By Appointment Only (4 page)

The following morning, Hannah was ready to be back on the job. She needed her comfortable routines to make up for the completely out-of-control feelings she had experienced the night before. A bridal magazine? Good Lord . . . what was he thinking? She’d sooner read a treatise on Middle Eastern foreign policy. And at least the latter would have some redeeming value. The magazine was nothing more than an overpriced homage to the unrealistic dreams of girls and their mommies.

She ripped away the shrink wrap and thumbed through the shiny, fragrant pages. Sleek, stylish wedding dresses stared at her from every page. And all the women wearing them looked smug and perfect.

Hannah wrinkled her nose. Articles about invitations and the perfect reception merited no more than a glance. But suddenly, she quit flipping and stared at the heading on a page near the center of the magazine. EXPLORE YOUR SEXUAL IQ—AS A COUPLE.

Despite herself, she started to read. A team of family therapists in California had come up with a novel approach to premarital counseling. Instead of focusing on the traditional topics like finances and communication, this new setup was designed to make sure couples understood their relationship in the bedroom. Role-playing was set up in the doctor’s office. Unobserved, but later evaluated. Intense, unscripted, sexual encounters.

Hannah dropped the heavy magazine and ran a hand across the back of her neck. Wow. Imagining Morgan and her doing something like that made her heart race.

But she laughed nervously and reminded herself she didn’t believe in marriage or some goofy periodical celebrating the official, though not-likely-to-last, union of unsuspecting men and women.

Which didn’t explain why she took the tome with her as she left the house. Perhaps she would give it to Elda. Elda and Arnie might be headed for orange blossoms and gold rings. They could put it to good use.

After a busy morning of errands that included all three of the properties where she found her clients, Hannah was hot and sweaty and more than ready to stop off for a late lunch at Elda’s. The two women had a standing meal date at least twice a week. Elda was more than a client. She was the only person Hannah considered family . . . maybe not by blood, but in every way that counted.

Hannah let herself in and found Elda in the kitchen putting together chicken salad sandwiches. A pitcher of iced tea sat on the counter.

Hannah frowned. “You didn’t put any sugar in that, did you?”

Elda shook her head in disgust. “Geez, you’re as bad as my crabby-assed, dried-up old doctor. No sugar. I swear. Eat your lunch and try not to nag for a change.”

Hannah laughed and bit into the soft wheat slice. Elda had a bread maker and liked to keep herself and her friends supplied with homemade loaves of cinnamon and whole wheat and other varieties. Even without her wry sarcasm and big heart, she would have won many friends with her baking.

The two women were halfway through their meal when Elda choked and leaned across the table. “Sweet Jesus. Where in the heck did you get that rock?”

Hannah felt her face turn red. She’d left the ring at home yesterday, but this morning she felt too guilty to take it off. Not when Morgan was so proud of it. She’d kept her hand hidden as much as possible during the course of the day, but relaxing in Elda’s homey kitchen had made her forget to be secretive.

Or maybe it was a Freudian slip. Maybe she wanted Elda to know. Self-analyzation was a tricky business.

She smiled weakly. “Morgan gave it to me night before last.”

Elda’s eyebrows went to her hairline. “And you didn’t tell me yesterday?”

At the unmistakable hint of hurt on her older friend’s face, Hannah hastened to explain. “I was conflicted. I needed some time to think it over. You’re the first one who knows—I promise.”

Elda took her hand and twisted it from side to side. “Ho-lee-shit. That boy’s got damned good taste.” She grabbed the phone. “This calls for a celebration.”

A half hour later, Hannah stood in a crush of well-wishers, drinking champagne someone had procured from who knows where and fielding a barrage of pointed questions. She answered them patiently. “No, we haven’t set a date. I don’t know where we’ll get married. No, I won’t quit my job.” The babble of excited voices rose and fell around her.

Every face in the room beamed. She felt like a sham, but she didn’t know how else to handle the situation. You’d have thought she was a movie star the way they were carrying on. Finally, as the hands on the clock drew toward five, they all realized it was time to head to dinner, and they exited en masse.

