“Huh.” I strode inside his luxurious place and noted the wide windows facing sweet little Tamarack Lake.
Per usual in February, the lake looked anythingbutsweet. Whitecaps rose due to the blistering wind, somehow darkening the grayness of the water even more. I shivered and glanced toward the table where Nick had placed a tablecloth.
I narrowed my gaze. “That’s a red-checked tablecloth.”
He took the bags to the counter. “It’s the only one I had. Somebody left it here after a picnic last year.”
Somebodymeaning another woman? I wanted to smack my hand against my head—or rather his. “You can’t use a red-checked tablecloth that another woman left here for your proposal.”
He pulled out two bottles of champagne—the good stuff. “Why not? It’s just a tablecloth.”
“Nick. You can’t.”
He looked at the pricy bottles. “Albertini? I’m proposing, not sailing off for three years hunting a dragon likely to kill me.”
“Tessa likes that champagne.”
Grumbling, he reached into another bag and pulled out the Luminaria Lux crystal goblets I’d found. They were cut crystal with gorgeous copper vines extending from the base to the rim.
“Where did you get these?” He gingerly placed them on the counter.
“My Aunt Yara’s antique store,” I said happily. “I popped by to talk to her about Violet, but she was swamped. Apparently, everyone’s looking for Valentine’s gifts. But I saw these and checked out with them. The receipt’s in the bag.” I tried to sound chipper while yanking off the tablecloth.
His eyebrows drew down as he watched my movements. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious. Geez. Tessa knows you wouldn’t have a red-checked tablecloth, and she’ll figure out that some woman left it here.”
“So what? She’s not the jealous type,” Nick retorted, pulling the dozen roses out of the box where I’d secured them. “She won’t care.”
Sometimes, the cluelessness of really intelligent men surprised me. “Yeah, but you don’t want her thinking about another woman during your proposal. It has to be perfect.”
He sighed. “Okay. What do we do?”
I looked around. “You don’t have a nice white sheet or anything, do you?”
“My sheets are all gray or black.”
The man was going to kill me with this nonsense. “All right. Think. Which neighbor might have a nice white tablecloth? A linen one. The good kind.”
He looked toward the storm outside. “Mrs. Mattila lives two doors over. She’s a retired banker. I don’t know her all that well, but I feel like she’d have a tablecloth.”
“Okay,” I said. “Go get one. Be nice and charming.”
“I’m always charming,” he grumbled, reaching the door.
I looked back. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
Muttering something I was sure wasn’t complimentary, he slipped outside. Actually, Basanelli looked pretty hot in his dark jeans and green sweater. I was just messing with him at this point.
Humming happily, I searched his cupboards for his nicest place settings and had to settle for gray stoneware. Then I dug through the drawers near the stove, not finding any placemats. Hopefully, the retired banker would take one look at Nick and figure he needed placemats, too. The silverware was okay, and knowing Nick, I’d also purchased candlestick holders—gorgeous silver ones—at the antique store. I placed those on the counter and pulled out the white tapers.
The door opened, and Nick moved back inside, holding a very nicely pressed white linen tablecloth and two shiny silver placemats. “She made me take the placemats, too.”
“Smart woman,” I murmured.
As he put the tablecloth and placemats on the table, I quickly brought over the plates, napkins, and silverware. “All right.” I put the candlesticks in the middle. “I think you should do something fancy with the roses. Like put eight of them in a vase in the middle and make a path with the rest of the petals.”
“With the petals?”
