Married for Christmas

Jessica Cameron had to propose marriage in a couple of hours, and she was a little nervous about it.

Trying to keep the anxiety at bay, she focused on the three computer monitors on her desk, trying to wrap up the day’s work before she headed over to Daniel’s. Focus was one thing she’d always done well. She’d been working as a web developer for seven years—three of those years working from home—and she’d never had any problem avoiding distractions.

Today was different, however.

It wasn’t every day a woman popped the question to one of her best friends.

As it happened, an impromptu conference call with her team took up the last hour of her workday, saving her from endless minutes of pretending to accomplish something constructive. When it was over, she loaded her dog, Bear, into the car, stopped at a Thai place for takeout, and then drove over to Daniel’s.

Only after she left did she realize she should have worked harder on her appearance. She’d changed out of the sweats she normally wore at home, but she’d just put on jeans and a sweatshirt, with her hair pulled into a low ponytail and no makeup.

She looked the way she always looked—average, forgettable, no frills.

Daniel wasn’t likely to be awed by her appearance even if she’d made an effort, so she decided it didn’t really matter.

He stood just outside the side door of his bungalow as she pulled into the driveway. She tried not to notice how adorably rumpled he looked in his khakis, wrinkled dress shirt, and disarrayed hair. He had dark eyes and a fit, athletic body, and he didn’t shave often enough, so he always had something between stubble and a short beard.

After he’d graduated from seminary six years ago, Daniel had gotten a job as pastor of a small church in the Charlotte area where she’d been living since college. She’d known him all her life, and his handsome face was as familiar to her as her own.

She never imagined she’d be proposing marriage to him, although she’d daydreamed often enough about him proposing to her.

He was frowning as he walked over to open the driver-side door of her car. She beat him to it, climbing out as he approached.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, surprised because he normally greeted her with a warm smile.

“Your engine doesn’t sound right.”

“My engine sounds fine.”

“No, it doesn’t.” He leaned over to pull the hood release in her four-year-old sedan. “Something’s wrong. You can’t ignore it when something sounds off in your car.”

“I’m not ignoring it—wait!”

Daniel had been about to slam the door before she stopped him.

“Bear is coming out,” she explained, reaching down to rub the dog’s nose, which had almost been smashed by the closing door.

Bear was a Samoyed—big, long-haired, and pure white.

Daniel shook his head. “Why did you bring the dog?”

“Her name is Bear. Not ‘the dog.’ She wanted to come, so why would I leave her by herself all evening?”

“Because she’s a dog. Not a guest at a dinner party.”

“She’s not going to hurt anything. Don’t be grumpy. You’ve never even tried to get to know her.”

Bear wagged her tail excitedly at Daniel until he deigned to give her a token pat on the head.

He looked tired, she realized, as he pulled open the hood of her car and peered in at the engine. She wasn’t sure he always got enough sleep or had regular meals.

“You don’t have to mess with my car,” she said, adjusting her bag of Thai food to the other hand as she went over to stand beside him. “It’s fine.”

“It is not fine.” He reached in to fiddle with something.

Daniel loved to work on cars and wasted ridiculous amounts of time on his old pickup truck.

Jessica tried not to look at his long legs and firm butt as he leaned over but didn’t entirely succeed. To hide her response to how hot he looked, she said sharply, “Stop. You’ll get your clothes all greasy.”

He glanced down at himself as if surprised he was wearing clothes at all. “They’ll wash.”

She tugged at his arm. “That’s a good shirt, Daniel, and grease isn’t easy to get off. Stop messing with my car. If something is wrong with it, I’ll take it to a service place.”

“Why would you pay someone else to—”

“Because they’ll know what they’re doing.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Maybe, and maybe not. I can’t afford for you to play around with my car. Our food is getting cold, so please leave my engine alone.”

With a sigh, he slammed the hood closed. He still looked tired as he leaned against the car, but amusement glinted in his eyes. “I don’t think you trust me.”

“I trust you with theology and with helping me through problems and to always beat me at Scrabble and to be smarter than anyone else and to invariably whine about my dog. I don’t trust you with my car.” With her free hand, she grabbed his shirt and tried to pull him away from the hood and toward the side door to the house.