"Aw, you combed it," he chided, then sank his teeth into a slab of sliced ham.

"Mr. Duggan, do you always flirt with every girl you meet within five minutes of meeting her?"

"Was I flirting?"

"It's only a rough guess, because I'm really not up on the subject, but it felt like it to me."

"You're not up on the subject? A girl with your face and-" his eyes flickered downward, not quite reaching her breasts before starting up again "-hair?"

She ignored his continued flattery and commented, "Yes, I combed my hair. It looked like an explosion in a silo."

"Never." He assessed the subject of the discussion. "And it's pretty. A really pretty color and length."

She felt out of her league. "There you go again."

"You call that flirting?"

"Well, isn't it?"

He lifted a glass of milk, took three enormous swallows, ran a thumb along one corner of his mouth-and all without removing his eyes from her hair. When at last they dropped to hers, he replied, "No, just a compliment. I like your hair, okay? What are you so defensive about?"

It was the perfect opening. She lifted her left hand, pressed her thumb against the inner platinum band of the engagement ring so the stone stood out away from her fourth finger. "This."

His eyes dropped, and for a moment there was no change in his expression. "Oh, I see. Well, you can't blame a man for trying." She rested her hand on the edge of the table, and without warning he picked it up, studied the modest diamond at very close range and surprised her by carrying it to his mouth, tilting his head and pretending to bite the rock. Drawing back, he continued holding her hand while grinning engagingly. "Damned if it isn't real," he said softly.