The Pregnancy Surprise

Chapter Five

Reece’s Internet search had started out on an optimistic note.

All of the guests had left for dinner, so Reece had the living room to himself. As he sat on the sofa with his laptop, listening to the comforting clank and clatter of Sara cooking, he discovered a dozen companies that sold replacement china. But he soon found out it wouldn’t be as easy as placing the order and waiting for UPS.

Haviland’s Pink Tea Rose pattern, he learned, had been produced for only two years, 1955 and 1956, which made it nearly impossible to find. The few pieces that were for sale commanded ridiculous sums. Still, he’d broken the dishes, so he had to replace them. He found four saucers and ordered them; they were sixteen dollars each.

Then he registered with a search service, which would try to find the other pieces he needed. It seemed the sensible thing to do since they would know the best places to look.

Interesting smells began drifting his way from the kitchen. Miss Greer often fixed herself dinner and, judging from the odor she had favored sausage. This was completely different, and he had to admit it made his mouth water.

Maybe he’d been a little hasty, turning down Sara’s cooking.

It was interesting that she was such an enthusiastic cook. Here was a woman who didn’t have a home of her own, didn’t even own pots and pans, loved traveling. Yet she obviously had a strong streak of domesticity in her.

He felt bad now, getting so aggravated over the damage to his car. He’d already talked to the other driver, who had admitted fault and was willing to have his insurance company handle the whole thing, no arguing.

Maybe Sara could have been more aware of her surroundings, but mistakes happened, as he had so enthusiastically proved with the dishwasher incident. His mother didn’t put her china in the dishwasher; he should have known better.

Reece had been accused more than once of expecting a ridiculous degree of perfection from his coworkers-from everyone around him, actually. But his highest standards were reserved for himself. Today had just brought home the fact that nobody was perfect.

“Reece?”

He looked up to see Sara’s slim figure silhouetted in the kitchen door. “Yes?”

“I’ve made soup and sandwiches if you’re interested.” The uncertainty in her voice pricked his conscience. For whatever reason, his approval was important to her.

“Sure, sounds good. Let me just finish this one e-mail.” He was in the middle of explaining a complex financial procedure to his brother, and if he stopped now he would lose his train of thought completely.

Finishing the message took a bit longer than he thought it would. It was easy for him to get engrossed in something and lose track of time. Then he took a phone call from his father, who wanted to know down to the second when he would return to the office.

Probably fifteen minutes had passed by the time he shut down his laptop and headed to the kitchen, but Sara hadn’t nagged him.

He smiled when he saw her, sitting at the small table in the breakfast nook. She appeared to be sorting through recipes.

“Sorry that took so long,” he said. “I hope the soup hasn’t gotten cold.” He had to admit, it smelled pretty good.

She brightened and set her work aside, shoving it onto the seat of an empty chair. “No problem. The longer it simmers, the better it tastes.” She bustled around for a few moments, ladling up soup and slicing the sandwiches. He enjoyed just watching her perform everyday tasks.

He used to think she was a bit clumsy. During the first couple of weeks here she had dropped food on him at least three times while serving breakfast. But now he could see that she was actually quite graceful, moving with a beautiful economy, one activity flowing into the next.

Just the same, he tensed as she set his soup in front of him, ready to jump to his feet if the hot liquid appeared to be heading for his lap.

No mishaps today, though.

The meal not only smelled good, it looked beautiful. She’d served the thick ham sandwiches on brown bread with a pickle spear, just like at a restaurant, along with a few tortilla chips. Okay, so he didn’t like pickles, and that enormous green thing floating in his soup would have to go. But the effort she’d gone to impressed him.

He tried the sandwich first, because it looked less risky. At his first bite, he realized the bread was rye. He couldn’t stand rye bread. And there was something weird on the sandwich, like lettuce but not.

He chewed quickly and swallowed, then washed the bite down with iced tea-sweetened. What was it with Southerners and their tea? Every place he went down here, the tea was so sweet it tasted like syrup.

“The sandwich is made with one of those honey-baked hams,” Sara said. “Miss Greer received it as a gift for her birthday last week, but she doesn’t care much for it.”

“The ham is good,” he said without reservation. “What else is on the sandwich?”

“Havarti cheese, brown mustard-oh, and some arugula. I grow it myself in my herb garden on the patio.”

