Mistletoe Cinderella Page 10

  Paradoxically it had felt right.

  He had a way of looking at her that made her feel sexy and whole and…herself. Even though she was pretending to be someone else, he seemed to see more of the real Chloe than her Web site customers, parents and friends. More than anyone except Natalie. In fact, Chloe thought, recalling the way they’d joked with each other, spending time with him was a lot like being with Natalie. Except that Nat knew Chloe’s actual name and profession, and Chloe never fantasized about kissing her friend.

  “Who kissed who?” Natalie asked, sounding ecstatic instead of outraged.

  “It was sort of a mutual thing.” Which she’d instigated, scooting closer to him on the couch. She didn’t even want to think about how she must have been looking at him to encourage him. “That’s not the point, anyway. I took his money!”

  “You stole from him?”

  “I might as well have! I let him write me a check for services rendered. Or to be rendered.” She’d thrown out the lowest number that was still halfway credible, adding at his disbelieving expression that he got a discount because he was someone she knew. But you live in a very small town, he’d argued. Don’t you know about sixty percent of your clients? How do you stay in business if you give everyone that rate?

  It was difficult to lie to an astute man. Witness how he’d described seeing her at the inn, how he’d described her body language this afternoon—

  “Hello? Did I lose you?” Natalie prompted. “Are you going through a bad reception area?”

  “I’m going through a midlife crisis! And I’m not even thirty. I should have been racked with remorse all afternoon, but you know what the most shameful part is? I enjoyed myself.” Especially the kissing. “I’m sick and twisted enough that most of me is glad he’s coming to Mistletoe next week.”

  Even though she knew that every time he stepped foot inside town limits, it increased the odds that he’d find out she wasn’t Candy Beemis and that C.J. the Decorator didn’t even exist, her idiot heart beat a bit faster at the thought of seeing him again.

  “Coming to Mistletoe?” Natalie shrieked. “To see you? This is incredible.”

  “I’m sure his main reason for the trip is to check on his mom, but he does want to see me while he’s there. I gave him my cell number.” She thought it was safer for him to have that, rather than the home number under Malcolm. It disturbed her that she’d even thought to take that precaution.

  This was bad. The more she covered her butt, the deeper the hole she dug. At first, she’d told herself that he would be gone from her life soon, none the wiser. And now…Chloe had waited twenty-seven years to feel this way, alive and important, to have someone show avid interest in her as a woman, not as a sickly child too frail to be left unattended for a few minutes. Though it was insanity to continue on this course, the thought of pushing Dylan away for good pierced her like a wound. Not yet, just a little more time. A few more memories.

  “So how’d you leave things with him?” Natalie wanted to know.

  “I told him I’d work on design ideas for his place and that he could call me Monday or Tuesday. Nat, what am I doing?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Chloe sighed, raising her gaze skyward and checking the clear blue horizon for celestial assistance. She was certain that if she had a guardian angel, it was Aunt Jane. There was also no doubt she was the only angel up there with a naughty enough streak to help out under these circumstances. “I really like him.”

  “Sure seems as if he likes you, too.”

  “Yeah, but there’s no future in that. What am I supposed to do, date him, get him to fall in love with me, hope for every girl’s dream proposal, then pray he doesn’t notice the name on the marriage license? The only other option is to somehow explain to him that I’ve been lying. No way he’d want anything to do with me after that, and I wouldn’t blame him. Who wants to be involved with someone they can’t trust?” She tightened her grip on the steering wheel, cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder. “Do you think I could convince him that I sustained a major head injury shortly before the reunion? Forget I asked that.”

  When she figured out a way to be honest with Dylan, the key would be actual honesty. In the meantime, she was not cashing the check she’d guiltily stowed in her glove compartment. She also had no plan to kiss him when she saw him next week.

  No matter how badly she was tempted.

