A Pretend Proposal. Jackie Braun

      “Retro. Yes. That’s exactly the vibe I was going for.”

      “You have a good sense of humor,” he accused on a smile as he set the cartons of food on the small, bar-height bistro set that was tucked into the corner of the tiny kitchen. “A dry one.”

      “I guess I do,” she agreed. “Are those for me?”

      He was still holding the flowers.

      “Yes.”

      He all but thrust them into her hands. Elizabeth gave the bouquet a sniff. Daisies didn’t emit the lush fragrance of, say, carnations or lilies, but she found their subtle earthiness refreshing. “Daisies are my favorite flower.”

      “They’re a hostess gift,” he blurted out with curious intensity.

      “Well, they’re lovely. Thank you.” As she pulled a vase from a cupboard and put them in water, Elizabeth said, “Has anyone ever told you that you have wonderful manners?”

      “All the time.” He removed his jacket and placed it over the back of his chair before taking his seat. “It was my grandmother’s doing.”

      “I like your grandmother.”

      “Just wait until you meet her.”

      Both of them grew serious then. That was the objective. For Elizabeth to meet his grandmother and pass muster as his supposed bride-to-be.

      “Do you think she’ll like me?” Elizabeth realized it was a silly question as soon as she asked it. She shook her head. “She already does, doesn’t she? I mean, the fabricated version of me.” It hit her then. “Beth. That’s my name as far as she knows.”

      “It is.” He tilted his head to one side. “Do you mind being called Beth?”

      “It’s only for a little while. I’ll get used to it.” She shrugged and went to get plates and utensils. She was quite proficient with chopsticks, but she grabbed a fork for Thomas just in case.

      He didn’t appear satisfied with her answer. “You know, the more I get to know you, the less you look like a Beth.”

      “Oh?” Curious, she asked, “What does a Beth look like?”

      He flushed slightly. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll call you Elizabeth. It suits you better anyway.”

      “And how do you know that?” she challenged.

      “I … I don’t.” His mouth snapped shut and he was silent a moment. Then he asked, “What kind of movies do you like?”

      His quick switch in topics baffled her. “Movies?”

      “We’re getting to know one another, remember? That’s the whole point of this evening.”

      Of course it was.

      “Movies,” she repeated. “I don’t go to the theater often. To be perfectly honest, I’m not much for first-run films. I can’t name any of the big stars currently walking the red carpet at premieres and award shows.” In a teasing tone, she asked, “Does that make me a Beth or an Elizabeth?”

      “It makes you a smart-ass,” he shot back, after which he immediately apologized for cursing.

      Ah, those impeccable manners of his. She didn’t want to acknowledge what a turn-on she found them to be. She busied herself setting the table.

      “So, you like old movies,” he prodded.

      “Mainly Alfred Hitchcock films, although I’m also a sucker for anything that stars Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy.”

      “No way.”

      “What? You like Tracy and Hepburn?”

      “No. Hitchcock. The man was a genius,” Thomas replied solemnly. “Dial M for Murder is my favorite. You?”

      “North by Northwest,” she replied without hesitation.

      “Let me guess. Cary Grant has something to do with your preference?” He opened the containers and scooped out a clump of white rice onto each of their plates.

      “Well, maybe just a little,” she admitted on a grin as she levered herself onto the chair opposite his. “He’s also the reason I love To Catch a Thief.”

      “Grace Kelly.” Thomas sighed. “She starred in that one with him.”

      “She starred in few Hitchcock movies, including your favorite.” Elizabeth arched a brow. “Am I sensing the reason behind your preference?”

      “Guilty. So, what about Psycho? Fan of that one?” He made a slashing-knife motion with the corresponding sound effect that had turned the simple act of showering into the stuff of nightmares.

      She couldn’t help it. She shuddered. “I saw it once, as an adult no less, and that was enough for me. I found it a little too intense.”

      “Twice here. Also as an adult. Both times while out with women. Based on my dates’ reactions, they also found it intense. I didn’t mind.” His smile, accompanied as it was by a pair of bobbing eyebrows, had her laughing.

      Feeling the need to redeem herself, Elizabeth side, “I’ve watched The Birds again and again.”

      “A cult classic,” Thomas agreed.

      She helped herself to some Kung Pao chicken. “I will admit that, as a kid, it made me look at seagulls in a whole new light. Going to the beach was a traumatic experience for a time.”

      He went for the Kung Pao chicken as well once she set the carton back on the table.

      “Definitely dry.” At her blank expression, he added, “Your sense of humor.” He motioned with the serving spoon. “Back to The Birds, how about that scene at the elementary school? All those crows perching on the monkey bars?”

      “Creepy in the extreme.”

      “Wasn’t it, though? I was nine the first time I saw that movie. It was on television one rainy Saturday afternoon, and I watched it while Nana Jo was hosting her bridge club. I was awake all night long.”

      “I was eleven. Slept on the floor in my parents’ room for a week.”

      “I wouldn’t admit this to just anyone, but seeing as how you and I are engaged …” He shrugged. “I slept on my grandmother’s floor for two.” They both laughed. “It came to a head when she tried to take me to the playground and I begged to stay home.”

      “What did she say?”

      “Well, she was mystified.”

      “Understandable.”

      “But she didn’t press.” His smile turned nostalgic. “That’s her way. Or at least it was back then. She’s run out of patience, apparently. As for The Birds, I eventually confessed all.”

      “And?” Elizabeth broke apart the wooden chopsticks that had come with their meal.

      “Nana Jo took me to the local pet store and subjected me to an hour in the bird aisle. Even with every last one of those birds confined in cages, it was terrifying.”

      “Did she really do that?”

      Thomas glanced at the fork she’d set out for him before picking up his pair of chopsticks and breaking them apart. “She felt it was the best way for me to confront my fear. In fact, she bought me a cockatiel.”

      “Did it work?”

      “Yes. I was cured thereafter, but hopelessly hooked on Hitchcock.” He attempted to pick up a bite of his meal. Chicken and rice slipped from between the chopsticks. His expression reflected his dismay.

      “What did you name the bird?”

      His frown of a moment before turned into a sly grin. “What