Page 46 of Never Marry the Best Man (Whatever It Takes #4)

Ranney

“I don’t believe I’ve ever had lobster bisque, and if I have, it certainly wasn’t homemade.” Tom cast a wistful glance at Ranney, looking so much like a hungry teenager that she laughed.

“Okay, okay! But we’ll have to take the galette to go, if Charlene will do that.”

“Excellent! Lead the way, Charlene, those lobsters shall not have died in vain.”

Once seated at the kitchen island, with steaming bowls in front of them and the scent of warm rolls in the air, the situation began to seem slightly less hopeless.

“For goodness’ sake, Charlene, sit down and have dinner with us!”

“Yes, please do,” Tom echoed, raising his glass of Sancerre. “To the chef!”

“I ate two hours ago,” the chef responded. “Not to mention all the taste testing. But thank you.”

“This,” Tom announced around his soup spoon, “is the best thing I have ever eaten.” Turning to Ranney, he asked, “Do you have the recipe for this? Because if you do, I have married the perfect woman.”

“ Shhhh! Please stop talking like that!”

“Like what?”

“Like this is a normal situation, where we got married for the right reasons!”

Charlene laughed good-humoredly, but there was irony in it, too. “How many people do that, get married for the right reasons? What are the right reasons, anyway? I got married when I was eighteen and the reason was that I was pregnant.”

“Oh–but that’s different!” And biologically impossible for me, thank God , she thought to herself. One child was enough.

In fact, Nessa was more than enough.

“Is it? I think it’s similar in some ways. I had a problem that was going to have some serious negative consequences on my life, socially and economically. And you know what? The guy who married me wasn’t the father, but he knew I needed help.”

“I never knew this,” Ranney said quietly. “What happened?”

“We raised that boy, and we had one of our own. You’ve met them, Joey and Frank Junior. They both have families of their own now.”

“But you’ve always been single since we met you."

“Frankie died in a construction accident when the kids were thirteen and eleven.”

“Oh, Charlene. I knew the boys' dad wasn't around, but–how could I not know this?”

“It was before I met you. And your mother hogs all the attention in a room.

" She waved her hand. "I’m just saying that not every happy marriage starts with a princess and an appropriate prince.” Her face was hidden as she packed plastic containers of galette and extra rolls into a paper shopping bag.

Ranney and Tom exchanged glances, then noticed Evan standing in the doorway, listening.

“I told Mame I’d bring her a tray,” he said uncomfortably.

“I’ll fix it.” Ranney jumped up, reaching automatically for a linen napkin, silverware, a soup bowl. Atonement, maybe, for her outburst.

“I apologize for how I must have sounded,” Evan said to Tom. “Like I thought you were somehow trying to take advantage of my sister. Or–Ranney–if I made it seem like you weren’t capable of making your own decisions.” He turned to her. “I’m sorry.”

“Not at all,” Tom answered. “In your shoes, I would probably have thought the same. And I suppose I was taking advantage, just a bit. How else would I ever have gotten this incredible woman to marry me? Now I just need to convince her that it wasn’t a mistake.

Or an act of convenience. That it can be real. That it is real.”

Ranney heard this–how could she not?–but she gave no sign, focusing instead on what she was doing. Sliding the finished dinner tray toward Evan, she cautioned, “Be careful with this on the stairs, Ev. The bowl’s really full.”

“Got it.”

Tom watched her with a puzzled look, but thankfully said no more.

“We should probably get going. Charlene, can I help with cleanup?” This was answered with an emphatic shake of the head.

“Absolutely not, it’s almost done.”

“Be careful out there,” Evan said. “I noticed a strange-looking car on the street, a weird pink SUV. Definitely not one of the neighbors.”

For the second time in ten minutes, Ranney and Tom’s eyes met, his filled with mirth. “I’ll keep an eye out,” Tom assured him. “It won’t be hard to miss, at least.”

Evan looked out the front window. “Still there. Who paints their car a color like that anyway? Maybe one of those make-up ladies?”

Tom made a noncommittal sound, then said, “Thugs, most likely. Probably some new craze. But Ranney’s safe with me.”

“I have no doubt.” Evan held out his hand. “It was good to meet you, Tom. I hope to see more of you in the future. Ilene’s going to be beside herself that she missed this.” He chuckled, then picked up the tray carefully and left the room.

