I Do...: Her Accidental Engagement / A Bride's Tangled Vows

He’d come to believe that happiness was overrated. He wanted to work hard and make a difference—the only way he knew to chase the demons away for a little peace.

When he’d heard Julia defending his character, something tight in his gut unwound. He was used to making things happen and having people depend on him. He prided himself on not needing anyone. It bothered him to know that women were spreading rumors about him, but he would have soldiered through with his head held high. Hearing Julia take on those ladies had made him realize he liked not feeling totally alone.

Her declaration that they couldn’t make it work made no sense. “Why the change of heart?” He moved closer to her. “You convinced Annabeth and Diane.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-three.”

“Why do you only date younger women?”

He stopped short. “I don’t.”

“Are you sure? I’ve heard you average women at least four years younger. I’m thirty-two. My birthday’s in two months.”

“I don’t ask a woman about her age before we go out. If there’s a connection, that’s what I go on.”

“You never asked me out.”

“I asked you to marry me,” he said, blowing out a frustrated breath. “Doesn’t that count?”

She shook her head. “I mean when you first came to town. When you were making the rounds.”

“I didn’t make the rounds. Besides, you were pregnant.”

“I haven’t been pregnant for a while.”

“Did you want me to ask you out?” The attraction he’d denied since the first time he saw her roared to life again.

She shook her head again. “I’m just curious, like most of the town is now. We’ve barely spoken to each other in the last two years.”

“I thought the idea was that we were keeping the relationship under wraps.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Green,” he answered automatically then held up a hand. “What’s going on? I don’t understand why you think this won’t work. You made a believer of Annabeth Sullivan, the town’s main gossip funnel.”

Julia stood and glanced at her watch. “The girls will start coming in any minute. I don’t know, Sam. This is complicated.”

“Only if you make it complicated.”

“What’s my favorite food?”

“How the heck am I supposed to know?”

“If we were in love, you’d know.”

Sam thought about his ex-fiancée and tried to conjure a memory of what she’d like to eat. “Salad?” he guessed.

Julia rolled her eyes. “Nobody’s favorite food is salad. Mine is lobster bisque.”

Sam tapped one finger on the side of his head. “Got it.”

“There’s more to it than that.”

“Come to dinner tonight,” he countered.

“Where?”

“My place. Five-thirty. I talked to my dad this morning. He didn’t mention delving into my emotions once. Huge progress as far as I’m concerned. He can’t wait to spend more time with you.”

“That’s a bad idea, and I have Charlie.”

“The invitation is for both of you.” He took her shoulders between his hands. “We’re going to make this work, Julia. Bring your list of questions tonight—favorite color, food, movie, whatever.”

“There’s more to it than—”

“I know but it’s going to work.” As if by their own accord, his fingers strayed to her hair and he sifted the golden strands between them. “For both of us.”

At the sound of voices in the salon, Julia’s back stiffened and her eyes widened a fraction. “You need to go.”

“We’re engaged,” he reminded her. “We want people to see us together.”

“Not here.”

He wanted to question her but she looked so panicked, he decided to give her a break. “Dinner tonight,” he repeated, and as three women emerged from the hallway behind the salon’s main room, he bent forward and pressed his lips against hers.

Her sharp intake of breath made him smile. “Lasagna,” he whispered against her mouth.

“What?” she said, her voice as dazed as he felt.

“My favorite food is lasagna.”

She nodded and he kissed her again. “See you later, sweetheart,” he said and pulled back, leaving Julia and the three stylists staring at him.

* * *

“Abby, how old are you?” Sam stepped out of his office into the lobby of the police station.

Abby Brighton, who’d started as the receptionist shortly after he’d been hired, looked up from her computer. “I’ll be twenty-eight in the fall.”

“That’s young.”

“Not really,” she answered. “Maggie Betric is twenty-six and Suzanne over at the courthouse in Jefferson just turned twenty-five.”

“Twenty-five?” Sam swallowed. He’d gone out to dinner with both women and had no idea they’d been that much younger than him. When did he become a small-town cradle robber? Jeez. He needed to watch himself.

“Julia’s in her thirties, right?” Abby asked.