Downhome Darlin' & The Best Man Switch (31 page)

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Authors: Victoria Pade

BOOK: Downhome Darlin' & The Best Man Switch
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He wished she would say something. Anything. They just kept chewing and avoiding each other's eyes. Didn't she and Grant ever talk?
Something had to be done to break the ice. Feeling inspired, Ted finally remembered—the little jewelry box. He'd forgotten to hand it to Grant when they exchanged ties. Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing, though. Grant seemed a bit slow at getting the job done here, whereas Ted, the old football hero, could take the ball and run with it.
He finished swallowing a piece of meat, took a slug of wine and winked at Mitzi. “I got you something, dollface.”
She frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
Smiling big, he took the ring box out of his jacket pocket and shoved it across the table toward her. At least this would give them something to do. “For you.”
Her mouth dropped open.
He laughed impatiently. “Well, don't just sit there gawking. Pop the thing open!”
Tentatively, she reached across and cradled the small velvet box. “You shouldn't have,” she told him. “If this gift is just because of what happened this afternoon....”
Ted rolled his eyes. “Nah, I'd already shelled out the bucks by the time you broke into your Joan Crawford-shrew routine.”
She flinched, then slammed the box down. “Look, you don't seem to believe I'm sorry for what I said this afternoon.”
God, how annoying. Didn't the woman have a sense of humor? “I believe you, I believe you. Go ahead and open it.”
She pursed her lips and took up the box again, touching it gingerly as if it might be rigged with an explosive device. Ted rolled his eyes.
Then, just as she was opening the thing, panic set in. He hadn't looked in the box. He'd assumed it contained some kind of pin or something. But what if it was something else?
Like an engagement ring!
“Wait,” he shouted, waving his hands frantically. “Don't open that!”
Startled, Mitzi looked up at him. “What's wrong?”
If it was an engagement ring, what should he do? He couldn't ask the woman to marry him just because the conversation was lagging. But if Grant had bought the engagement ring, surely he wouldn't mind. Of course, some people liked to handle things like that for themselves.
But he couldn't take the little box back from her now, after the big buildup. He sighed. “Oh, never mind. Go ahead.”
She bridled impatiently. “Grant, is there something wrong?”
Yes! If this was an engagement ring, shouldn't he be on his knees? Or was it just one knee? He knew there was something in proposal protocol about knees. Of course, if it wasn't an engagement ring, he'd look pretty damn silly on the floor.
He compromised by subtly dropping his napkin. Once he was on one knee, groping for the cloth, he shook his head. “No, everything's fine. Go ahead and open it,” he said, adding, “Quick.” His knee creaked from an old football injury.
With a grunt of aggravation, she took the box and flipped the top open. She gasped, and Ted smiled. Mission accomplished.
Really, he decided, he was getting fairly adept at all this romance stuff. And he had to admit, watching his brother's sufferings over Mitzi had given him a little curiosity about the whole true-love equation. Maybe there was something to it. In fact, when Mitzi's eyes teared up, he felt his heart swell in a way it hadn't since the last time the Cowboys had won the Super Bowl.
In fact, the whole thing made him wonder, and he didn't wonder very often. But he'd never felt so moved by the idea of a wedding ring. Could it be that he'd been missing something? Maybe that all his sneering at marriage was only skin-deep? Maybe he was really easy pickin's for some wily female. And why didn't that idea scare him the way it should?
The whole thing was blowing his mind.
Then Mitzi held up the little gold piece, and he nearly lost it. It wasn't a ring at all, just a lousy little charm shaped like a camera. He got off his knees, fast, feeling something like a letdown. After all, this was supposed to have been the first time he'd ever proposed to a woman.
For a moment, Mitzi felt as if her heart just might break. But in a good way. “Oh, how beautiful! How thoughtful! How...”
“Cheesy,” Ted muttered.
She shot a questioning frown at him. “What?”
“Do you mean you like it? Really?”
“Oh, yes!” She lifted her bracelet toward him. “Here, put it on.”
His eyes rounded in horror. “You want me to wear your bracelet?”
She laughed. “No, silly. Put the charm on the bracelet.”
The lines etched in his face relaxed. “Oh!”
Funny, but she wondered if she would ever be used to Grant and his moods. He could be so caring and kind at times, yet so distant and tough at others. Even when he was doing something incredibly sweet, like now, an unexpected coldness could surface in his manner that was downright offputting.
A wave of guilt washed over her as she watched his large fingers fumble with the tiny charm. How could she be so critical when she was obviously nuts about him? After how heartbroken she'd been this afternoon, she should have been jumping for joy.
“Oh, Grant,” she said when he was done. “I'm so—”
A waiter approached, note in hand, and Grant held his palm out to her. “Hold that thought, sweetheart.” He jumped up from the table.
Mitzi recoiled, stunned. She'd thought they were having a tender moment, but her Romeo was making like Speedy Gonzales out to the hallway. She was floored by the way he could turn her off and on. Certainly she understood work emergencies. She wasn't completely unreasonable. But the man was a department store owner, not a brain surgeon. Which was probably a good thing, considering that he had the attention span of a flea.
And where did he get off calling her sweetheart and dollface?
By the time Grant slipped back into the seat across from her, she had worked up a head of steam again. “More about the fire?”
He sent her a smile that remained disconnected from his eyes. “Fire?”
