front of the fireplace, she was ready to join him.

  As bossy as he seemed at times, she’d discovered over dinner he was also fairly easygoing. He’d bent over backward to make her feel comfortable both at the restaurant and now here at his house, and she couldn’t ever remember a guy doing that for her in San Francisco. The vibes back home had always been “show me what you got, impress me,” both with her parents and her dates. Except for Sobo. She could always be herself with her grandmother.

  Before she would take her first sip of wine, she thought about checking with the Heritage to see if the evacuation had ended. “I’m going to call the hotel for an update.”

  He didn’t say anything, just let her do her task. When she’d finished, keeping the fact to herself that the alarm was now all cleared, she headed for the couch.

  “What’d they say?”

  “They’re still checking things out.” Oops, she’d already broken her promise to be straightforward with him. Did little white lies in her favor count?

  Gunnar had taken off his sport coat and unbuttoned the collar on his shirt, even slid out of his loafers, and now gestured for her to join him on the couch. It looked inviting to slide under his shoulder and strong arm, and on a snap decision, she accepted his offer and snuggled into the alluring spot.

  “Wouldn’t it be crazy if that false alarm was just another decoy for the person who set the brewery fire?” She couldn’t help thinking out loud.

  “No shop talk on dates.”

  She sat straight in order to look him in the eyes. “We’re dating?”

  His head rested on the back of the sofa, eyes closed. He didn’t bother to open them. “Yes. We are. Get used to it.”

  Just like that? She’d asked him out for an apology dinner and the next thing she knew they were dating. She stared at his eyes, which refused to open. Back home she’d take offense at any man making assumptions about her status. For some crazy reason Lilly kind of liked the idea of dating the Swedish-American cop. Just for the sake of being contrary, she could call him a chauvinist for telling her what she was or wasn’t doing with him, but for once she decided to just go with the Zen of Gunnar Norling.

  She took a quiet breath and went back to snuggling by his side.

  “So this is nice,” he said, all nonchalant, obviously not realizing what a big deal this was for Lilly.

  She sipped her wine. “Yes. Nice place.” She toed off the heel of first one pump, then the other, then crossed her ankles and rested her heels on the table next to Gunnar’s.

  “I meant cuddling, but thanks. I designed and built the house with the help of Leif Andersen.”

  “My future landlord?” The guy with the house she hoped to rent, who also happened to be on that secret committee. She shouldn’t take anything for granted but Daddy had always said, go for your dreams, big or small. Take them. Make them happen.

  “Yeah, we designed it with two sets of plans. One for right now, which is what you see, and the next for when I want to expand.”

  “You mean like adding on?”

  “Yeah, with a couple more bedrooms, another bathroom, a rumpus room…”

  “What the heck’s a rumpus room?”

  A lazy smile stretched across his lips, his eyes were still closed. “Like a big family room, or a man cave. I haven’t decided which it will be yet.”

  The more she learned about Gunnar the more she was impressed. Somehow, during the conversation about how long he’d been living here—five years but with plans to expand for what, a family?—and in between more sips of wine, she battled covetousness. She wanted a house of her own and to know exactly where she wanted to be and what she wanted to do with her life, just like Gunnar. To settle for something, instead of always striving for the next big dream. But so far all she had was a sketchy idea about wanting to own her own newspaper in a town she wasn’t even sure she liked yet or fit into. A stepping-stone gig. And after that, what? A bigger paper? Another city? More fitting in? Who knew?

  She drank the end of her wine and laid her head back on Gunnar’s shoulder. Natural as can be he leaned down and kissed her. Not a hungry, crazy kiss like their first one, but a soft and comforting kiss, as if they were a couple who’d been dating awhile. And just like the Swedish comfort food, the kiss made her all warm inside. She relaxed into his now familiar mouth and let her thoughts drift away to a little island in her head known best for sexy slow kisses and expansive chests that welcomed her with strength and amazing pectoral muscles.

  If this was what it was like to date Gunnar Norling, which he’d already assured her she was, she wanted to sign up for the whole package.

  After they kissed for a while, like a gentleman he offered her another glass of wine, and because she felt so darn good from the first one, she accepted. Except she was really tired and experiencing carb overload from that huge dinner. When he got up to refill her glass he took a little too long, going to the bathroom first, and since she could hardly keep her eyes open…she…closed…them.

  *

  She’d been shanghaied to heaven.

