good time with her.
She hoped he was.
She fidgeted as she sipped her wine, irrationally nervous about the coming proposal. That was silly. There was nothing to be anxious about. She knew Carter was going to propose, and she knew she was going to say yes. She knew the engagement would last until after Christmas, which as the decorations surrounding them proved, wasn’t all that far away. And she knew that after that they’d break up amicably and go on with their lives.
She knew all that. She and Carter had it planned. There was nothing unknown there, except the exact way Carter was going to propose. And that... well, that didn’t really matter. She didn’t need to be nervous.
But she was. She drank her wine for fortification and waited.
Five minutes later, she glanced over to the entrance and saw a familiar face. “Oh look. Savannah.”
Savannah was a clever, attractive woman in her early thirties and the reason that Carter and Ruth had been set up to begin with. She saw Ruth waving and gave her a big smile, dragging her husband over to say hello.
Carter stood up to greet Lance Carlyle, who Ruth knew had been his friend since elementary school. Ruth had never met Lance before although she’d seen him around. He was very good-looking in his fitted black T-shirt and tailored trousers, but not in a classically handsome way like Carter. He had freckles that blended into his tan and thick, curly hair that was always flopping over his forehead. He had a really nice smile though, and he aimed it now at Ruth as they said hello to each other.
“Am I brilliant or what?” Savannah demanded. “I knew you two would hit it off.”
“You were right. I’m not sure how it happened, but you were right.” Carter leaned over to kiss her cheek in a friendly way.
“Seriously, thank you for introducing us,” Ruth said, wondering what it would be like to have a circle of friends like Carter. One that went back years. Decades. She had friends of course, but most of them lived in Charlotte. She had no one in her life that went so far back. And Carter seemed to have dozens.
“You’re welcome.” Savannah was smiling like she knew some sort of juicy secret. “And now I have perpetual bragging rights, so I figure all of us are winners.” She was carrying a red sweater draped over her arm, and she adjusted it.
The motion caught Ruth’s attention. “Is it getting cold out there?” she asked. “It’s been way too hot for November this week.”
“No. It’s not really cold yet.” Savannah opened her mouth again, like she was going to explain why she was carrying a thick red sweater. Then she closed it again.
“Let’s grab a table,” Lance said to his wife. “Ruth, it was nice to meet you. I’m sure I’ll see you around more soon.”
“Thanks. You too.” Ruth watched as they walked across the room to sit down at another empty table. For some reason she noticed that Savannah handed Lance the red sweater.
Carter cleared his throat. “Okay.”
Ruth straightened up, her throat tightening. “Ooh, is it time?”
He gave her that narrow-eyed look that was becoming quite familiar now.
“Were you waiting for Lance and Savannah? Is that it?” Ruth leaned over the table excitedly. “Tell me what’s going to happen.”
“I’m not going to tell you.” He cleared his throat again and shifted in his chair.
“Oh my God,” Ruth breathed. “You’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” he muttered in what was an obvious lie. “I’m mentally preparing.”
“You don’t need to prepare. Whatever you’ve got planned is going to be great. I know it will. And at least you don’t have to be scared about what my answer will be.”
“Well, there’s that.” Carter shook his head, staring down at his mostly empty scotch glass. “I don’t know how people do this for real and not get paralyzed with fright.”
Ruth laughed and reached over to squeeze his hand. “I think that’s probably why most people do it in private. Not quite so much pressure to perform.”
“Speaking of perform...” He stood up. Reached for his glass and swallowed down the last of the liquor. Then he took a deep breath. “I’ll be right back.”
Ruth tried to act casual, but she was literally perched on the edge of her seat. She kept her fingers wrapped around the stem of her wineglass in an attempt to act cool and nonchalant.
But the truth was she wasn’t a nonchalant person. Or a cool one. And at