Free Kissing Comfort by Jo Goodman Page B

She left it to Newt to serve himself. He did not always take eggs if he judged them too dry. Comfort poured coffee, added cream, and spread a dollop of orange marmalade on a triangle of toast. “Are neither of you going to say anything?” she asked, raising her cup to her lips.
    Attention on his paper, Newt merely grunted, but Tuck asked, “About what?”
    â€œYou know very well. Bram’s announcement. Our engagement. Plans for the wedding.”
    â€œOh, that. Newt and I decided that it was for you to say.”
    â€œSay what?”
    â€œWhatever you like, dear.”
    Newt finally pushed the morning paper away and looked up. “It was unexpected,” he said. “Even Tuck didn’t have an inkling that it was coming. You could speak to that first.” He examined the eggs, decided they were to his liking, and added them to his plate. “If you want to, that is.”
    Comfort tried to recall a time when the pair of them had tiptoed around anything. They’d always been considerate of her feelings, but this was excessive. “I wasn’t expecting Bram to make an announcement either.”
    â€œI wondered,” said Tuck.
    â€œThere was a moment—just as quick as a finger snap,” said Newt, “when I thought Bram might have steered his ship aground. You saved him, though.”
    â€œI did. It would have been embarrassing to all of us if I hadn’t.”
    Tuck snapped a bacon strip between his fingers. The sharp crackle of the sudden gesture caught all of them off guard, and Comfort gave a start. Tuck looked at the part of the strip dangling from his fingertips and just shook his head. He muttered an apology because it seemed he should, although he was uncertain what he was apologizing for.
    Newt spoke up. “Tuck and I don’t mind a little embarrassment. It’s more concerning that Bram didn’t speak to us first, and apparently not even to you.”
    â€œWhen did he propose?” asked Tuck. “Just last evening, or were you keeping secrets for upwards of a day or so?”
    â€œI can keep a secret from you for longer than that.” She glanced at Newton. “From both of you.”
    Neither argued. They merely regarded her politely, waiting.
    â€œHe’s never proposed,” she said, giving it all up at once.
    â€œHah! I knew it,” said Newt.
    â€œYou did not,” said Tuck. “You were apoplectic. You kicked a door.”
    â€œYou kicked a door?” Comfort’s dark eyebrows climbed her forehead.
    â€œHe did,” Tuck told her. “We were holed up in Branford’s library deciding what to make of the news, and he kicked a door.”
    Newt bit off a corner of dry toast and made a face, partly because he disliked dry toast, and partly because just now he disliked his partner. “What happened to our decision to support her?”
    â€œOf course we’ll support her. We always support her. But there’s been no proposal, so we don’t have to support her in that.”
    â€œBut there is an engagement,” Newt said. “In his usual Bram-handed manner, he’s put the cart before the horse.”
    Tuck frowned deeply. His eyebrows made a V above the narrow bridge of his nose. He directed his question to Comfort. “What does it mean exactly that there’s an engagement and no proposal?”
    She slowly released the breath she’d been holding. “In this case, it means that the engagement is a fraud. I told Bram that you would be relieved.”
    Newt and Tuck exchanged glances, and it was Newt who spoke. “Relieved? I don’t know about that. This situation has about as many prickles as a porcupine with her back up.”
    â€œI’m going to break it off in eight weeks.”
    â€œEight weeks?” Newt stopped drizzling honey on his toast. “How was that decided?”
    â€œWe negotiated terms,” she said. “I had to. He wanted to