Page 7 of The Fiance Dilemma

“How long have you been engaged?” Bobbi asked.

Matthew huffed out a strange sound that I had to cover with an obnoxious laugh before answering, “Six blissful days.”

Bobbi’s eyes narrowed.

“It was the most romantic proposal,” I added. “My favorite, out of all of them.” I felt Matthew’s gaze falling on my profile, drilling two perfectly eye-shaped holes. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s important information,” Bobbi said with a shrug meant to be casual. It didn’t fool me. She sauntered all the way to the banister and leaned right beside one of my flowerpots. “And how did he propose, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Romantic picnic,” I immediately shot back, feeling Matthew’s arm tense around my shoulders. Bobbi’s brows arched. “At sunset,” I offered, and the way she continued to look at me plucked every word that followed right out of my chest. “We drove to a sunflower field, an hour from Green Oak. I was wearing a sundress and he was wearing a white shirt. The flimsy kind that looks effortlessly great. It compliments his bone structure.”

Bobbi’s lips pursed. “I know the type.”

“We were sipping rosé,” I continued, unstoppable. “And eating cheese he’d cut into very thin slices, just how I like, and before I knew what was happening, he was kneeling in front of me, and a teacup pig emerged from the sunflowers, tiny legs jogging in ourdirection. The pig stopped at Matthew’s feet, a letter attached to a bow around his neck. I unfolded the note, my heart racing with the question I knew was written there. Then he said the words,Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

Silence followed my very elaborate proposal story, my heart racing in the middle of my chest.

“What a lucky, creative man I am,” I heard very softly beside me.

Bobbi’s head tilted to the side. “Agreed,” she quipped, climbing down a step. “Let’s circle back tomorrow. I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but it looks like I might be acting as your wedding planner, too.”

“Excuse me, our w—”Matthew started, his arm dropping off my shoulders.

I shot him a pointed look I covered with a smile. “You’re tired. And need sleep. And there’s all that sweet love, remember? So how about we let Bobbi go, and we go inside, and we sit down and chat? Alone.”

“That’s a great idea, Josephine,” Bobbi commented, now right by our side. “You should explain everything to your fiancé. And remember not to forget the part about the big, fat, small-town wedding. Daddy’s paying, no expense spared.”

Words rose to my tongue, but the look on Matthew’s face stopped them from coming out. His gaze took me in, up and down, quickly. Shock registered, then he paled.

I looked down at myself, understanding what he saw. “I keep forgetting about that. It’s just jam,” I explained.

Matthew, who seemed a little taller and wider now that he was standing in front of me like this, wavered. And to my surprise, all he said was,“Josie?”

I frowned at him, wondering why he was saying my name like that.

Bobbi patted Matthew’s shoulder. “Congrats, champ. Let’s justhope this ring sticks. At least long enough for me to work my magic and fix this mess. But we’ll work on the details and the media angle. Tomorrow—Oh,maybe we should have the wedding in Miami? Hm, sleep on that. I will too. Now, it’s been a pleasure, but bye.”

Matthew looked at me, lips still pale, and expression miserable. Not shocked or baffled or even angry. But just… crestfallen.

My lips parted, but before I could speak, his hand was reaching out and clasping my wrist. He brought my left hand up, gently, slowly, his skin cold and clammy against mine as he turned my palm around.

“Matthew,” I started.

But that was all I managed to get out before Grandpa Moe burst through the door, hands clad in pink cleaning gloves, and an apron lined with tiny yellow stars around his waist.

“Absolutely not!” he exclaimed, arms in the air, effectively drawing the attention of every human and every animal currently residing within a thirty-foot radius of us. “My Josie is not leaving for Miami. And I’m not leaving either.” Grandpa’s eyes bore into the man who was still holding my hand. “Josie, why is that wet-looking shallot holding your hand like that? Yes, you. The one flapping his lips like some trout swimming upstream. You’re not taking nobody to Miami!”

“Jesus, Grandpa,” I warned, looking around for Bobbi, but she’d… vanished. “Could you—”

“Do notJesus, Grandpame,” he countered, moving to the banister. “Do you—” He stopped himself, his gaze moving behind us. “Otto Higgings!” he yelled. “Get your ass back into your house! This is nothing of your concern, you nosy, wilted prune.”

A silent curse left me under my breath. I didn’t need to turn to check if my neighbor—and Grandpa’s nemesis—was across the yard, sticking his nose in our business. Because of course he was. Of course—

Something tugged at my hand.

I refocused on Matthew, who was looking down, the little color left in his face draining. I followed the direction of his gaze with mine. My hand was still in his, upturned, and a cut was on my palm. It was barely bleeding, but some of my skin was smudged with a darker red than the one from the strawberry jam.

“Josie,” Matthew whispered. “You’re bleeding.”

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