When it was just her and Elda, Hannah sighed. “What a fuss. They’re all so sweet.”

Elda nudged her aside, heading for the kitchenette with a handful of wilting paper cups. “We’ll want to plan something more formal really soon. Do it up big. We can use the community room, and Agnes knows how to make bells and doves out of white crepe paper. Beverly’s niece will play the piano, I’ll bet, and—”

“I wish you wouldn’t.” Hannah wrung her hands, feeling ungrateful and selfish.

Elda turned to face her, her dark eyes bright even bracketed in folds of wrinkled skin. “What’s going on, kid? Spill it. You can tell me anything.”

Hannah perched on the arm of the sofa, swinging her leg. “I’m not ready to make a big deal of this, Elda. It’s barely just happened. There’s plenty of time down the road . . .” She trailed off into an awkward silence, not able to articulate her misgivings.

Elda eased down beside her with a groan of arthritic proportions. “For heaven’s sake, Hannah. This isn’t like pregnancy, where you have to wait until the first trimester is past to kick up your heels. You’re getting married.”

"Maybe.”

Elda scowled. “Come again?”

Hannah shrugged uneasily. “It’s early, that’s all. I don’t know where this is going.”

“But you took his ring anyway.”

Hannah’s cheeks reddened at the not-so-subtle rebuke. She lowered her chin. “He’s a very hard man to say no to, Elda. And if you could have seen his face . . .”

Elda snorted. “Pity is a hell of a reason to get engaged.”

Hannah jumped to her feet, pacing restlessly. “I don’t
pity
him. He’s a wonderful man.”

“But you’re not in love with him.”

“I—” The words stuck in her throat. She couldn’t say them. Not at all. Three little words. She sighed. “Elda, you know how I feel about marriage. I’ve told you about my parents. You watch the news. Why would anyone put themselves through that?”

Elda leaned back into the floral cushions, her expression sober. Hannah felt completely naked, as though all her insecurities and fears were laid out for public consumption. The old woman shook her head. “People do it every day, child. Some more than once. It’s called hope.”

“I’d rather face the truth. Marriage isn’t what it once was. My Grammy and Papaw had an ideal marriage. As I’m sure you and Mr. Beale did. People of your generation knew how to make it last. But marriage is disposable now. And I don’t see the point in pretending otherwise.”

Elda shook her head, looking at Hannah the way a teacher looks at a prize student who has just turned in her first F paper. “Good Lord, Hannah. You couldn’t be more wrong. If you think your grandparents had a perfect marriage, you’re kidding yourself. I’m sure they had a good marriage, but the perfect marriage doesn’t exist.”

Hannah thrust out her chin. “It might have come close in the past . . . when life was simpler and relationships were easier.”

“There’s no such thing as the good old days. We girls married because that’s what was expected of us. And a lot of women became no more than household drudges. We didn’t have the luxury of outside jobs that made us feel important. The lucky ones of us had men who treated us well, but for every one of those husbands there were a dozen others who took the cooking and cleaning for granted. We didn’t divorce because it wasn’t easy or socially acceptable.”

“But you were married for over sixty years. You made it work.”

“I was married, yes. And most of those years were good ones. But there were days when I would have walked out the door without a backward glance if I’d had the opportunity. And if your Grammy were here, I’d bet my last dime she’d tell you the same thing.”

Hannah slumped against the wall, her mind a blur. “So there really is no such thing as love that lasts a lifetime?” Saying it out loud made her feel sick.

Elda propped one swollen leg on the coffee table. “Of course there is. But love isn’t some pretty, sterile, clean emotion, my girl. Love is messy. And it hurts. And sometimes it brings more grief than joy. But it’s a hell of a lot better than the alternative.”

“Which is?”

“Being alone.”

Morgan sensed something different about Hannah that evening, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. She seemed distracted and not her usual energetic self. In fact, he could swear she was pale beneath her golden tan.

On reflection, he felt guilty about pushing her the night before. Setting a date could stay on the back burner for a bit. The important thing was that they were now an official couple. And he could wait on the rest . . . if he had to.

