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Scrubbing one hand across his face, he did his best to wipe away the amusement still tickling him. Keeping his voice low, he said, “You, honey. You love being talked about. Always have.”
When she would have argued, he shook his head and leaned across the table toward her. “You were homecoming queen and a cheerleader—at college you were the president of your sorority. Now? You still love it. Why else would you have your own TV show? You like being the center of attention, Naomi, and why shouldn’t you?”
“I didn’t do all that just to be talked about,” she argued.
“I know that,” he said and slid one hand across the table to cover hers. “You did all of it because you liked it. Because you wanted to.” And because it was the attention you never got at home and that fed something in you that’s still hungry today.
“I did. And I like doing my show, knowing people watch and talk about it.” She leaned toward him, too, even as she pulled her hand from beneath his. “But the
re’s a difference, Toby, between people talking about my work and talking about my life.”
“Not by much, there isn’t,” he said and leaned back, laying one arm along the top of the booth bench. “Naomi, we live in a tiny town in Texas. People talk. Always have. Always will. What matters is how you deal with it.”
“I’m dealing,” she grumbled, and he wanted to smile again but was half-worried she might kick him under the table if he did.
“No, you’re not.” He tipped his head to one side and gave her a look that said be honest. “You’re nearly five months along with that baby, and you just now told your folks.”
“That’s different.” Her fingers tore at the napkin again until she had quite the pile of confetti going.
“And when we walked in here and people turned to look, you would have walked right back out if I hadn’t gotten in your way.”
She frowned at him, and the flash in her eyes told him he was lucky she hadn’t kicked him. “I don’t like it when you’re a know-it-all.”
“Sure you do.” She lifted one eyebrow again, and he had to admire it. Never had been able to do it himself. “Look, either you can let this Maverick win, by curling up and hiding out...or you can hold your head up like the tough woman I know you are and not let some mystery creep dictate how your life goes.”
“Using logic isn’t fair.”
“Yeah, I know.”
She sat back in the booth and continued to fiddle with the paper napkin in front of her. It was nearly gone now, and he told himself to remember to ask Amanda for more.
“Toby, I don’t want to let Maverick win. To run my decisions. But isn’t that what I’m doing by agreeing to marry you?”
“No.” He straightened up now, leaned toward her and met her gaze dead-on. “If you were doing what he wanted, you’d be locked in a closet crying somewhere. Do you think that bastard wants you to be with me and happy? Do you think he wants you turning the whole town on its ear so they don’t even think about his stupid video?”
“No, I suppose not,” she murmured.
“Damn straight.” He laid his hand over hers again and quieted those nervous fingers. “You’re taking charge, Naomi.”
“That’s not how it feels.”
“I can see that. But trust me on this—you’re the one calling the shots here. You’ve left Maverick in your dust already, and he’s only going to get dustier from here on out.” He squeezed her fingers until he felt her squeeze back. “Us getting married? That’s a good thing. For all of us, baby included.”
She sighed. “I just don’t know how this day got away from me. One minute I’m dreading talking to my parents, and the next I’m engaged to you.”
“I don’t know why you think marriage to me is such a damn hardship.”
Her gaze narrowed on his. “I didn’t say that—fine,” she said when he smiled. “Make jokes. We’ll see how funny you think it is when I’m living at the ranch with you.”
He shrugged to show her he wasn’t bothered. “You’re a good cook and you’re already pregnant, so all I need to do is keep you barefoot and in the kitchen.”
She laughed then slapped one hand to her mouth to hold the rest of it inside. Toby grinned at her. God, he loved hearing that wild, deep laughter come out of such a wisp of a woman.
“You’re making me laugh so I won’t obsess about what a mess my life is.”
“Is it working?”
Thinking about it for a second or two, she finally said, “Yes. So, thanks.”