  MOST MEN WERE probably motivated by anniversaries and apologies to stop at flower stores. Dylan, pulling into town midmorning on Tuesday, was passing Mistletoe Berries and Blooms when he was suddenly inspired to go on a fishing expedition. Parking his car, he wondered what exactly he thought he might learn. Natalie and Chloe were obviously close—albeit not through the cheerleading bond he’d first assumed—but even though the blonde probably knew all sorts of details about her friend, she was unlikely to share them.

  A small copper bell tinkled overhead, announcing his entrance to the shop.

  “Hello?” a female voice called out from a small room behind the counter. Natalie came into view seconds later.

  “Hi, there.” He smiled, pouring on as much charm as was possible without hitting on her or trying to sell her a car.

  “Dylan. I have to say, I’m surprised to see you here.”

  Surprised, but not shocked, which would have been a legitimate reaction since he hadn’t set foot in the flower shop since he’d picked up his date’s corsage for the senior prom. Had Chloe told her friend he was coming to town? The idea of Chloe talking about him left him feeling divided. On the one hand, it was nice thinking that she might care enough about him to confide in someone else. But if Chloe had been discussing him, would she also have told Natalie about her impersonation? That possibility rankled.

  “I was hoping you’d be in today.” He kept his tone easy. “Maybe you can help me pick out an arrangement for C.J.? I don’t want it to be too intimidating or clichéd—no dozen red roses—but since she arranges beautiful things for a living, I want it to be special.”

  “Sure thing.” Natalie didn’t even blink. Or ask, C.J. who?

  Though he wasn’t surprised she knew about the situation, his gut clenched anyway. It had been galling the night of the reunion to find out he’d been made a fool of—it was worse that someone else was aware. Had Chloe revealed her tall tale only to Natalie or were there other people in Mistletoe who knew? A sickening sensation enveloped him as he too easily imagined a conspiracy in which townfolk nodded to his face and laughed behind his back. In his head, he heard Grady Medlock’s snickers, the titters of classmates when he’d been asked to read aloud during those early years before baseball had elevated his status to a popular student.

  If you could throw an amazing curveball and owned a varsity letter jacket, your peers didn’t care whether or not you were struggling with Shakespeare and Steinbeck. Not that the varsity jacket fit anymore.

  “Dylan?” Natalie’s blue eyes looked so genuinely concerned that it would be easy to hold it against her, knowing that behind her facade of friendly worry she was party to deceiving him. At least she was a smoother liar than Chloe, so it wasn’t as much of an insult to the intelligence.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Just second-guessing myself,” he heard himself say. “Maybe the flowers aren’t such a good idea.”

  “No, wait. I think they’re a wonderful idea.”

  “You’re the flower purveyor,” he pointed out. “Of course you’re in favor of it.”

  “True. But—and she would kill me dead if she knew I was saying this—she likes you.” Natalie waited a beat, perhaps waiting for some assurance that the feeling was mutual. When she didn’t get it, she tensed slightly. “I hope that your being back in Mistletoe so soon, thinking about flowers, means that she wasn’t just someone to chat with at the reunion. I’d hate to see her hurt.”

  Whoa, back the hell up, Mama Bear. He understood protective loyalty among friends, but from his point
of view, Natalie should be issuing warnings about Chloe to unsuspecting men, not issuing warnings on her behalf.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said tightly.

  “I overstepped, didn’t I? It’s really none of my business what happens between the two of you.”

  The remorse in her tone made him sigh—she wasn’t the one who’d started this mess. “You were looking out for someone you care about. I get it.”

  “Thank you. I do care about her. We’re both only children, more like sisters than friends. God knows I might not have earned my diploma without her.”

  Dylan thought about how Nick had said more or less the same thing.

  “And I’m probably more worried about her right now than I ordinarily would be. She just lost someone who meant a lot to her.”

  “Her aunt?” He nodded. “Jane sounds like quite the character.”

  “Oh, she was.” Natalie smiled fondly, then her expression became more somber. “I’m sure you know what it’s like to be turned emotionally upside down by losing someone. It wasn’t too long ago that your father…” She trailed off, probably realizing she was overstepping again.

