Page 61 of Make-Believe Match

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The following night, Devlin and I met Gran for dinner at Snowberry’s restaurant. I’d asked her to meet me and a potential investor, although I hadn’t given her a name. After dinner, Devlin and I were heading to Cherry Tree Harbor to surprise his family at his brother’s bar opening. The plan was to introduce me to them tonight but wait until Saturday to announce the marriage so we didn’t steal attention.

We got to the restaurant a little early, and while we waited for Gran to arrive, we ordered drinks and toasted to our first victory—Sara’s mom had called Devlin today and told him she had investors interested in meeting with us in late October.

“In the meantime,” Devlin said, “we can get the contractors lined up and have everything ready to go when the money comes through.”

“I’m so nervous,” I said. “What if Gran says no? What if all this is for nothing?”

“We’ll convince her,” Devlin said easily. “I don’t think it’s going to be as hard as you imagine.”

“Right.” I took a breath. “She said I had to have a husband, and I have a husband.”

“Not just any husband, but one with a Harvard M.B.A, experience in property development, and good connections.” He sipped his whiskey, his eyes dancing above the rim of his glass. “You hit the jackpot, Mrs. Buckley.”

Laughing, I looked down at my hand, at the gold band around my finger. “Let’s hope so.”

“You look beautiful, by the way. I love that color on you.”

I glanced down at the emerald green top I wore. “Thank you. It’s my favorite color.”

“Speaking of colors, tell me what you see for this dining room. It definitely needs an update.”

“I was thinking of maybe going lighter, a little more modern. Maybe Scandinavian design instead of Swiss? I want sleek but cozy.”

We were still discussing changes to the restaurant layout and decor when Gran approached the table. She stopped short when she saw us, steeling her fingers over her heart. “What’s this?”

Devlin stood and pulled out a chair for her. “Mrs. McIntyre.”

“Mr. Buckley.” She glanced at me, then back at him. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“I can imagine,” he said.

“But not displeased,” she went on quickly, taking her seat. “I’d been hoping the two of you might work things out.” She smiled at me. “You look lovely, Alexandra. Just lovely.”

“Thanks, Gran.”

Devlin sat down again, and we exchanged a look. He moved his chair a little closer to mine and draped his left arm over my shoulders—all part of the choreography we’d discussed.

“So we have some news,” I began, which was my first line in the script we’d written, but as I watched Gran’s eyes move from the champagne in my glass to the ring on Devlin’s finger, to the close proximity of our bodies, I forgot what I was supposed to say next.

“News?” Gran was growing more excited. “What news?”

“We’re married!” I blurted, going off book. I brought my hand out from under the table, sticking my arm out so she could see my ring. “Devlin and I got married.”

“Oh my goodness!” Gran touched her rouged cheeks with both hands. “Is that true?”

Next to me, Devlin cleared his throat. “It’s true.”

Flabbergasted, Gran shook her head. “But how? When?”

“After you gave me her number that day at lunch,” Devlin said, sticking to the script, “I reached out, and we talked before I went back to Boston. Then we continued talking. Every night.”

“You did?” Gran looked at me. “You never said anything, you sneaky girl!”

I laughed flirtatiously, patting Devlin’s hand on my shoulder. “We agreed to keep it between us. We didn’t want to jinx anything.”

“So then what happened?” Gran was on the edge of her seat.