“Mmm,” he said noncommittally. Had she never heard of American cheese? Regular yellow mustard? Iceberg lettuce? He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but he ought to let her know his preferences. Maybe he would buy some groceries he liked, and she would get the hint.

He ate a few tortilla chips, then went on to brave the soup. Good Lord, what was that green thing? He poked at it and discovered it was a slice of avocado. In his opinion, avocados were absolutely the grossest food on earth. Well, next to beets. And asparagus.

He deftly shoved it aside and spooned up some of the broth. Okay, not bad. Kind of strangely spicy. But there was no chicken in the soup. Wasn’t tortilla soup supposed to have chicken?

He ate some of the little crunchy things on top and more broth. And when Sara’s attention was diverted by her own food, he pulled the ham out of the sandwich, scraped off the mustard, cut it into bites and ate it. Then he put everything else in his napkin, to be disposed of at the first opportunity.

He and his brother had become masters of vegetable disposal from an early age. Their dog, Winston, would eat anything, even broccoli. Unfortunately the Sunsetter didn’t have a dog, so he would have to be more creative.

“You don’t like avocado?” she asked.

Busted. “It’s not my favorite thing,” he admitted.

“That’s a shame. They’re so good for you.”

“I thought they were fattening.”

“They’re high in fat, but it’s the good kind of fat.”

“I guess I better eat some, then.” To appease her, he cut off a tiny piece with his spoon and put it in his mouth, hoping that maybe he was mistaken and it would taste good.

Nope.

He kept eating the broth, but after several spoonfuls he noticed his tongue was burning. Great. His ulcer was going to love this.

“Thank you for not yelling at me,” she said suddenly.

“What? Why would I yell at you?” The dinner wasn’t that bad.

“When I was sixteen I wrecked my dad’s car. It wasn’t exactly my fault-a guy pulled out in front of me. But I was so busy trying to look cool that I didn’t see him in time.”

“Was anyone hurt?” he asked.

“No. The damage wasn’t even that bad. But my dad went on and on like I was the stupidest, most irresponsible girl on the face of the earth, and how he knew he shouldn’t have let me get my driver’s license and how all females and especially teenage girls were bad drivers and on and on and on. He just wouldn’t drop it. To this day, if the topic of driving comes up, my dad goes off about how I wrecked the car two weeks after getting my license.”

Reece understood demanding parents.

“I guess I’m not the yelling type. Anyway, it’s just a car. Easy to fix. It’s not like you smashed up a sweet old lady’s wedding china.”

Sara reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I’m not the yelling type, either.” When she realized her hand was lingering on Reece’s arm, she snatched it away and hopped to her feet. “Do you want another sandwich?”

“No, no thanks,” he said hastily. “That one was…filling.”

“More soup, then?” She cast a critical eye at his bowl, which now contained nothing but soggy onions, celery and tomatoes. “You didn’t like the soup.”

“Yes, I did. I just ate around a few things that aren’t my favorite.”

She folded her arms. “You ate the broth.”

“And it was very good broth.”

“You don’t like vegetables of any kind, do you?”

“That’s not true. I like green beans. Carrots are okay.” He ticked the various items off on his fingers. “Corn. I’ll eat corn and…and lettuce. You know, all the normal vegetables. There are just a few I don’t like.” Okay, more than a few, several of which happened to be in the soup.

She shrugged. “Well, I appreciate that you at least tried the soup. Very adventurous of you.”

Hmm, somehow he got the idea she was condescending to him.

THE NEXT MORNING Sara got up early to fix breakfast. She and Reece had decided that he would help her with the meal, then he would visit Miss Greer and stay with her for a while, making sure she got everything she needed.

But it was early yet, and for a few minutes Sara would have the kitchen to herself.

When she opened the lid on the trash to throw away the eggshells, she found something strange. Bread. Cheese. Shriveled leaves of arugula. And a pickle spear.

In short, everything but the ham from Reece’s sandwich.

“That little sneak,” she muttered. If he didn’t like the way she fixed his meals, he needed to tell her rather than wasting perfectly good food.

Honestly, the man was the pickiest eater she’d ever known. Well, no, that title went to her father. He had to have beef and potatoes on the table every night at six-thirty sharp. One or two additional side dishes were tolerated-corn, carrots or an iceberg salad, in rotation.

