“Getting to know her, ma’am,” he responds firmly.
“As what? Friends? Lovers?”
“Um…” Nate trails off, unsure of what to say.
I don’t help him out either. Watching the beads of sweat forming along his forehead at this unwarranted questioning might be the highlight of my day.
Eventually, he settles on, “As a potential marriage candidate,” and that's arguably the worst thing he could have said.
“You’re making it sound like you’re the bachelor and I’m competing for your attention,” I hiss in his direction, low enough so Margaret can’t hear.
I’m unsure of my success as a smirk plays along the woman’s lips. “Out of curiosity, is this how the current generation of couples sits?” She flicks a finger to the large space between us before turning to her husband, who sits pressed close to her on the floral couch across from us.
“Gosh, I don’t believe so,” Phil answers casually.
“Just as I thought.” Margaret nods in approval. “Why don’t you guys sit a little closer? We may be old, but we aren’t afraid of PDA.”
Nate looks over at me with concern when I wiggle an inchfarther.
“Other way, Vivienne.” Margaret sighs.
I abide by her command, happy to know that one minus one cancels out the other.
The woman in front of me doesn’t seem to agree with that sentiment, the marionette lines around her mouth deeper than before.
To please her, I move an inch closer, and when she doesn’t lighten up, I repeat the process until she’s beaming brighter than the sun.
“Perfection! That’s more like it.”
A warmth erupts along the length of my body, and it isn’t until I look down that I realize I’mgluedto Nate. Blue cotton dress on clean black jeans. The side of my chest against his. His leg pressing against mine.
“Arm around her.” Margaret motions.
Nate’s arm casually drapes over the back of the couch, but when that’s met with a tsk, he drops his hand to my shoulder. He pulls me in close, the faint smell of warm vanilla, nuts, and wood infiltrating my lungs.
God, he smells good.
Annoyance floods my veins at the thoughts swirling in my mind, and I look up to find his gaze strictly focused on the elders in front of us.
Jaw tight. Expressionless emerald-green eyes. A strand of hair falling across his forehead. As much as I hate him, it’s hard to deny how wildly attractive this man truly is.
“Tell us a little about yourself, Nate,” Margaret asks, bringing the rim of her teacup to her lips. She sets it down on the coffee table between us just in time for his answer.
“Well, I’m an engineer,” Nate says.
I can’t help the smile that makes its way to my face—look how the roles have reversed! Mr. Engineer is no longer happy to be part of Margaret’s mysteriously wicked plans.
Wait, engineer?My gaze shifts toward Nate, who keeps his eyes away from me.
“I know that already,” the woman answers nonchalantly.
She knows already?My head whips in Margaret’s direction.
“We saw the articles,” she adds. “I may be old, but that just makes me more likely to read the news.”
Articles?
The news?
