A Previous Engagement

A Previous Engagement

Stephanie Haddad

Copyright 2011 Stephanie Haddad

This book is also available in a print edition from most online retailers.

Discover other titles by Stephanie Haddad at Amazon.com.

LOVE UNLISTED

Available now!

LOVE REGIFTED

Coming February 2012!

SOCIALLY AWKWARD

Coming June 2012!

****

To my best friend, the love of my life.

****

PROLOGUE

Christian shifted nervously on the gym floor, trying not to stare at Tess. He’d been waiting a long time to tell her and today, with Kendra out sick from school, he finally had his chance. It rained in sheets that day, stranding the third grade class indoors. Boredom settled in quickly on the eight- and nine-year-olds, inspiring some to start a game of dodge ball across the gym.

Tess sat next to Christian on the dusty floor, legs crossed underneath them, far from the threat of rogue balls and dodging classmates. Normally, Christian would have jumped right into the game, but he didn’t want to leave Tess sitting alone. She never saw the point of participating in anything where other people intentionally tried to injure her, especially since just walking was hazardous enough for her clumsy feet.

“I wish we had a jump rope or something,” she sighed, chin in her hands. “Do you think Mrs. Stevens will let me go back to the classroom to get my book?”

“You want to read?” Christian laughed. “Why don’t we do the Sunday crossword instead, Grandma?”

She punched him in the shoulder. “What else are we supposed to do? Without Kendra we can’t play any of our other games. Tag is boring with two people.”

He straightened up when an idea struck him. “How about wedding?”

“Duh! We don’t have the bride!” Tess always said their construction paper veil looked much better on Kendra’s curly locks than on her own stick-straight hair. Just for once, Christian wished his two friends would switch places so he could say those well-practiced words to Tess.

“Why can’t you play the bride?” Christian looked at her expectantly, his shaggy brown hair nearly covering his eyes. Even at nine years old, he’d already abandon all efforts to control it.

“Because,” said Tess, stretching out every syllable. “Then we don’t have a priest, dummy.”

“Okay,” he thought for a minute, leaning back against the padded gym wall. A dodge ball slammed down right in front of him, scaring Tess as well. He jumped back out of the way so Suzy Baker could pick it up and rejoin the game. Mrs. Stevens blew the whistle to restart the action. “We gotta get out of here before someone kills us. Joe Thompson is still mad at me for spilling his milk last week.”

Christian knew it was the perfect time to talk to Tess alone. He sprung to his feet and dragged his friend upright by one arm. She followed him out the side door of the gym—easy to do with Mrs. Stevens’s attention on the brutal dodge ball game—and down the hallway.

“Where are we going?”

“Shhh!” Christian pulled her around the corner, waited to make sure the coast was clear, and then pointed toward the double exit doors. “Outside, come on.”

“It’s raining!”

“So?”

“We’re not supposed to go outside!”

“Come on, you’d go if Kendra said so, right?” A mischievous grin stretched the corners of his mouth. She shrugged. “Besides, how will they know we went outside?”

“We’ll get wet, dummy. It’s
raining
.”

“Hold on.” Christian tiptoed down the hallway toward their empty classroom. As the janitor’s jingling keys approached her, Tess slunk back against the wall and sucked in her stomach to be as flat—and invisible—as possible. She held her breath until the sound faded into the distant, only a moment before Christian reappeared again. “Put your jacket on. Let’s go.”

She slipped on the raincoat and followed him through the door, knowing all too well that once Christian set his mind to something, he would get his way. Breaking the rules was usually something Kendra instigated, so without her friend egging her on, Tess felt almost free,
almost
as though she was choosing to traipse across the rainy playground.

They stopped in front of the swing set, where Tess wiped off the seat farthest from the windows and sat down. There, she knew she was less likely to be spotted by the principal and busted for breaking out of recess. Christian took a deep breath, steadied himself, and knelt on one knee in front of her—the way he’d seen it in a movie. He cleared his throat to speak but stopped at Tess’s puzzled look. “What are you doing?”

“I have to tell you something,” he said, starting to lose his courage. He watched the rain pattering down around her jacket, taking strength from the steady sound of it.

“Do we really need to be outside for this? It’s pouring.”

“It’s more romantic that way, Tessie. Don’t you ever watch any movies? They always do stuff like this in the rain.”

“Stuff like what?” She couldn’t help but ask, but his pleading look stopped her from demanding an answer. More curious than suspicious, Tess decided to let him continue.

“Tessa Elizabeth Monroe,” he began grandly. She giggled at her full name, something that sounded silly on his lips. Her laugh brought a smile to his face, loosening him up. “Okay. Tessie…”

“Better.”

“Tessie Monroe, I think you are really cool and sometimes really funny...especially your knock-knock jokes. And you’re nice. Sometimes you even share your lunch with me when my dad packs me bologna sandwiches. We’ve been friends for basically forever and hopefully, we won’t have a big fight one day and stop being friends. I think you have a pretty smile and really nice hair…”

“Come on.” Tess’s freckly cheeks flushed.

“I know we’re only nine…”

She sighed, hating to admit it. “Eight. I’m still eight.”