  If he were a different sort of son—if Michael Echols had been a different sort of father—Dylan would buy flowers for the grave while he was here. It was the decent thing to do. He could just imagine how such an action would cheer his mom, who’d always liked to pretend there was nothing wrong in her home.

  Gritting his teeth, Dylan thought about how much the pretense had bothered him, the hypocrisy of his old man cheering for him at games, acting the proud father when happily accepting accolades from everyone else in the bleachers while, at home, he made his son feel like nothing he ever did was good enough.

  And now Dylan was knowingly turning his own personal life into a pretense? The truth was, he did like Chloe. But he wasn’t sure he liked himself for it.

  AT TEN O’CLOCK, Chloe met with Kimberley Warren, a local matron with four kids. Kim was opening a salon in the back of her house and wanted to talk about the possible cost of a Web site. Knowing that Dylan was supposed to reach town today, Chloe found herself losing her concentration more than she had when she was a teenager sitting in class with him. Luckily, with children ranging from a tired-but-refusing-to-nap six-month-old to an eight-year-old home from school after getting tubes in her ears yesterday, Kim was too distracted herself to notice Chloe’s momentary lapses.

  Kim grimaced at the third consecutive interruption, a request for something to drink. “Can you give me just a second? The oldest one isn’t usually this much of a pain. She’s just bored silly because she’s cooped up at home. Honestly, if I’d realized how easy her recovery was going to be, I would have sent her to class.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” Chloe said. Her next appointment, with Rachel Waide, wasn’t for another two hours. Plus, ever since Rachel and her husband, David, had found out they were expecting, the woman was extra indulgent about anything involving children. She wouldn’t mind if Chloe ran a few minutes late.

  The beleaguered mommy poured some grape juice and exited the kitchen muttering. As Chloe waited, she found herself looking around and evaluating the room. Round table, which was good chi, but the stove was not optimally placed, in conflict with—Chloe blinked when she realized the direction her thoughts had taken. You know you’re not actually a decorator, right?

  Still, she’d found herself inspired over the weekend, brainstorming some ideas for her own home. It wasn’t a bad little house and she certainly had some fond memories of growing up there, but she was an adult now. Wasn’t it time to make it her place and not her parents’? She hadn’t started any projects yet, but she’d put together an outline of what she wanted to accomplish and gone window-shopping Sunday afternoon to compare prices on supplies.

  “Sorry about that.” Kim came back into the room. “But I think that’s the last of the interruptions. I told the eight-year-old we could order pizza for lunch if she can find something to watch in the DVD collection until then, and the baby finally fell asleep in his playpen.”

  “Not a problem. Now, about some simple things you could do for a site…”

  They tossed around some ideas, including Kimberley’s desire to include pictures of Mistletoe locals, which she could update periodically. As Chloe started getting more into the technical side of things, she realized Kim was staring at her absently.

  “Did I lose you?” Chloe asked.

  “What? Oh, it’s not that. I was just wondering…Would you let me cut your hair? Then we could take a picture! You’d be one of the first photos for my online portfolio, and it would be my way of saying thanks for today. Well, more than today. I swear every time we’ve talked on the phone, one of the kids has been playing drums in the next room, tattling on a sibling or inciting the dog to bark in the background.”

  Chloe laughed. “It hasn’t been too bad.”

  “Is that your polite way of turning down the haircut?”

  Now that Chloe thought about it, when was the last time she’d had a trim? Her thoughts skittered back to Dylan. She’d be seeing him soon. It wouldn’t hurt to look her best. “Okay, sure. We could take off a few split ends.”

  “You don’t want anything else done?” Kim looked disappointed. “I was hoping for something at least dramatic enough for ‘before’ and ‘after’ pictures.”

  Chloe smoothed her hand over her head. Barring the short-lived and ill-advised highlights when she was a teen, she’d worn her hair pretty much the same way ever since…what, second grade? Good Lord. She was a one-woman definition of stagnant.