The first time she’d tasted tacos at a friend’s birthday party, she thought she’d landed in a new universe. After that, she had tried every strange new dish she could get her hands on. Once she started experimenting in the kitchen, there’d been no stopping her.

When Reece joined her, she was taking a coffee cake out of the oven.

“That smells fantastic,” he said, going straight to the coffeemaker for his morning java fix. Reece did like his coffee, she noticed, and he drank too much of it.

“You don’t have to humor me, you know,” she said lightly. “If you don’t like my cooking, just tell me.”

He froze, a guilty expression crossing his handsome face.

“Do you dislike all bread, or just rye?”

“I don’t like those seeds,” he confessed.

“What about pumpernickel?”

“Not my favorite.”

“White?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “White is good.”

Figured. He’d probably been raised on Wonder like most American kids and had never branched out.

“I thought maybe I would buy a few groceries today,” he said casually. “You shouldn’t have to fix all our meals.”

“No, please,” she said, shuddering at the thought of what he would bring home. Saltines and cheese from a can? “I like to cook. We’ll just have to adjust to each other. But you have to tell me if you don’t like something. No more sneaking food into the trash.”

“Ah. Now the bread interrogation makes sense.” At least he looked a little bit shamed. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, but it just wasn’t my kind of sandwich.”

She smiled, suddenly finding the whole situation funny. “Got it.”

Reece helped with breakfast as much as he could, but mostly he carried dishes in and out of the dining room and forwarded requests from the guests.

Sara and Reece worked in a comfortable rhythm, which was frankly amazing given that it was only the second breakfast on which they’d cooperated.

Reece, as usual, ate oatmeal. At least that was healthy. But he loaded it with butter and sugar and refused her offer of raisins.

Strawberries. She remembered that he liked strawberries on his oatmeal, and she mentally added them to her grocery list.

She had a sudden vivid memory of wandering through the grocery with her mother.

“Oh, these tomatoes won’t do,” her mother would say, frowning at the produce. “Your father doesn’t like his tomatoes too ripe.”

“But I like them ripe,” Sara had pointed out.

“I do, too. But I have to put a meal on the table that pleases your father. I like to make him happy. You’ll understand someday.”

Sara had privately believed she would never understand, and she’d vowed that when she was grown-up she would cook exactly what she liked, husband or no husband. Yet here she was, plotting how to fix food that Reece would like.

And he wasn’t anything close to her husband.

What was going on here? Was she secretly more like her mother than she thought?

“You know,” she said, “maybe you should buy a few foods that you especially like. Then you’ll have something to fall back on if you’re not wild about my cooking.”

“Sara, I never said I don’t like your cooking. I think you’re amazing in the kitchen.”

She knew he was just soothing her ego, and she tried not to feel ridiculously pleased at the compliment.

But she couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. Reece thought she was amazing.

“I WALKED twenty-two steps,” Miss Greer said proudly. “Can you believe they have me walking the day after surgery?”

“The doctor said your recovery is going well.” Reece was surprised at how chatty Miss Greer was on pain meds. Not out of her head or talking in German, as she’d been yesterday according to Sara, but relaxed and jabbering like a magpie.

“So how’s everything back at the castle?” Miss Greer asked. “I understand you fixed breakfast yesterday.” She didn’t seem distressed by that idea.

“Sara did all the cooking. I just put it on the table.”

“She’s a good girl, that one. You’re not letting her handle the money, are you?”

“No, ma’am. I ran the credit cards for the guests.”

“Good. Now, Reece, I want you to do something for me. There’s a girl here who’s been taking care of me-I want to give her some money, but I don’t have any cash with me.”

“You want to…what?” Were the hospital staff shaking down Miss Greer?

“She’s not a nurse, just a volunteer, and she’s been so sweet and I know she could use some extra cash.”

“Miss Greer, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The woman was on heavy drugs and she might not be thinking right. “Did she ask you for money?”

“Oh, heavens, no. Her name is Fatima. I don’t have any cash in my purse, but I have some at home. Could you get out…oh, about a hundred dollars and make sure that Fatima gets it?”

Normally Miss Greer was extremely prudent with her money. “Why don’t you wait until you’re at home, and send it to her?” Reece suggested.

“My secret stash is under my mattress. Just bring the money next time you visit. Or send it with Sara.”