“Whatever.” His concentration broken, Christian looked up at her. “Can you just let me finish this please? It’s cold out here.” She nodded, shivering right along with him. “I know we’re young—better?—and that we have a long time until we’re old enough. But if no one else comes along, Tessie Monroe, will you marry me…eventually?”

His eyes searched her face expectantly. She blinked a few times, not sure what to do.

“It’s your line,” he urged.

“What do I say?”

“Answer the question. Will you marry me someday? Oh, wait! Don’t answer yet. I almost forgot!” He rustled through his jacket pockets. “A-ha! Here.” Christian proudly slid a sticky, linty Ring Pop onto Tess’s left ring finger, then beamed up at her.

“Eww! What happened to it?”

“Buster stole it from my pocket when I took him for a walk last night,” his tone fell with his smile. “Sorry.”

“S’okay,” she shrugged, admiring the melted cherry mess from several angles. “Now I say yes, right?”

He nodded, waiting patiently.

“I wasn’t ready. Ask me again,” she instructed.

“The whole thing?”

“No, just the part with the question.”

“Oh, okay.” He resumed his pose on one knee and took her hand in his again. “Tessie Monroe, will you be my wife someday?”

“Um…yes. Now what?”

“Now you’re my fiancée.”

“Cool! What’s a fancy?”

“Fee-ahhn-say.” He hesitated. “I’m not really sure. I think it’s what you call each other when you are planning a wedding… or something. Like practicing to be married. My dad says it’s French.”

“Can you have three fiancées?” He shook his head. “Then let’s keep it a secret, okay? I don’t think we can call each other that in front on Kendra… she might feel left out.”

Christian nodded, grinning. As he started to stand up again, Tess placed a hand on his shoulder. They smiled at each other, fiancées and co-secret-keepers.

“Hey, Christian? Thanks for saying all those nice things about me. I like you a lot too.” She blushed again, but kept going. “It’s nice to know I have such a good friend.”

She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. He blushed a little bit too.

“I’ll always be your best friend, Tessie. No matter what.”

CHAPTER ONE

My hand was on fire. Again. That’s always a potential hazard when I’m left alone in a kitchen. All I did was leave a cake baking and poof! It’s a flambé. With the smoke alarm whirring and the flames engulfing my delicious creation, there wasn’t time for a well-coordinated rescue. Desperately, I reached in to save it, trusting the flame-retardant properties of Kendra’s oven mitts—properties which were, evidently, falsely advertised. It was the perfect recipe for one flaming hand.

I tried to shake the blazing mitt to the floor, where it could smolder in peace, but the rubbery silicone adhered to my sweating palm. A piece dropped to the floor in a melted, gloppy mess. If I didn’t do something, my fingers would be next. I swatted at one mitt with the other, which only spread the flames and quickly transformed me into a human candelabra. Halfway through my first lap of the kitchen, I remembered that I wasn’t supposed to be running and flailing. The fire-safety videos of my youth came back to me: stop, drop, and…something. Crap.

“Kendra!” I screamed, turning toward the swinging doors, my only escape. I didn’t make it very far before a whoosh of cold foam knocked me backwards in a sputter of mindless protests. My best friend and her trusty fire extinguisher saved the day once again.

Kendra hosed down the oven as I peeled off the half-melted mitt and counted all ten painted fingernails. I sighed with relief. I might’ve felt like a drowned cat, but I lived to type another day of marketing copy, thank goodness. Never before had that thought been a positive one.

Across the kitchen, Kendra’s husband Grant answered the fire department’s check-in call: “We’re all fine. Just a small kitchen fire, but it’s out now.” Another close call, another catastrophic baking endeavor. On the bright side, my best friend’s restaurant was still standing, but gradually, disappointment replaced my relief.

“You okay?” Kendra asked, once the smoke cleared. She set the fire extinguisher down and wrapped an arm around me. I nodded, since talking might break the dam holding off the flood of tears. “Deep breaths, Tess. The fire’s out.”

We stood together and surveyed the damage. The flames hadn’t spread outside of the oven, but the spray of the extinguisher drenched the entire appliance and surrounding wall, counter, and floor. With the oven door half-open, my ruined cake was visible. The round pan was charred, the cake batter permanently seared into it.

“So…do you want to tell me what happened while I was in the bathroom for two minutes?”

“I heated the oven, put the cake in, and—I’m so sorry! I don’t know—This thing was—It wasn’t my fault!”

“Tessa,” she breathed, closing her eyes as though lids could filter insults. “Cakes don’t just ignite. How does this always happen to you?”

Cooking, baking, and most domestic tasks were never among my strengths. Once upon a time, my home economics teacher—yes, our school still taught that—actually recommended I either switch to shop class or just take an extra free period. She was worried about the school’s accident insurance. Learning from experience, Kendra beefed up the restaurant’s policy when I told her I wanted to learn how to cook. A smart idea, as I’d just demonstrated.

“I told you not to leave me alone with that thing,” I pointed an accusatory finger at the charred oven. “It has serious attitude problems. Also, I may have set it to broil by accident.”