Emergency Engagement (Love Emergency 1)

“That is so sweet of you, but I wouldn’t want to impose, or make anyone uncomfortable,” Savannah said.

“Oh please.” Her mom dismissed the comment with a wave of her hand. “You’re full-grown adults, you’re engaged, and you practically live together as it is.” She pointed in the general direction of Beau’s apartment across the hall. “Besides, if you’re in the Montgomerys’ basement, that leaves our spare room available for Sinclair.”

“Hey now”—Sinclair froze with her fork halfway to her mouth—“I have a perfectly good place of my own.”

“Honey, I refuse to leave you holed up in that barn you call home over the holidays. You’ll spend Christmas with us. Your sister and Beau will stay with the Montgomerys. It’s settled.”

“Sounds”—Savannah swallowed again, and her lips drifted into the off-center smile—“lovely.”

“After Christmas, I’ll set up meetings and tours at the country club, Lakeview Landing, and the Oglethorpe Inn,” her mother continued, then looked at Beau’s mom. “Anywhere else, Cheryl?”

“Maybe the Whitehall Plantation?”

Mrs. Smith pointed a finger at his mom. “Absolutely.” Her finger shifted to him and Savannah. “You two should see what these places have to offer as possible wedding venues.”

Were the walls closing in? Suddenly he was spending Christmas in Magnolia Grove, sharing a bed with a woman he’d just promised himself he wouldn’t complicate things with, and touring half the county for potential wedding sites. Hell, he might even have to plunk down a nonrefundable deposit to make the charade look real. When he’d thought about a hundred little lies, he hadn’t anticipated taking their show on the road and putting on an act for his entire hometown. The lidocaine from the stitches started to wear off, and his head ached like a son of a bitch.

But he took in the sight of his parents leaning toward each other, strategizing about how to get the basement done in time, and where to put the tree, and he felt the tightness in his chest abate. They glowed with anticipation. All he had to do was stay the course and he’d give them the merriest Christmas they’d had in a long time. They deserved it.

So he plastered a smile on his face, fielded questions as best he could, and nodded with Savannah when his parents mentioned they’d be back in Atlanta the following week for an appointment with a specialist and wanted to take their son and future daughter-in-law out for dinner. At the end of the evening he congratulated himself when both sets of family huddled for a last round of hugs before meandering down the hall, leaving a trail of chatter behind them.

“Drive safe,” Savannah called, and shut the door. Then she sagged against it, expelled a breath, and rubbed her hands over her face in a gesture he already recognized signaled fatigue.

“Thank you.” His quiet words seemed to fill the apartment.

She straightened and smiled up at him. “You’re welcome. All in all, I thought it went pretty well.”

“You did amazing. My parents are high-fiving each other right now.”

“I’d say both sets of parents are high-fiving right now. I’m almost offended.” She moved away from the door. “I had no idea I was such a lost cause.”

“You’re the catch. I’m the lost cause.”

Her eyes roamed his face for a long moment. Finally, she said, “Nobody’s caught and nobody’s lost. We’re both works in progress.”

Her fingertips skimmed along the front of his hair. She was a toucher, he’d already noticed, and anything textured drew her—the flannel shirt he’d worn to the hospital, his sweater, his hair. As an artist, the tactile tendency probably came with the territory, but he’d have to get used to it or spend the next few weeks dealing with a constant hard-on.

“How’s your head?”

Let me pull it out of my pants and check. It felt like someone had taken a hammer to his frontal bone, but he said, “Fine.”

“Sure it is. And your eye always twitches in time to the invisible drummer banging on your skull.” She strolled into the kitchen, opened a cabinet, and pulled out an industrial-sized bottle of ibuprofen. “How many would you like?”

So much for his tough-guy stoicism. “Three hundred.”

She laughed, tipped three tablets into her palm, and handed them to him, along with his glass of water from dinner.

He downed the pills while Savannah yawned so big he could have examined her tonsils if she hadn’t brought her fist up to block her mouth. “Tired?”

“I guess I am.” She leaned against the kitchen counter and glanced at the clock on her stove. “God, how pathetic. It’s not even nine.”

“I’ll shove off and let you get some rest. Tomorrow I’ll come by, get my chairs, and we can talk. Decide how we play this thing out.”

“Wait.” She held out her hand, palm up. “I need a key so I can wake you up later and make sure your brain isn’t swelling.” With her other hand, she unconsciously smoothed her sweater over her hips.

Something was swelling, but not his brain. “You’re tired. Get some sleep. I’ll be fine.”

“Uh-uh. I won’t be fine. Dr. West gave me very specific instructions and I’ll lose sleep worrying about you if I don’t follow them to the letter. Name, birthday, and finger count, once at eleven and again at three. Two check-ins mandatory and a third at seven recommended. I’ve already set my alarm.”