“The one at the store,” she reminded him.
“Oh, that,” he exclaimed, understanding. He waved a hand at her dismissively. “Turns out it was a false alarm.”
“Strange that it took two phone calls to confirm a fire that didn't exist.” She slanted a glance at him, trying not to be too accusatory. “You don't happen to have anyone hidden away in another part of the restaurant, do you?”
He practically jumped out of his skin. “What do you mean?”
She laughed. “Say, a spare supermodel?”
His blue-eyed stare took a moment to register the joke. “Good heavens, no!” He reached across the table and took her hand. “I'm sorry, Mitzi. I promise, the rest of the meal, I'm all yours.”
As if on cue, a guitarist wandered up to the table and bowed to Mitzi. “By request,” he said, then started playing a sentimental instrumental rendition of “Angel Eyes” as she and Grant held hands and looked into each other's eyes. She felt her heart swell to bursting for him all over again. Some men were shy about doing the romantic, corny things that meant so much. With her eyes dangerously close to tears, she jangled her little camera charm at him.
His eyes zoomed in on the charm and widened in surprise. “Well, I'll be damned.” He grabbed her wrist and examined it more closely. “Where did you get that?”
She yanked her arm away from him. “Grant, you're crazy!”
“You didn't have that at the lake.” The words were almost a reproach.
“Of course not.”
The ubiquitous waiter leaned down to Grant's ear and he shot out of his chair and looked back at Mitzi apologetically. “I'm sorry,” he said quickly. “You understand...” Flustered, he pulled a wad of bills out of his pockets and stuffed them in the minstrel's breast pocket. “Keep playing till I get back.”
Then he ran out.
Mitzi fumed. What the heck was going on?
By the time Grant came back to the table in a flurry, his tie askew, she was in no mood to hear any excuses about phone calls or fires. The guitarist was finished with “Angel Eyes” and was now halfway through a slow, Latin tune that sounded like music to tie one on by. Mitzi poured herself another glass of wine and slugged it down.
Grant watched her, then flicked the musician an annoyed gaze. “I'm with you,” he muttered in a stage whisper. “That guitar noise would drive anyone to drink.”
Despite the bills Grant had stuffed in his pockets, the musician didn't take the insult lightly, and moved his trade elsewhere. Grant didn't seem to mind. He glanced apologetically at Mitzi. “Sorry, but this is Austin. You just can't get away from those penny-ante musician types.”
Mitzi tossed down her napkin. “I've had enough!”
Grant looked shocked. “Hey, chill.”
She sent him her most quelling gaze. “A chill is what you've given me at least several times tonight. What's the matter with you?”
He sputtered in amazement at her outburst. “What the hell's the matter with you?”
This was the limit. “You're driving me crazy, that's what's wrong!” she shouted, drawing curious gazes from nearby tables. No doubt they were wondering how two people who were just holding hands and looking into each other's eyes could erupt in anger so quickly, but no one could be more confused by the schizophrenic romantic atmosphere than she was. “You're either a compulsive liar or a split personality. What is your favorite book, Grant?”
He didn't bat an eye.
“To Kill a Mockingbird.”
“And what happens in that book?”
He blinked. “What is this, a pop quiz? A lot happens.”
“Who's the main character?”
He sent her a withering yet vaguely uncomfortable gaze. “Don't be a dope. Gregory Peck.”
She let out a muffled howl. “I knew it! I knew I was being a chump!”
He tried to shush her, which only made her quiver with ire. “Would you stop making a scene?”
He wished! “I'll bet you don't even sing.”
“Sing?” he repeated as if she'd gone loco.
She crossed her arms. “Sing a hymn, Grant. Any hymn.”
He shot her a cold, stony gaze. “Lady, are you on some kind of medication that you've forgotten to take?”
She sprang out of her chair and turned on him in such a fury that not only did the people in the intimate room stare, but waitresses gathered at the door to gape. “You've never told me the truth, not from day one. I'll bet you've never stepped foot in a church.”
“Don't be a nitwit, of course I have. I went...several Easters ago.”
She released a howl of frustration. “There! See?” Tears gathered in her eyes. She had to get out of here. Fast. “And I bet you've never even seen
Bambi!”
She whirled on her heel and stomped out of the room and the restaurant, leaving Ted stunned.
What the heck was that about?
He got up and scurried from the room to hunt down Grant.
That blowhard Moreland was carrying on about catalog sales when Ted interrupted them. For a moment, he endured another round of gaping stares from this bunch. Then Grant jumped up.
“What the hell is going on here?” Moreland demanded, likewise shooting up from his chair. “All night long we've been interrupted. Is there something wrong?”
Ignoring the older man, who looked about as irritated as Mitzi had been, Ted pulled his brother into the hallway. “Mitzi left,” he told him.
Grant's face fell. “Why?”
Ted shrugged. “It's like I've always said—the woman's a basket case. A real Prozac princess. I told her I didn't like musicians singing at me while I'm trying to eat, and she just went berserk.”
“Oh, no,” Grant moaned, slapping his forehead.
Ted frowned. “Does she have a musician in her family or something?”
Grant rolled his eyes. “Stay here, will you? I have to go after her.”
Ted watched his brother dash out of the room, then he turned back to the infuriated Mr. Moreland and felt a stab of dread pierce his heart. Why was he always left with the dirty work?
And now it occurred to him that Grant hadn't allowed him to explain all the stuff Mitzi had been saying about churches and singing. And
Bambi.
He needed to make sure his brother was prepared to handle what he was running into.
“I'm sorry, Mr. Moreland,” he said, scuttling forward to shake the man's hand, “but as you can see, we're having a sort of family crisis.”

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