“You certainly won him over,” Ranney said, her tone thoughtful.

“Seems like there’s only one person left to win over,” Charlene observed, opening the dishwasher. “Maybe two, if you count Nessa.”

Feeling both annoyed and exhausted, Ranney looked around for her purse and spotted it near the toaster. “We’d better go before the thugs in the pink Toyota come back.”

“How do you know it’s a Toyota?” Charlene asked, eyes narrowing a little bit.

“Just a wild guess.”

“Huh.”

“Thank you,” Tom said sincerely. “Everything was delicious. And lovely to meet you.”

“Yes,” Ranney added. “I’m sorry it didn’t go as planned tonight.”

“Things rarely do, in my experience.”

“Very true.” Ranney leaned forward and kissed Charlene’s cheek. “I’ll call her tomorrow.”

As they approached their very pink vehicle, Ranney stopped herself from glancing back at the house. If Evan looked out the window and saw them getting into it, so be it. The car was a wildly romantic gesture that no one but she and Tom, and maybe Achilles, would ever understand.

And it lightened Ranney's heart to know how much trouble Tom had gone to for something more than sentimentality.

Tom unlocked the doors and held the door while she stowed the bag of food Charlene had packed for them. Then he walked around, got in, and started the engine.

The drive back into the city was largely silent, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. She didn’t have to try to explain, or provide context, or apologize, because there was no question that he was on her side.

And for this, she was grateful. But was that enough for a real marriage? She looked out the window, watching the other cars and the lights and the signs slide by. None of them answered her question.

When she first saw the pink car tonight and realized what Tom had done, it was a funny surprise, but she’d been so engrossed in the evening ahead that she hadn’t really focused on it.

Now, though, she couldn’t think of anything in her entire life that equaled it.

The closest thing she could come up with was Carmine’s proposal, which had taken place in a little cafe on the Amalfi Coast, on a starlit September night.

It had required a fair amount of planning and expense on his part, and she had loved it, of course. Although it was long before any kind of social media existed, it made a glamorous story, and her friends had been duly impressed. It seemed to herald a magical future life together.

Buying this ridiculous car and having it delivered to Boston, however, involved a level of risk and sheer insanity that qualified Tom for a gold medal in the Romantic Gesture Olympics.

She turned and studied his profile as he navigated the traffic on the Mass Pike.

As reluctant as she was to believe that his feelings for her were genuine and not just the blending of intense gratitude with extremely good manners, she had to consider the possibility.

The car made a definite statement.

“What is it?” Noticing her gaze, he rubbed the side of his face. “Do I have something..?”

“No! I just… nobody’s ever bought me a vehicle before.”

“Oh, hang on there–technically, the title’s in my name. But you’re welcome to drive it whenever you like. If I’m not using it, that is.”

“I see. Do you plan to use it often?”

“I do, actually. It’s perfect for Boston–scratches and dents will be nothing to worry about. I can park it anywhere and never have to think about car theft.”

“You’ll always be able to locate it in a parking garage,” she contributed. “No more writing down the level and the row.”

“Exactly. Very useful for construction site visits, too.”

“Maybe the dust and dirt will make it a little less…”

“Pink?” They laughed.

“Also, I plan to drive it whenever I pick you up. I should probably just sell the Rover, I never realized before how boring it is.”

“I wouldn’t rush into anything,” she advised.

“You wouldn’t?” She caught his meaning and they both laughed again.

As traffic increased, they fell silent but when they arrived at her block, she said, “Why don’t you come up and we’ll have Charlene’s dessert?”

“I was hoping you would ask.” He grinned. “And coffee?”

“Of course. You earned it.”

Then she bit her lip as he searched for a parking spot, finally finding one a short walk from her building. Earlier this evening, while she was waiting for Tom to pick her up, she had briefly considered–and rejected–any number of polite excuses to avoid doing what she’d just invited him to do.

I have to be at work early tomorrow.

My cousin is visiting and she goes to sleep at seven o’clock.

I’d love to have you up but I’m dogsitting for a pitbull–she’s very sweet but for some reason she growls at men...

Now she was asking him in? What was she thinking? What was he going to think? She needed to pick a lane and stick to it.

Pick a lane.

But which one?

The breakdown lane, she thought. That’s where I’m headed.