This was Hannah’s late workday, so he picked up Chinese on the way over, and they sat on the carpeted floor in front of her coffee table and watched the evening news. Hannah loved squabbling over politics and had even been known to switch sides in the middle of an argument just for the hell of it.

Her sheer contrariness amused him, and he loved provoking her. And if those heated discussions invariably led to something much less cerebral and more carnal, well that was icing on the cake.

But something was definitely wrong tonight. He’d deliberately sided with her most hated talk show moron, and she hadn’t even blinked an eye.

He scooted behind her and massaged her shoulders. Hannah turned off the TV and groaned, dropping her head forward like a broken flower.

He ruffled the curls at her nape. “Tough day at the office, dear?”

She arched her back and sighed. “Not especially. But word got out about my ring, and suddenly I was the center of a paparazzi frenzy, minus the cameras.”

He went still. “So your friends were excited for you?” He asked it carefully, still uncertain of her odd mood.

She groaned when his thumbs pressed deep into her neck. “You’d have thought none of them had ever seen an engagement ring before. We even had champagne.”

He was glad she couldn’t see his grin. “That’s nice.”

She grunted. “Sure. If you’re good at playing twenty questions.”

“And you’re not?”

“I didn’t know what to say.”

“I told you we should have picked a date.” But he said it teasingly so she would know he was kidding. Mostly. Maybe if he said it enough she would finally give in.

She turned to face him, linking her arms around his neck and draping her legs over his lap with a sly grin. Now the devilment he had come to expect from her was back. He had a funny feeling he wasn’t going to like what was coming.

Hannah studied his tanned, wind-burned face, trying to gauge his receptiveness to what she was going to say. His steel-gray eyes were wary. She knew her reluctance to set a date frustrated him, but he was moving too fast. Besides, he’d actually given her the perfect opportunity to drag her feet in the meantime. And it might even resolve some of her reservations about the
’til death do us part
thing.

She kissed his chin. “I read some of that magazine you gave me. I was going to palm it off on Elda, but I broke down and opened it. Some of the articles were interesting.”

His brows lifted. “No kidding. That was my idea of a joke, Hannah. You’re about the last woman I can see poring over a girly bridal magazine.”

She pouted theatrically. “You don’t think I’m girly?” She thrust out her boobs just for the fun of seeing his eyes glaze over.

He dragged his gaze from her chest and cleared his throat. “Of course you’re girly. You’re soft and you smell good and you have all the fun girl parts . . .”

“But?” She got such a kick out of teasing him. Especially when he was being a bit too serious.

He shifted restlessly on the carpet, and then gripped her ankles firmly. “You know what I mean, brat. You don’t obsess about makeup and clothes and all that stuff.”

“So you think I should fix myself up more.”

He raised his face to the ceiling and audibly counted to ten. Then he slid his hands into her hair and dragged her close for a hot kiss. “I will not be provoked,” he said firmly. “Now tell me what you read.”

She unbuttoned his shirt and ran her hands over his chest. His abs were rock hard and he didn’t even go to a gym. She loved that about him. She traced the fine line of hair that descended toward his belt buckle and grinned inwardly when he caught his breath.

Then she leaned into him, cuddling close, feeling the rise and fall of his rib cage as he breathed. “I came across an article that might help me feel better about actually setting a date. Something that’s really new and cutting-edge. Something all prospective brides and grooms should consider before even attempting marriage.”

He was frozen now, clearly ready for whatever bombshell she was about to drop. And she fully expected him to pooh-pooh her idea. So she wasn’t really playing fair. Did she want him to say yes? Did she want to be persuaded?

He sighed. “And this was in the magazine
I
gave you?”

“Yep.”

He dropped his head, beating his forehead gently against hers. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this? Go ahead. Tell me about this oh-so-very-important whatever it is.”

She leaned backward, smiling widely. “Premarital sexual counseling.”

Morgan wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it wasn’t this. Despite himself, he felt his face redden, and the incredulous note of defensiveness in his voice was beyond his control. "You think we have problems in the bedroom?” His poor dick wilted despite the fact that it had been raring to go just moments before.