“Isn’t she something?” Edna clucked. “All done in by Thanksgiving.”

“This was the best Thanksgiving ever,” Chris proclaimed.

Ken grinned. “It isn’t over yet.”

Edna checked her watch. “Seven o’clock,” she said. There was an edge of expectancy to her voice. Her eyes rounded slightly and seemed to pull the corners of her mouth up into a secretive smile.

Ken slouched casually into a corner of the big overstuffed couch. He showed none of the eager anticipation that was apparent in Edna, but his face reflected the same veiled delight.

As if on cue, a knock sounded at the front door. Edna stopped rocking for a moment. “There’s someone at the door.”

Chris looked from Edna to Ken. She sensed a conspiracy.

Edna resumed her rocking. Creak. The chair tipped backward on its wooden rocker. Stomp. Edna’s feet slapped the floor. Creak, stomp. Creak, stomp. “Well for goodness’ sake,” she shouted with a final stomp. “Isn’t anyone going to get the door?”

Ken pulled Chris to her feet and pushed her toward the stairs. “Come on…we’ll answer the door.”

Edna followed close behind. “Me, too. I’ll help you answer the door.”

Smells fishy, Chris thought. Now what? A giant turkey with a bunch of balloons?

Chris switched the porch light on and opened the door to a young man dressed in formal livery. He removed his black top hat, smiled respectfully, and bowed. Chris looked beyond him, to the conveyance parked at the curb, and clapped her hands to her mouth. “Horses!”

The two perfectly matched chestnuts turned their heads at the sound of her voice but remained docilely still. Their leather harnesses were attached to a gleaming black carriage equipped with elegant candlelit lamps.

“Don’t that beat all,” Edna exclaimed.

Ken draped a jacket over Chris’ shoulders and guided her toward the carriage. “Pretty romantic, huh?”

Chris tipped her head back and laughed-he sounded so pleased with himself. “Yeah, pretty romantic.”

Chris and Ken settled into the back seat of the open carriage and snuggled together under a thick red plaid lap robe, as the driver clucked to his horses and began to drive sedately through the winding streets of adjoining subdivisions. Chris closed her eyes and enjoyed the crisp wintry air redolent of oiled leather and warm horses and Ken’s spicy cologne. She tilted her head to see the scattering of early-evening stars blinking behind scudding moon-tinged clouds. “This is so nice. I love this.”

Ken tucked the blanket securely around them and slid his hand covertly under her ski jacket, seeking the silken heated skin under her sweater. Their eyes met in an unspoken affirmation of love. She parted her lips in anticipation of his kiss. “I love you,” he told her as his tongue tasted her sweetness. “I love everything about you.” He kissed her tenderly. “And I love your daughter. I even love Aunt Edna.”

She knew he loved her and Edna and Lucy. And she knew what this was all about. This was a better proposal. This was the real thing, and this was going to require a serious answer.

Ken reached into his jacket pocket and extracted a small blue velvet box. He opened the lid and took a ring in his fingers. The band was smooth gold that delicately swirled in carved vines around a brilliant two-carat diamond. He looked at her apprehensively. “I hope I’m doing it right this time.”

Chris nodded her head, yes. Words wouldn’t slip past the lump in her throat.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” Chris was surprised at the speed and enthusiasm of her answer. She had intended to think about it. Maybe even discuss it with Lucy. She sat up and blinked. How had that yes popped out?

He slid the ring on her finger and kissed her with more relief than passion.

The driver of the carriage tipped his hat.

“Congratulations,” he called over his shoulder. He slowed the horses and handed Ken a silver bucket with a bottle of champagne nestled in shaved ice. Ken expertly popped the cork, sending it flying into the night. The driver produced two fine crystal champagne glasses and resumed his clip-clop pace around the suburban streets.

Chris sipped at her champagne. “I love my ring. It’s the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen-but it’s so big. And the carriage…” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “I love the carriage, too.”

Ken refilled her glass. “But?”

“But this is all so expensive. I hate to be an ungrateful nag, but honestly, you didn’t have to spend all this money. I love you as a carpenter. I love you even more as an unemployed carpenter.”

“Why do you love me even more as an ‘unemployed’ carpenter?”

“I suppose after Steven and his obsessive need for success, I find an unemployed carpenter to be less threatening. In all honesty, I was only partially joking about wanting a man that lacked ambition.”

“I don’t lack ambition…”

Chris looked into his blue eyes. “I think I worded that badly. I was dumped by a man who placed his career above everything. I just don’t want that to happen again. This time around, I want a man with a little less ambition and a little more love of life and family-and that’s you!”

Ken studiously watched the liquid in his glass fizz in the golden light of the flickering lamps. “There are some things I have to tell you.”

Chris giggled. “You’d better tell me fast because I’m not used to drinking champagne…and I’m feeling strangely tingly and silly.”

Ken looked at her in amazement. “You’re sloshed.” He laughed, wrapping his arm protectively around her. “I think we’d better talk some other time.”

“Holy cow! You look awful,” Bitsy exclaimed.

Chris blinked in the bright light of the skating rink. “I feel awful. I have a hangover. I haven’t had a hangover since I was nineteen and nobody told me the fruit punch was spiked at Tina Burger’s baby shower.” She put her fingertips to her temples. “My eyes feel like fried eggs. And my head is going wumpa wumpa wumpa. And my tongue…yuk.”

“What was the occasion?”

Chris displayed her ring and managed a painful smile.

“Oh dear.”

“What’s that mean? I expected more like wow and whoopee.”

“Remember how I said I knew Ken?”

“Yeah.”

“And remember we were fooling around, and you said he should be modeling mascara?”

“Yeah?”

“It got me thinking. I could just see those magnetic eyes looking out at me from a magazine.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It took me half of Thanksgiving, but I found him. I went through four dozen old magazines, but I finally found the picture.” Bitsy skated to the sound booth and returned holding a copy of Newsweek. “What really threw me was the beard.”

Chris held the magazine with shaking hands and stared openmouthed at the cover. It featured a clean-shaven, neatly coiffed Ken Callahan wearing a crisp white shirt, pin-striped three-piece suit, and hundred-dollar tie. The caption read “Kenneth Knight: Consolidating an Empire.” “Consolidating an empire,” Chris repeated. “What’s that mean?”

“There’s a big article about him. He’s rich.”

“But this is Kenneth Knight.”

“Looks to me like Kenneth Callahan.”

“There is a resemblance.”

“Resemblance? Chris, this is him. Nobody else has eyes like that.”

“Bitsy, this is ridiculous. This man is not Ken Callahan.”

“Look, this guy has a small scar running along the line of his jaw. Does Ken Callahan?”

Chris felt nausea grip her stomach. “Lots of men have scars on their jaws.” She leafed through the article, finding another picture. It was Ken at a construction site, wearing his shearling jacket. Chris reached for the support of the barrier.

“Are you all right?”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Bitsy threw an arm around her. “Let’s get you into the coaches’ lounge before you keel over. You’re absolutely green.”