Now he knew Miss Greer wasn’t in her right mind. No one who knew Sara would give her a hundred dollars to deliver. Not that she would steal it-never that. But what if it got mixed up in her money ball? At the very least, the bills would get all wrinkled. If she didn’t give them to some homeless person.

“I’ll do that,” he said to appease Miss Greer. Chances were by tomorrow she would forget all about it. Later, if she really did want to send a gift to Fatima, she could still do so.

“Well, I expect you’ve humored me long enough,” she said. “Jeopardy’s on. I want to watch that.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing else you need?”

“They’re taking good care of me here, don’t worry.”

They were drugging her up, that was for sure. He’d never seen her so cheerful.

“You and Sara enjoy the evening. Why don’t you go to a movie or something?”

Reece coughed to disguise his reaction. “Sara and me?” Why would she say that? Had Sara mentioned their quasi-date?

“Come on now, Reece,” Miss Greer said with a smile. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. Have you tried asking her out on a date? I know she’s not dating anyone.”

“I’m not really Sara’s type,” he said diplomatically.

“Her type are all flakes. Artists, musicians, movie directors, starving actors. She could use a boyfriend with a head on his shoulders.”

“I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll let you play matchmaker with me if you return the favor. How about that nice man who owns Old Salt’s Bar and Grill? He’s a widower, nice-looking-”

Miss Greer tittered like a schoolgirl. “Don’t be silly. I’m allowed to play matchmaker-I’m an old woman. Now be gone with you. Alex Trebek is on.”

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Allie came over to the B and B. Cooper was handling the afternoon charter on his own, since it was only a couple of passengers, and Allie had decided she would visit Miss Greer. Sara asked to tag along, solving her transportation problem, and afterward they were going to do some wedding planning.

“So how are you managing without Miss Greer?” Allie asked as soon as Sara was buckled into the passenger seat of Allie’s little blue Suzuki Rodeo.

That was a very good question. “Okay, I guess. Reece is helping.”

Allie raised her eyebrows. “No kidding? Does he wear a frilly apron and scrub bathtubs?”

Sara let herself form that mental picture, then embellished it slightly, picturing him in the frilly apron-and nothing else. Surprisingly sexy.

“Sara?”

She snapped back to the present. “He makes beds. And he serves breakfast. Unfortunately, he also put Miss Greer’s good china in the dishwasher.”

“That’s bad?”

Of course Allie wouldn’t understand. She was a tomboy through and through and had probably never had a dishwasher. Or fine china, for that matter.

“It’s bad. Now we have to try to replace it before Miss Greer gets home from the hospital, and it’s a rare pattern. Reece found a few saucers on the Internet, but that’s it.”

“Hmm. Are you talking about those white dishes with the pink roses?”

Sara nodded.

“I saw some of those somewhere. I remember thinking, hey, those are just like the ones at the Sunsetter.”

Sara sat up straighter, nearly strangling herself on the shoulder harness. “Oh, think, Allie! Where did you see them? Was it recently?”

“It seems I was with Cooper, so pretty recently. Maybe at one of those antique stores on Second Street.”

“Which one?”

Allie shrugged. “They all run together in my mind.”

At least it was a place to start. There were probably a dozen antiques stores in Port Clara’s old downtown, but it wouldn’t take that long to hit them all, blitz style.

When they reached Miss Greer’s room at the hospital, Reece was just coming out. He looked yummy today in crisp jeans and a shirt with blue stripes, neatly tucked in. At least he’d gone to short sleeves in deference to the warmer May weather, but the shirt was starched to within an inch of its life.

Allie greeted him with a hug, which was a little bit funny when Sara thought about it. A few short weeks ago, all of the Remingtons had been Allie’s enemies, trying to take away her boat and her livelihood. Now she was marrying into their family.

“No cruise today?” Reece asked her.

“Cooper’s handling it. I needed an afternoon off and some girl talk.”

“How is she?” Sara whispered, nodding toward the partially open door.

“Health-wise, pretty well,” Reece replied. “She’s been up walking, and she’s a regular Chatty Cathy. But I’m afraid I upset her.”

Sara gasped. “You didn’t tell her about the dishes, did you? Because I have a lead on some replacements.”

