Steepling her fingers, she tapped them against her lips. “Would you pretend to be my fiancé?”
An easy grin widened his mouth. “You’re hilarious.”
“Sometimes. Especially after exactly one and a half mojitos. But right now? I’m serious.”
“You can’t be.”
“I am.” It wasn’t a good sign that the shock value of her request had sidelined Alex from answering. “Please don’t keep going around in circles as to the truth factor. We don’t have much time. Gram expects me back out there.”
Alex half-stood to pull off his coat. “You barely know me.”
Which made him a better candidate than probably the last six men she’d attempted to date. “I know that you’re bold and passionate and a hard worker, if you’re going to bring Three Oaks back to life. I know that you’re loyal, to do it with your sister and your friends. And I know you’re caring to have not already walked out the door halfway through my story.”
He scratched at the back of his neck, just above the collar of his navy Henley. “What if I’m engaged already?”
“Then you wouldn’t have been flirting with me.” Cripes, what if she’d read him all wrong? “At least, I hope not,” she amended.
“Correct. Which leads us to the next obvious stumbling block. If I’m pretending to be engaged to you, I won’t be able to actually flirt, let alone date, anyone else.” Alex cleared his throat, thrust out an arm as if orating to a crowd, and said, “‘In the spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.’”
Sydney’s mouth dried up. Her handsome, almost-fake fiancé could quote Tennyson? That was as panty-melting as his smile. Maybe more so.
Then she realized he’d mentioned spring. Her mouth rounded from slack-jawed awe at his poetry pizzazz to shock at forgetting the main fact that would make him say yes. “Oh! I forgot the best part.”
“I don’t have to drop two months’ salary on a ring? Or you have a deal worked out with the hardware store and you’ll let me use your discount to purchase all our supplies?”
She held up one hand and ticked off yet another point on her fingers. “And now I know that you’re extremely fixated on money.”
Alex’s expression morphed into straight-up solemnity, like he’d slipped on a mask. “The four of us have no incoming income until we get this inn running. Damn straight I’m all about the bottom line.”
“I guess I can add practical to your list of traits.” Which she appreciated. It was the people who pretended not to care about money but pinched every penny in secret that were difficult. Hiding things—anything, big or small—never turned out well.
In a tone drier than Death Valley, Alex said, “That is just what every man longs to hear during a proposal. That practicality came in ahead of good looks and sex appeal.”
“I didn’t say that.” Did he truly not know that he smoldered with sex appeal? That he could be the man in a cologne/watch/champagne ad? It was actually endearing that he needed a bit of an ego stroke. “Alex, you’re suavely handsome. Your smiles are rare, and all the more potent because of it.”
Those icy eyes widened in…disbelief? Appreciation? Hard to tell. But then he dipped his chin. “Nice to hear. Was that so hard?”
“I didn’t realize you needed a bit of flirting to consider this favor. It seemed…forward to lead off with cataloging your physical traits.”
“Forward?” A huge belly laugh rolled out of him. It was warm and contagious, even though Sydney knew it was aimed at her. “You just proposed after a grand total of ten minutes of conversation, over two days.”
Men had a tendency to be so darned literal. “I’m not proposing for real. I’m asking for your help. You will, in no way, be obligated to follow through into a fake marriage.”
“Then where does the line get drawn?” Alex braced a hand on the back of the couch and leaned forward. He leaned in so close that his breath warmed her ear. “How interesting does this get?”
For a moment—okay, three—Sydney let herself enjoy the closeness. The heat pumping off him through the waffle-weave shirt onto her chest. The brush of his biceps against the back of her head. How their knees pressed together. It was all intimate and on the edge of…something. She just wasn’t sure what.
“It’ll be over in the spring. That’s the best part. Three months. That’s all I’m asking for. Then Gram’s chemo will be over. She’ll be