  Lilly woke up in a bed she’d never been in before—in a clean, midcentury, modern, Scandinavian-style bedroom. It was minimalist in design and decor, just like the rest of Gunnar’s house. Pale gray walls with ink-washed Japanese prints in black frames lined the room. The same blond wooden floors as in the living room were covered in intricately patterned and muted-colored throw rugs, a white duvet draped over her on the bed with icy blue sheets. The A-framed bedroom ceiling had two large windows and the bed was positioned to look onto a hillside where pine trees and wild flowers grew. No need for curtains.

  Little drills seemed to be working on her temples from all of the rich food, not to mention the vodka topped off with a glass of red wine she’d enjoyed last night. She heard clanking around outside the door, as if maybe Gunnar was opening cupboards and drawers in the kitchen. Something smelled great.

  Streaks of daylight cut across her face. She squinted and turned on her side in the big cozy bed. How had she wound up in Gunnar’s bed? Or was this a guest room?

  A tapping came from the door. “You decent?” Gunnar’s smoky smooth voice said on the other side.

  Was she decent? She hadn’t a clue. She peeked under the covers, finding she was still completely dressed, thank the stars, but man, with all the wrinkles she’d have to ask Gunnar for the name of a good dry cleaner.

  Good to know the guy was a gentleman.

  More knocking. “Hello?” he said.

  He was going the gentlemanly route this morning, too, knocking before entering. She wanted to pull her hair out in confusion about what exactly had gone on after that first kiss on the sofa last night.

  Oh, right, she’d fallen asleep. He wouldn’t take advantage of me while I slept, would he? Completely dressed, remember?

  He tapped again.

  She cleared her throat. “Sure. I’m decent.” Whatever that means at this point. “Come in.” She tried to sound calm and upbeat, like yeah, sure, she was a modern woman who spent the night with all her dates.

  So not true.

  With cheeks and ears blazing hot, wondering how to handle things—feeling more like a lady who’d worn out her welcome after the first date—she waited for the godly and obviously well-mannered Gunnar to come into the room.

  *

  She sat in the center of his bed like a delicate water lily in a rippling blue-and-white pond, looking bewildered. He smiled at her widened eyes and mussed-up hair. Damn she was cute, even with raccoon-like makeup smudges under her eyes.

  “Good morning,” he said. Wolverine ran into the room before him and jumped on the bed with a thud.

  “Ach!” She pulled the covers over her head again.

  “Sorry. That’s my cat.” Who hadn’t bothered to check in last night, but only showed up for food this morning.

  She peeked over the top of the blanket. “Big b
oy.”

  “Yeah, he’s what we call a Maine Coon cat. Weighs over thirty pounds. One false move and he’ll lick off your face.”

  That didn’t garner the kind of response he’d hoped for. She hadn’t relaxed a bit, but slowly lowered the covers while staring down his big old gray tabby as if he was a bobcat. Looking at Wolverine, could he blame her?

  He crossed the room carrying a breakfast tray with scrambled eggs topped with cheese and basil, a toasted and buttered English muffin, sliced tomatoes fresh from his yard and a mug of coffee.

  “About last night, uh…” Getting right to the point she insinuated the rest of the question with those kissable pouty lips, as she reached for the coffee.

  He placed the tray across her lap. Yeah, not many people knew he had a bed tray, but what the hell—he’d been known to go to great lengths to impress a girl.

  She sipped nervously.

  “Nope,” he said. “Nothing happened.”

  The answer did what his cat couldn’t—it changed her tense expression to one of tremendous relief. But it didn’t stop there. Her pretty pointy features registered something along the lines of Wow, this food looks and smells great, and I’m famished. She put the mug down and reached for the fork.

  “Thanks for breakfast.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Gorgeous tomatoes.”

  “I grow them myself.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Most definitely.”

  She dug in. He liked watching her. And he was still smiling.

  Stopping midreach for the toast, she narrowed one of her eyes, sneaking a peek at him. “So we didn’t get married or anything last night, I take it?” It was nice that she was lightening up.

  “No, ma’am, we did not.” He scratched the morning stubble on his cheek. “It’s not every day a lady falls asleep in the middle of making out with me, though. I guess that’s what I get for going to refill your wine.” He poked the side of his cheek with his tongue. “Kind of hard on a guy’s ego.”

  Alarm flew back into her gaze and the tips of her ears turned red. “I fell asleep after making out with you?”