I smiled under his approval.
He opened the passenger car door for me and offered his hand for balance as I slid into the comfortable seat. I relaxed as he drove, enjoying the warm heat beneath me as we made the drive to an upscale Italian restaurant. The valet parked the Porsche, and Brock discreetly slipped him a tip.
As we sat, the tux-clad waiter draped a napkin over my lap. He took our drink orders and left the table, and I took a moment to admire the ambience of the restaurant. This place wasfannnncy. I was pleased that my nice outfit fit in well with the soft lighting and quiet classical music. I wondered what I should order, mentally noting options that would be inflammatory and should be avoided. I turned to Brock, whose attention was fully on me.
“Anything new?” Brock smiled the whitest smile over to me. I racked my brain for updates on my life, suddenly coming up blank.
“Um,” I began, grasping for conversational straws, “My high school reunion is coming up. I don’t think I’ll go, though...”
“You kidding? Don’t you want to show off your life? All this?” He gestured up and down at himself and gave me a coy wink.
I let out a forced chuckle. “You sure would be the talk of Birch Hollow,” I admitted. I don’t think I’d ever seen a car as fancy as Brock’s back in my small Vermont hometown.
“It’s settled then. We’ll go. We’ll show those townies how the city life has treated Brooke Meadows. Now,” he smiled at me again. “Ask me if I have anything new.”
“Okay—Brock, anything new with you?”
“I’ve done a bit of shopping lately,” he replied.
“Hm—okay—shopping.” I glanced around the restaurant distractedly. I couldn’t say I was surprised. Shopping was a pretty regular occurrence for Brock. He made good money, so why shouldn’t he splurge on designer clothes and watches, if it made him happy? “What’d you buy?”
“This.”
I choked on my ice water. My eyes were suddenly blinded by the sparkly, pear-shaped solitaire nestled in its dark blue velvet box.
“Oh my God. Brock...” Words stuck like glue in my throat.
“I know it’s only been six months, but Brooke, you are so beautiful, and you have such a good heart. You understand a doctor’s schedule, and I can’t imagine anyone else but you on my arm. I think we are the perfect match. What do you say to being my wife?”
I took a moment to compose myself. The room suddenly felt stuffy, like I couldn’t get enough breath into my lungs.
Why am I hesitating?I asked myself frantically.It’s just nerves, right? A handsome, successful doctor is asking me to marry him. Why wouldn’t I say yes?A pair of ice-blue eyes with a spot of honey brown flashed in my mind, which I quickly shook off.
“Sorry, I . . .”
Brock watched me carefully, his smile tensing ever-so-slightly at the corners.
My eyes scanned the room nervously, and I realized we had a bit of an unprompted audience in the restaurant guests, who had overheard his proposal and were now awaiting my answer. My eyes connected with Brock’s, and I mirrored his grin and formed my reply.
“Um—yes. Yes! Wow, it’s gorgeous!” I held out my left hand and let him slide the ring on. It was a tiny bit big on me (I had what my dad had called “piano fingers,” long and thin), butit really was stunning. A platinum band, if I had to guess. The diamond had to be several carats at least. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as the ring caught the light and I took in its sparkly appearance on my finger.
Was this really happening?I asked myself, stunned.Didn’t this fit my picture-perfect five-year plan? So why were there knots currently tangling my stomach?
Brock caught the waiter’s attention and ordered a bottle of champagne.
Brock had offered me a drink a few times, on our dates as well as nights in at his place. But he’d never balked when I turned him down. Of course as a doctor he knew of my medication and its side effects. I started to shake my head at the waiter, who held the bottle ready to pour. Brock’s eyes caught with mine.
“Come on—surely this calls for bending the rules a bit. It’s a celebration!” he declared encouragingly.
I plastered a polite smile on my face, allowing the waiter to fill both our flutes with the bubbly alcohol.
“To us!” Brock cheered.
“To us,” I repeated. I took a few sips. As the bubbles hit my tongue, I forced my body to relax. I was in a city I loved, with a man I admired and respected, and I was going to be his wife. What more could I want?
3
CADE