“No. But I…well, I asked her about the future. She was worried about whether she could keep running the B and B, and I asked her if she’d planned for retirement and if she had long-term care insurance and…and, well, she got upset.”

“Of course she did! Nobody wants to think about being shuffled off to the old folks home, especially when they’re lying in a hospital bed.”

“I’m worried about her. She keeps her money under her mattress, for pity’s sake.”

“It makes her feel safe,” Sara pointed out sensibly. “She went through a war, remember. Maybe her parents were able to escape Germany because they did have a cash reserve.”

Reece looked thoughtful. “I never thought of that. Would you try to calm her down? I didn’t mean to upset her.”

Allie slipped into the room, leaving Reece and Sara alone. “I’m sure you meant well, Reece, but not everyone sees the world like you. As cautious as Miss Greer is with her money, I’m sure she has some saved for a rainy day, which is better than a lot of people.”

“What if she becomes disabled? What if her mind goes? She has no family to take care of her. Someone could take advantage of her.”

“She has lots of friends. I love her like my own grandmother, Reece. I won’t let anything bad happen to her.” She supposed Reece saw that as the blind taking care of the blind, but she refused to spend her days worrying about the future. Life was too short.

Impulsively she leaned up and kissed his cheek. “You’re sweet to worry. But you really need to lighten up. Live in the moment. Smile a little more. Carpe diem.”

He took a deep breath and forced a smile. “I’ll try.”

“I’m going to a party tonight. Why don’t you come with me?”

“On a Sunday?”

“What’s wrong with having a party on Sunday? It’s still the weekend.”

“I have some financials I have to go over tonight.”

She rolled her eyes. “Suit yourself,” she said, as if it made no difference to her. But inside she wilted. She’d asked him out and he’d turned her down. She had to face it-he wasn’t into her. Yeah, maybe they had chemistry, but Reece was obviously the kind of man who needed more.

She wasn’t convinced that there couldn’t be more, but apparently he was.

He said goodbye and walked away, and Sara swallowed the stupid lump in her throat and entered Miss Greer’s room, nearly hitting Allie, who was on her way out.

“Sorry,” she said.

“Sorry,” Allie said at the same time. “I was just coming to see what happened to you. Did you just ask Reece to go to a party with you?”

“You were eavesdropping.”

“No, honestly, I wasn’t. The door was open a crack.”

“Well, yes, I asked him, and he said no.” Sara brushed past Allie into the room. “Hello, Miss Greer!” she said cheerily. “How are you today?”

“I was fine, until Reece reminded me that I’m going to end up bankrupt in a nursing home, dependent on the kindness of strangers.”

Sara sighed. “Don’t listen to him,” she said, rubbing the elderly lady’s arm. “He means well, really, but his brain functions a bit differently from ours.”

“Actually,” Allie said, “Reece is very good at what he does. I had a little bit saved for retirement, but not nearly enough. After he ran the numbers for me I realized I had to do more-”

“Wait a minute,” Sara interrupted. “You’re not taking his side, are you?”

“I don’t see it as taking sides,” Allie said. “I’m just saying everyone should do some planning for the future. Everyone,” she added pointedly, giving Sara a meaningful look.

“And I say that if you spend today worrying about the future, you’ve wasted a perfectly good day.”

“Oh, Reece is probably right,” Miss Greer grumbled. “I won’t live forever. You won’t either, Sara. You’re young and healthy now, but in the blink of an eye, you’re old and you wonder what happened to the years.”

Great. Now she’d lost Miss Greer to the dark side.

“Can we change the subject to something more cheerful? We could talk about my root canal.” An aide chose that moment to deliver Miss Greer’s lunch, and no more was said about retirement, which suited Sara just fine.

AFTER LEAVING the hospital, Sara and Allie went to Allie’s house to talk about the wedding. Allie had no interest in an expensive gown or a tall cake, or forcing her friends to wear ugly bridesmaids’ dresses. But she did want to mark the occasion in a special and memorable way. So she and Cooper were renting the biggest party barge they could find and decking it out with flowers stem to stern. They were inviting close friends on an afternoon wedding cruise, complete with champagne and appetizers. Afterward there would be a big party on the beach for everybody who wanted to come. Practically the whole town knew Allie, and they all wanted to raise a glass in honor of her nuptials.

