The Fiancée Fiasco. Jackie Braun

lie had succeeded in easing Nana Jo’s mind; now his was in turmoil. She was insisting on meeting his fiancée, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer any longer. If Thomas didn’t bring the young woman to Nana Jo’s home in Charlevoix for the upcoming Fourth of July weekend, she threatened to get in her car and make the long trip downstate to meet his Beth.

      He didn’t like the idea of his grandmother tooling around town in her vintage Cadillac DeVille, much less getting on an expressway where other vehicles would be whizzing by and no doubt honking their horns in irritation since she always drove at least ten miles per hour below the posted speed limit. But if he told her the truth, she would only go back to insisting that she had one foot in the grave. He couldn’t stand the thought of that.

      The only solution, as far as he could see, was to produce a fiancée now, and then later, after a reasonable length of time had passed, have that fiancée call things off. If he seemed heartbroken, perhaps Nana Jo would stop pushing so hard, forget about the “dreams” and go back to living her life to the fullest.

      A tall order, to be sure. He sighed heavily and closed his eyes.

      A tap sounded at his door. “Excuse me, Thomas.”

      He opened his eyes to find his secretary standing there with a look of concern pinching her features. Annette was two decades older than Thomas and, like his grandmother, she worried about him. She, too, thought he should be married or at least in a serious relationship at this point in his life. As his employee, however, Annette was much less vocal on the subject, thank goodness.

      “Is everything all right?” she asked now.

      “Headache,” he murmured. It wasn’t a complete lie. It was Monday and he had until Thursday to figure a way out of this mess. His temples had begun to throb. He pushed back his chair from his desk and started to rise. “I think I’ll knock off a little early.”

      “Oh.” Annette’s lips pursed.

      “Problem?”

      “No. Not really. It’s just that the head of Literacy Liaisons is here to see you.”

      “Right now?”

      She nodded.

      Reaching for his calendar, he said, “I don’t recall an appointment being scheduled.”

      “That’s because she doesn’t have one. She dropped in unannounced hoping for a few minutes of your time.” Annette shook her head. “It’s all right. I’ll tell her that she needs to make an appointment. Maybe one day next week?”

      Thomas held up a hand. “No. That won’t be necessary. I’ll see her now. Might as well get this over with.” He rubbed one temple. “I assume she’s after a donation.”

      His secretary smiled. “I’m sure you’re right.”

      Three things struck Thomas immediately when the young woman entered his office. First, how small she was, despite wearing a pair of three-inch-high pumps that were the same color as her conservative gray pantsuit. Even in them, he doubted she topped out at five-five.

      Second, her mouth. It was wide with full lips that were curving into a smile that lit up a pair of surprisingly dark eyes for one so fair. Add in a slightly upturned, freckle-dusted nose and bobbed blond hair that fell even with a blunt chin, and the adjective cute was a far better description for her than beautiful.

      Third—and perhaps this was only because he was feeling so desperate—she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. In fact, other than a pair of simple pearl earrings, she wasn’t wearing any jewelry at all.

      He eyed her speculatively, both ashamed and intrigued by the direction of his thoughts. What if …? Nah.

      “Good afternoon, Mr. Waverly. I’m Elizabeth Morris.” She extended her right hand. “Thank you for taking the time to see me on such short notice.”

      He shook her hand. Like the rest of her, it was small. And soft. Her grip, however, was not. It was firm and all business. He liked that about her. There was nothing worse than a limp handshake, even coming from a petite woman who barely looked old enough to order a drink.

      “Have a seat,” he said.

      “I’m pretty sure you’ve guessed I’ve come here today to ask for money.” Those full lips bowed again, making him appreciate her forthrightness all the more.

      The headache he’d been nursing began to disappear. He steepled his fingers in front of him and, in his most businesslike tone, said, “Waverly Enterprises is always interested in helping worthy causes in our community. Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yours?”

      She exhaled discreetly, as if she hadn’t been sure Thomas wouldn’t show her the door.

      “Literacy Liaisons specializes in helping adults in our community learn to read.”

      “Is illiteracy really an issue in Ann Arbor?”

      She tilted her head to one side. “That surprises you?”

      “A little.” The city was home to the University of Michigan and one of the best medical facilities in North America.

      “Despite the fact that we live in a college town with a lot of highly educated residents, there are people here and in the surrounding communities who are either illiterate or functionally illiterate. That means they may be able to read well enough to get by during, say, a trip to the grocery store, but they cannot read well enough to hold a decent job. Many of them wind up poor, sometimes even homeless.”

      She inched forward on her chair, warming to her subject. Her face lit with the kind of passion that went hand-in-hand with conviction.

      “They aren’t intellectually challenged, although many of them do have undiagnosed learning disabilities such as dyslexia. As children, they fell through the cracks in our educational system and now, as adults, they continue to fall through the cracks. Our goal is to change that.”

      Finished, she shifted back in her seat. Her demeanor remained confident; her expression, determined. The mouse who roared, Thomas thought, more impressed than amused by the description.

      “But it takes money,” he said.

      “It does, even though we rely heavily on volunteers for tutoring, we have to supply materials and, sometimes, day care or even transportation to our offices if the client is indigent. We deal specifically with lower-income people who would not be able to afford such services otherwise.”

      Intrigued now by the cause as much as by the woman, he asked, “How long has Literacy Liaisons been in business?”

      “Nearly ten years.”

      “And how long have you worked there?”

      “I founded it, Mr. Waverly.”

      Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “How old are you?” He apologized immediately. “I’m sorry. It’s just that …”

      “I look young. I know.” She tugged at the lapels of her jacket and added, “My power suit notwithstanding.”

      Her self-deprecating sense of humor caught him off guard. He’d been sure he’d insulted her with his careless remark. Not sure what else to say—a rarity for him when it came to conversing with a member of the opposite sex—Thomas apologized a second time.

      She accepted it with a gracious nod and went on. “I got the idea for Literacy Liaisons while I was in college studying to become a teacher.”

      “U of M?” he asked. It was his alma mater, which gave them something in common.

      But she was shaking her head. “Sorry. I hope it won’t have a bearing on your interest in Literacy Liaisons, but I’m a Spartan.”

      Michigan State? The rivalry between the two Big Ten schools was legendary. He lifted one shoulder. “Good school.”

      “Good comeback.”