Her father cleared his throat—a sure sign he was preparing to speak—but she cut him off. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
Sinclair’s midnight-blue eyes sparkled. “I don’t think there’s a name for what this looks like, but I take it last night’s dinner went well. If you’d responded to any of the texts I sent, we would have driven slower.” Her eyes slid to the bed, and she winked. “Much slower.”
Crap. Sinclair assumed the half-naked man in her bed wasMitch.That’s what you get for jumping the gun yesterday afternoon and telling her you thought your six-month anniversary dinner with “M” might end with a ring.
Old habit. Growing up, she and her sister had always been each other’s closest confidants. When she’d secretly crushed on Mr. Casey, her sixth-grade art teacher. After she’d given up her V-card on a freshman year spring break trip to Fort Lauderdale. When she’d expected the ambitious-yet-romantic lawyer she’d been seeing to pop the question. Every time, she’d told Sinclair.
Her mother stepped toward the bed, her chin-length blonde curls swinging as she smiled and held out her hand.
Somebody had raised him right, because he straightened and shook her outstretched hand.
“Hello. I’m Savannah’s mother, Laurel. You must be the mysterious M we’ve heard so much about. I’m…oh my goodness, you’re bleeding.”
God, he was. Still. Though not as copiously as before. He needed medical attention, not a round of introductions to her misguided family. “I told you this isn’t what it looks like. I—he—”
“I surprised your daughter while she was painting.” He covered the wound with the towel. “We had a minor accident.”
His deep, calm voice sounded reassuringly steady, despite the head injury, but she didn’t plan on taking any chances. “Not so minor. He lost consciousness for a moment. I was about to call 911 when you arrived.”
“That’s not necessary,” he replied.
“Absolutely not,” her father seconded, his nod of agreement sending a wing of dark hair over his brow. “We’ll drive you to the emergency room.” He dug into the pocket of his khakis for his car keys. From the corner of her eye, Savannah caught a movement by the bedroom door, but before she could say anything, her dad added, “It’s the least we can do for our future son-in-law.”
“Future son-in-law?” The gasped question preceded an attractive and vaguely familiar brunette into the bedroom. She clung to the doorknob for support and blinked back tears. “Sweet baby Jesus, my secret prayers have been answered.”
Chapter Two
Shit.
Beau actually felt himself turn as white as the towel he still held to his head. “Mom…Dad,” he added as his father stepped into the room and wrapped an arm around his mom’s shoulders. His dad looked around, gave everyone a slow smile, and said, “Howdy, strangers.”
Savannah’s mother squealed—there was no other word for it—and ran forward to embrace his parents. Her father followed and clapped his dad on the shoulder. “Small world.”
Either he’d taken a much harder hit than he thought, or his loud, distracting, and ridiculously sexy neighbor hid a secret portal to the twilight zone in her bedroom.
“Cheryl and Trent Montgomery, is it really you?” Savannah’s mother asked as she hugged his mom like a long-lost sister.
“In the flesh,” his mom answered, somewhere between laughter and tears. “Laurel Smith, I’d recognize you and Bill anywhere. You two haven’t aged a day.”
The names rang a bell in the back of his mind. Years ago—before he’d started first grade—they’d lived next door to a family named Smith, but when his dad had accepted a work transfer, they’d moved to California. A blurry, early memory took shape. Sneaking through adjoining backyards, leaping out at a little blonde girl and brandishing his favorite, most lifelike rubber snake in her face. He remembered a satisfyingly terrified scream followed by an interminable time-out.
He pulled his attention away from his parents and eyed the walking temptation he’d been avoiding since she moved in. Savannah Smith. Apparently they’d been neighbors before. Maybe this detail would have come to light sooner if they’d done more than nod hello to each other, but they hadn’t, which made the engagement assumption their parents had leaped to downright laughable—except setting everyone straight and watching the joy and relief drain out of his parents’ faces wouldn’t be so funny.
“I can’t believe it,” Savannah’s mom went on. “What brings you here?”
“We jumped on the chance to return to our roots and live closer to Beau,” his father said. “We moved back to Magnolia Grove earlier this month, but between work, the move, and”—he gave his wife a squeeze—“a couple other challenges, we’ve been inexcusably slow about looking up old friends.”
Other challenges. His father had a gift for understatement.
Savannah’s mom waved a hand. “Your old friends understand completely. But what are you doinghere, in Savannah’s apartment?”
“We saw the open door and thought this was Beau’s apartment,” his mom explained, and then continued in a quavering voice. “When we accepted his invitation to Thanksgiving dinner, we had no clue about the surprise in store for us. Beau and Savannah…engaged.” She blinked, sniffled, and lost the new battle with her tears. “I can’t even tell you what this news means to us. Especially just now.”
Shit. Shit… Fuck it. In the half second it took to string three curses together, he made up his mind. It might be the stupidest decision he’d ever come to, but he owed his parents a happy, worry-free Christmas—at least free of worry about him. Their families thought they were engaged, and he intended to let them keep right on thinking it until after the holidays.
Sinclair elbowed Savannah. “Now I understand why you were so freaking secretive aboutM. Well-played, you two, orchestrating a surprise reunion and an engagement announcement in one Thanksgiving dinner.”
Savannah’s attention swung from her sister to him, silently asking which one of them should correct the picture.