Sinclair’s eyes narrowed. “Yesterday when you guys went to the ER and I stayed back to clean up and tend to dinner, I noticed a few interesting things.”
“Interesting?”
“Yeah. For instance, you guys didn’t seem to have coordinated the menu at all. I basted two turkeys—either of which would have been sufficient to feed all of us—warmed two different stuffing recipes, and cooked a broccoli cheese casseroleanda green bean casserole.”
“We wanted everyone to have their favorites…”
“Conceivable,” Sinclair acknowledged, “but I also cleaned up your bedroom and spent time in both your apartments. Aside from one paint-stained shirt, I didn’t find a trace of his stuff in your place. Not a stray sock, or a bottle of beer in the fridge, or an extra toothbrush in the bathroom. And granted, I only spent time in his kitchen, but I didn’t see a single thing of yours in his unit, either. One might think you’d never set foot in each other’s homes.”
“Or we’re tidy?”
Sinclair simply shook her head. “You’re not tidy.”
Okay, apparently her conscience drew fine lines when it cameto fabricating. Letting people jump to conclusions was one thing, but she couldn’t look her sister in the eye and lie. “You’re right. I’m not tidy. I can explain…” And she did, as concisely as possible, covering everything from Mitch’s indecent proposal, to Beau’s impulsive one, and their prearranged breakup thanks to her fellowship.
“Hole-E-crap,” Sinclair said as soon as Savannah stopped talking.
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“My lips are sealed, but you ought to know Mom practically planned your wedding during the drive back to Magnolia Grove. I think she emailed theGazettean engagement announcement last night.”
She bit back a groan. “Now that you know the score, can’t you rein her in?”
“You’ve met our mom, right? Exactly how do you propose I rein her in?”
“I don’t know. Have a crisis. Give her something else to focus on.”
“Short of setting myself on fire, there’s no distracting her from your wedding. She and Cheryl Montgomery are going to have your venue selected and booked before you can sayI don’t.”
“That’s exactly the kind of thing I need you to put a stop to. Don’t design rings. Don’t book venues. Be busy when she suggests shopping for dresses.”
“No amount of tap-dancing on my part will make a difference. You know as well as I our mom is a hundred-and-ten-pound steamroller. If you don’t find a way to come clean to her, it won’t matter how far across the globe you run. You and Beau are going to end up married through the sheer force of Mom’s will.”
Chapter Nine
The rap of knuckles on wood reached Beau from halfway down the stairs, along with an exasperated male voice calling, “Savannah, open the door. This is ridiculous. You can’t avoid me forever.”
He reached the landing to find One-for-Three standing in front of Savannah’s door. The guy glanced at Beau, then smoothed a hand over his $200 haircut, straightened his tie, and resumed knocking. “Savannah—“
A primitive urge to grab the smaller man by the back of his double-breasted coat and shove him into the trash chute surged through Beau, but he tamped it down. He’d sworn an oath to conserve life, alleviate suffering, and do no harm. Kicking One-for-Three’s unsuspecting ass just for being there probably did not comply with the code. Instead he shifted his grocery bag to one arm, slipped his key into his lock, and said over his shoulder, “She’s not home.”
“Excuse me?” One-for-Three turned and stared at him.
“Savannah’s not home.”
The man’s baby-smooth forehead creased. “I’ve been trying to reach her for days. Where is she?”
She was at the studio, working. They’d been fake-engaged less than a week and he already knew her schedule better than this knob who’d dated her for half a year. He shrugged and opened his door. “If she wanted you to know, you’d know, doncha think?” He pushed his door open and stepped inside.
“Wait!”
Beau placed his grocery bag on the small table inside the door and then faced Savannah’s ex and crossed his arms.
“I’m Mitchell Prescott the third, Savannah’s…friend. When will she be back?”
Could be five minutes, or five hours, depending on how her work went. “Same answer, friend. If she wanted you to know, you’d know.”
“Thanks. You’ve been a big help.”