A Convenient Proposal(30)

“Well, Al and Zelda were my closest friends.” He shrugged. “Did they need to be punished for falling in love?”

Arden sat forward. “That’s the price they pay, isn’t it? Should they hurt you so deeply and have no repercussions?”

His surprised look made her aware of how agitated she sounded. “You’re quite fierce about it. Almost as if you’ve been in the same situation.”

Now she was the one staring at her plate. “Well, yes, I have been. I was engaged. He was unfaithful. So I broke it off.”

Four teenagers came in the door at that moment. Giggling and chattering, they arranged themselves at the table next to Arden and Griff.

“Be right back,” he told her, and went to the register. He tried to argue when Peg refused to allow him to pay for their order, but gave up gracefully in the end. “Free flea spray,” he promised over his shoulder as he walked back to Arden, “for that long-haired princess of yours.”

He pulled her chair out as she stood up. “They have a Pekingese,” he said as they walked out. “So I’ll just have to pay for the pumpkin bread in kind.”

“That’s nice of you.” She glanced back at the door as it closed, and laughed. “I didn’t notice when we went in—the door is purple.” A delicious, eggplant hue.

“Yep.” With a hand at the small of her back, he indicated they should cross the street. As they arrived at the opposite curb, he glanced up and said, “That’s new.”

Arden followed his gaze, but not his train of thought. “What’s new?”

“Hear that chirp? Since I left last summer, they’ve added sound to the crosswalk signals.”

She hadn’t heard anything. But she could pretend. “Oh…yes. I think that’s supposed to assist people with impaired vision.” The deaf, like her, would be able to see the flashing Walk and Don’t Walk signs.

“Right. There’s always something new to spend tax money on. Anyway, since the worst has already happened, let’s get this tour started and enjoy the morning. What do you say?”

“Excellent.” Especially if that meant she didn’t have to reveal any more details about her past. Griff had taken her statement about Andre at face value, then moved on. He didn’t pursue the issue, which was exactly what she wanted.

The less he knew about her, the better. And the less she depended on him, the easier she would find her return to Florida.

Because no matter how pretty the town of Sheridan might be, Arden didn’t intend to stay one minute longer than she absolutely had to.



GRIFF PLAYED TOUR GUIDE for the rest of the morning, recounting as much town history and as many anecdotes as he could remember about the buildings and the people. Sheridan was a pretty place in the spring, with masses of azaleas and dogwoods in bloom, or in summer with the crape myrtle trees blooming pink on Main Street and pots of flowers on every doorstep and porch. They were close enough to the mountains that autumn could be gorgeous, once the leaves began to change.

Winter seemed austere in comparison, with the grass turned brown and only the pine trees providing any green. Of course, there were many, many pine trees.

But without the decorative plants, the architecture of Sheridan came clearly into focus and, as a result, Griff preferred this time of year in his hometown.

“The first settler arrived in 1764,” he told Arden. “And by the 1800s a thriving little town had been built. According to local mythology, General Sherman passed within twenty miles on his way to Atlanta, but since the town was named for another Union general, he marched by without doing any damage.

“So we’ve got some nice antebellum houses still standing.” He halted in front of the iron gate guarding the Statler mansion. “This one dates to 1846. Tobacco brought in a lot of money, even in those days.”

Arden nodded. “Beautiful. Hard to maintain, but lovely.”

“Nowadays the family lives in New York most of the time. Watch out,” he said, catching her around the waist as she stumbled. “This sidewalk is rough in places.”

He started to move on, keeping his arm around her, but noticed that she glanced back at the big house.

With a deep breath, she turned away. “You’re quite the history buff, aren’t you? Is that your hobby, when you’re not doctoring animals?”

“I can’t help soaking it in.” They crossed the street to the entrance of City Park. “I’ve been hearing these stories all my life. And, yeah, when I do have time to read something besides vet journals, I tend to choose history.”