Page 31 of Marrying Off My Husband

He stared at me. “Is that a trick question?”

“Now, that is the wrong answer, Spence. Flowers. A beautiful bouquet of roses. Oh, or even better—I can ask her what her favorite flower is and you can get that.”

“That would be an obvious set up.”

“But it shows your interest. It shows you did a bit of work to impress her.”

He shifted in his seat. “Roses, right? All women like roses.”

I leaned back against the cushion and tapped away on my virtual keyboard.

“Are you asking her? Don’t ask her!” Spencer exclaimed. I swore I saw color rise in his cheeks. It took all in me not to grin. He liked her so much.

“I’m asking her if she was a flower, what type would she be?”

I hadn’t asked that at all. I told her Spencer wanted to know if I knew her favorite flower because he wanted to get the detail right. It didn’t matter that it was a stretch of the truth.

“What did she answer?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

“Carnation because they are resilient and long-lasting.” I twisted to him. “There you have it. A lovely bunch of pink carnations would be perfect for her.”

“Right,” he answered. “Okay, I can manage that.”

“Good. So, you take her flowers. You offer her your arm as you take her to your car…you put her in the passenger’s seatbeforeyou get in yourself…”

“I drive to the restaurant,” he said.

“Funny, Spence. Let’s assume you can make it there, secure your table, and order the wine, at least.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.” He waved a hand in the air. “Should I order wine? Is that presumptuous?”

“It’s not, but if you’d like, you could ask her, ‘Is it okay if I order us wine?’”

“Right. Ask her,” he murmured.

I glanced at him, noting the deep concentration on his features. With a grin, I swatted at his arm. “This is supposed to be fun, Spence, not an Olympic event.”

“You’re making it an Olympic event. Flowers, put her in the car, ask her about the wine. All these rules and regulations–”

“They’re not rules and regulations, Spence. I’m just trying to help you make a good impression.”

“Who says I want to make a good impression?” he shot back, crossing his arms as he stared at the wind-whipped pool water.

I shifted in my chaise to study him. “Do you really, really dislike her?”

He did a double-take when he noticed my gaze on him, pressing his lips together before he stared out at the roiling sea in the distance. “I don’t…know her enough to like or dislike her.”

I clicked my tongue. “Come on, now. First impressions still mean something. Are you really that insistent that you’ll never hit it off?”

He opened his mouth, his head shaking, but no words came out. “She seems nice.”

“Well, there you go,” I said with a grin. “And it’s not rules, Spence. But, by your own admission, you’re not good in social situations. I’m just trying to set you at ease.”

“Right. Ease. A word that goes perfectly with me and being social.”

“You’ll be fine. But just in case, do you want one of those little earpieces that connects us so I can tell you what to say to her?”

“No,” he shot back, his lips tugging into a frown again.

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