  Not anymore. “What did you have in mind?”

  Kim brightened. “I’m glad you asked!”

  FAR FROM the somewhat timid woman Dylan often remembered her as, Barb Echols seemed positively jubilant now, flitting about her kitchen and humming while she prepared lunch for the two of them. She was so happy that Dylan found himself grinning, her mood contagious. For a little while, he forgot Chloe Malcolm and simply took pleasure in having made a right decision.

  “I was so excited when you called to say you were coming back!” Instead of being discouraged that he couldn’t stay longer, his mom was obviously touched. “Some people wouldn’t even think the drive was worth it for only an overnight stay.”

  “It’s not that far.” The trip was not even two hours. He knew people in the Atlanta area who commuted close to that just to get to work. It was not a hardship for him to get in the convertible, turn up the MP3 player and drive on a sunny day.

  Barb stirred a pot of her homemade chicken noodle soup, the peppery aroma that wafted from the pot immediately taking him back to childhood. “Still. With gasoline prices what they are these days…I’m so glad to see you. You know who else would be equally happy? Todd.”

  Dylan was so accustomed to everyone he knew calling Todd Burton “Coach” that it took him a second to make the connection. “Coach B.?”

  His mother nodded. “Have you talked to him since the banquet? About his offer?”

  Suddenly restless, Dylan stood. He busied himself getting bowls down for the soup. Unfortunately that only killed about three seconds.

  “It wasn’t really an ‘offer,’ Mom, merely a suggestion. He can’t just hand out a job. I’m sure there’s a lot of bureaucracy with the school board involved.”

  Barb hesitated; he assumed she’d agree with him and change the subject. It’s what she would have done in a similar situation if she’d been talking to his father. So Dylan was startled to see her square her shoulders, lift her chin and shake her silvered head at him.

  “That’s silly, and you know it. With your record in the sport and Coach Burton’s sway in this community, you could probably walk into the school’s administration office this afternoon and have the position before dinner.” As if realizing how vocal she was being with her opinion, she lowered her gaze, mumbling, “If you wanted it.”

  Passing behind her on the way back to the table, he stopped to give
her a quick squeeze of affection. Go, Mom. He didn’t want the job, but he was thrilled to see his mother showing some spirit. “I’m not convinced that I’d be a good coach. Besides, some people in Atlanta pulled strings to help get me into a really good job after my shoulder gave out. It seems wrong to just walk away from that.”

  “So you’ll stay in a situation you know deep down isn’t right for you because you feel obligated?” Her voice cracked.

  “Mom.” Instead of taking his seat, he returned to her. “You okay?”

  “No. I’m an old woman looking back on her life.”

  He hugged her to his chest. “You’re not old.”

  “I feel it,” she muttered into his shirt. “I’ve felt old for years. And now I…now I…”

  Oh, damn. She was crying, and Dylan didn’t have the first clue what to do. Irrationally he wished Chloe were here. Next to his mother, Chloe was currently the central female in his life, and this seemed like an occasion requiring a feminine touch. She’d been sensitive and insightful at his apartment. So what would Chloe do in this situation? Probably lie through her teeth. Not helpful.

  “I’m getting your shirt all wet,” Barb sobbed.

  “I have plenty of shirts, but only one mother.” He led her to the table and she sat down. “I want to help.”

  “Such a good boy. And after you were handed such a poor lot in life.”

  He squirmed guiltily—he’d endured his difficult adolescent years surrounded by friends and admiring peers, had gone on to follow his dream and had been able to pursue it further than most men ever did. “It’s not so bad. I played major league ball for a few seasons. Even now I have decent gig. I also have people here who love me, like you and Coach.”

  “I know it was hard on you,” she insisted. “The struggles at school. Before you found baseball, I was always scared to death you’d drop out before you graduated. I wanted more for you than I ever accomplished. I got married so young I never even considered college. And you have a diploma and a degree!”