His expression darkened. “I can explain. It’s not what you think.” But his eyes belied that statement.
Nana opened the front door. “You should be ashamed, practically leaving my granddaughter at the altar.”
“Nana, I’m not interested in marrying him. Please close the door,” Christine said.
“Marriage?” Slade reached for his burgundy tie, but her hand beat his there.
She stroked down the length, only to fist the ends in her hand and tug gently, not hard enough he’d choke, but hard enough to capture his attention. “We don’t need to go to dinner. Explain why you won’t sell. Now.”
“Yes, I’d like to hear this, too,” Nana said.
“This isn’t about marriage. Close the door, Nana.”
“But—”
“Close the door!” Granted, Christine was already one wineglass into her two-glass limit, but she’d been bombarded with too many text messages and emails from her Napa network of friends to have it completely together.
Nana closed the door but immediately went to stand at the window, a stubborn tilt to her delicate chin.
Christine knew she looked like the jilted lover, standing on the porch in a short denim skirt and fuchsia blouse, holding on to Slade’s tie as if she owned him. But a girl had her limits.
Slade looked from Christine to Agnes and back. “I think I owe you a dinner.”
Christine started shaking her head and couldn’t seem to stop. It was the momentum of anger.
“Yes.” He put an arm over her shoulder and guided her back to the truck. He didn’t make her release her hold on his tie, not until he’d opened the truck door and she was about to step in. He covered her hand with his.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, releasing his tie and buckling herself in, waiting to continue their conversation until Slade had done the same. His poor tie looked as if it had been stuffed into a gym bag. “Thirty minutes from now the entire town will think you’re trying to dump me.”
“Why would they think that?” He started the truck and pulled away from the curb.
“Because my grandmother—” Christine had to ungrit her teeth to continue “—bragged to everyone that I’d landed myself a millionaire.”
“Ah, I think I know where that rumor started. At Phil’s.”
Christine narrowed her eyes as they drove past the barbershop. But Phil had gone home.
Slade cleared his throat. “It was...ah...the girls who planted the seed.”
“What?” Christine squeaked.
“You left and they asked about you and said I should... That we should... That I...”
“You don’t have to finish. I know how a girl’s brain works.” First comes love, then comes marriage...
Shoot.
“And then Phil started asking questions.” Slade tried to smile. “He approves, by the way.”
“I’m not amused.”