“I love this house,” Sara commented as they settled in the den, which was littered with several dresses in bags, shoes, recipes, bridal magazines, florists’ catalogs and a stack of half-addressed invitations. “I’m so glad Cooper decided to rent it.”

“We’re talking about buying it,” Allie said. “It’s perfect for us.”

“And for the bambinos you’ll have,” Sara added. “You’re going to have twelve so their devoted auntie Sara can spoil them rotten, right?”

“First I have to survive the wedding.” Allie looked uneasily at the wedding-planning detritus. “I wanted to keep it simple, and now it’s getting out of hand. Is it too late to elope?”

“Just start making decisions,” Sara said practically. “I’ll help you finish addressing the invitations.”

“Ah, no, thanks. I’ve got that covered.”

“It’s my handwriting, right?” Sara tried not to feel slighted. Her penmanship was abominable.

“That, and the fact you’ll transpose numbers and misspell names. But there is something really important you can do. I know you’re superbusy with Miss Greer’s surgery and all, but I need a caterer. I was going to fix the food myself, but-”

“I’d be honored! You’ll be way too busy to worry about that.”

“Can you do that and be my maid of honor, too?”

“Of course. I’ll fix everything ahead of time. How about a Southwestern theme for the food? Taquitos and flautas, nachos-”

“Whatever you want. For about fifty people. If I can just scratch it off my list and turn it over to you, I’d be so grateful.”

“Give me a budget, then say no more. What about cakes?”

“We’re doing just one cake, from Rominelli’s Bakery. No punch or anything fussy, just champagne and soft drinks.”

“I can do all that, too.”

With the food and drink portion of the planning taken care of, they moved on to dress and shoe modeling and picking out flowers. For once, Allie allowed herself to be a girlie-girl, choosing pink and white roses and carnations.

Sara had to admit she felt a little wistful. As a girl, she’d never been entranced with the idea of being a bride. She’d preferred fantasizing that she was a secret agent or a rock star. Later, she had decided she would never get married-too restrictive. She hated the thought of being tied down.

But seeing Allie in her slightly stressed state of romantic bliss had given birth to fantasies of Prince Charming and happily ever after.

Where was that damn prince, anyway?

She thought briefly of Reece, then shook her head.

“What’s wrong?” Allie asked.

“What? Nothing.”

“You looked sad all the sudden.”

“Allie, is there something wrong with me?”

“What? No. What could be wrong with you? You’re perfect.”

Sara snorted at that one. She was far from perfect, but neither did she think she was repulsive. “Reece is attracted to me-I know he is. He’s hetero and unattached. So why can’t I, you know, get something going with him?”

Allie’s eyebrows rose so high they almost joined her hairline. “This is something you want? I mean, I agree that Reece has a little thing for you. I’ve seen him watching you with this expression of…I don’t know. Wonder, I guess.”

“Wonder?”

“Like he’s watching an exotic, alien creature.”

That didn’t sound so nice.

“But I didn’t think you would be interested in someone so…how do I put this?”

“Boring? A stick-in-the-mud?”

“Now, I wouldn’t have put it that way. But he is more conservative than your usual type of boyfriend.”

“But maybe I need a different kind of boyfriend. All those guys I’ve dated-what’s it ever gotten me? They’re usually flakier than me, even. No stability, no clue about commitment, not exactly loyal…”

“But I thought you wanted someone to have adventures with.”

“I do, but I just realized I also want someone I can depend on. Someone who can ground me.”

“Okay, but maybe you should make the change slowly, by degrees. No more Peter Pans, but someone with a pulse.”

“Allie! Reece has a pulse.” She thought about that hot kiss outside his room. Even the memory made her feel a bit melty. “You should have seen how well he dealt with Miss Greer’s accident. He was calm and efficient, but kind, too. And he didn’t have to agree to help out at the B and B, but he did. He even tried Bulgarian food.”

“Really. You two have been out together?”

“Sort of. But I guess it wasn’t as much fun for him as it was for me. Maybe I should have let him take me to a steak house like he wanted.”

A mischievous smile spread across Allie’s face. “If you want Reece, then I think you should have him. But he seems shy. You’re going to have to make the first move.”

“I already made the first move. I asked him to come with me to the party and he turned me down, remember?” Sara looked away, refusing to admit how much his turndown bothered her. “How many first moves do I have to make before I admit defeat?”