Tanya Michaels - Mistletoe Cinderella

“N-no. Nothing like that. I had somewhere I needed to be.”

“The reunion?” he pressed. “I looked for you downstairs.”

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “When I was fixing my makeup, I noticed…that I had a text message. From a friend. Needing help.”

“I see. Is everything okay?”

“Mmm-hmm. It was just a, um, girl thing. All taken care of now.”

The fact that she was a lousy liar made him feel like an even bigger chump for not seeing through her last night. How could he have fallen for anything that came out of her mouth? Maybe because you were too busy fantasizing about the mouth in question.

He handed over a twenty that covered the few basics he’d picked up for his mother, then followed Chloe out the door without bothering to wait for his change. No way was he letting her escape before she confessed her perfidy.

“I was sorry we didn’t get to talk longer about your job,” he said.

“My job?”

He nodded, grinning as a spontaneous plan took shape. “The interior decorating. What’s your specialty?” He had no idea whether decorators even had specialties.

“Feng sway?” It came out as a tentative squeak. “Shui. Feng shui.”

“Because I was thinking of having my condo redecorated.” He wondered how much rope he needed to hand her before she hanged herself.

“B-but you live in Atlanta!”

“Hardly the far corners of the earth.” He shrugged. “It’s not too bad a drive. Surely not all your clients are in Mistletoe? If I hired you, I’d know I wasn’t getting ripped off by some stranger in the city. And as an extra bonus, I’d get to see you again.”

“No, I-” She broke off, looking even more alarmed than before, if such a thing were possible.

He followed her gaze to a pregnant woman farther down the sidewalk. The spring breeze plastered her blue maternity dress to the small baby bulge, and a headband was keeping the raven-black hair out of her eyes while she took pictures with a digital camera. She seemed to be photographing storefronts.

Turning back to Chloe, he asked, “Someone you know?”

After a brief hesitation, Chloe admitted, “Rachel Waide. But she’s working right now. For the chamber of commerce. Very artistic. She hates to be bothered while she’s trying to get the perfect shot,” she added, already striding in the opposite direction.

Dylan amiably tagged along. “I don’t know if you realize this about me, but I’m very stubborn. Coach taught me to hang in there all nine innings and go for the win. I really would like to talk to you more about decorating my place. Or at least coming to look at it before you turn me down completely.”

They were passing a woman with what appeared to be her teenage son, and Chloe ducked her head, clearly hoping not to be recognized by any of her fellow citizens.

“How about I buy you lunch and we can chat?” He aimed his most charming smile directly at her. “Come on, you owe me for running off last night, C.J. Is the Dixieland Diner still in business?”

“I can’t go out to lunch. My ice cream would melt.”

“Dinner, then?” he persisted. “Or why don’t you just give me your business card. I’ll come by your office later and-”

“I work from home.”

“Even better. We can go there and have lunch together. To protect your ice cream,” he added with a smile.

She stared back with a deer-in-the-headlights look, finally sighing in resignation. For a moment, he thought she was about to cop to not being an interior decorator. “Fine. Follow me.”

Game on, then?

He nodded. “Lead the way.” This should be interesting.

CHLOE BRIEFLY entertained the fantasy of mashing down the accelerator and not stopping. She’d recently decided she wanted to see more of the world-here was her chance! Yet she was slowly realizing that Dylan Echols wouldn’t be that easy to shake. Besides, she only had about a quarter of a tank of gas. As great escapes went, that wouldn’t get her far.

Cursing her luck, she stayed right at the legal speed limit, neither too slow nor too fast, and dutifully signaled with her blinker well before each turn. Story of my life. Until this weekend, anyway. Dylan stayed close, impossible to miss in her rearview mirror. Even his car was sexy-a recent-model dark metallic-blue Mustang convertible.

Driving around with the top down, he looked like a man without cares. If she hadn’t known about his shoulder injury and subsequent career disappointment, she would have bought into the illusion. He seemed to have bounced back well, though. She wondered if he enjoyed his sports reporting job. Addressing a faceless audience with a camera trained on her sounded like purgatory to her. Chloe did better in front of a computer than she did in front of people.

Which made it thoroughly ironic that she was having two meals with Dylan in as many days. Why in heaven’s name had she capitulated to his suggestion that he come over for lunch? Well, there had been the fear of being recognized, of course, and her escalating need to end their conversation in front of the store, but that was the logical, intellectual reason. On a purely instinctual level, when a man like Dylan Echols said, “Take me home,” a woman’s automatic response was yes!

When Chloe parked under the carport, he was quick to hop out of his own vehicle and offer a hand with the groceries. She thanked him as she gave him the bag of ice cream.

“What about you?” she asked. “Do you have anything you need to put in the refrigerator?”

He shook his head. “I just grabbed a few things to take over to my mom’s this afternoon. Nothing that won’t keep for a little while.”

That was nice of him; she could identify with taking care of your parents. Not only did Chloe miss Aunt Jane horribly, her passing made Chloe even more conscious of her parents’ age.

She swallowed. “How’s your mother doing? I mean, I heard that your dad had passed away. That must be hard on her, living alone after so many years of marriage.”

He was silent, remote behind the sunglasses he wore. Then he said, “I suppose it is,” and strode past her on the sidewalk even though he’d have to wait for her to unlock the front door.

Lesson learned . Apparently, even with the months that had passed, he wasn’t ready to talk about his late father.

She climbed the steps to the front porch, thinking back to earlier in the week. It had been such a surprise to find that package from Aunt Jane. How could Chloe have known she was in for a bigger shock-Dylan Echols right here at her door? She ushered him inside, grateful for the tiny bit of redecorating she’d managed since moving into the house. Undecorating, rather.

Chloe was the only child of adoring parents, and the place had looked like a shrine to her. Framed pictures of her entire childhood had filled the wall space in the hallway and trophies from the Academic Decathlon and sophomore science fair had perched on the mantel. Her parents had taken their favorite portraits with them to their smaller apartment, but had left so much of it here that she’d felt a little embarrassed living among the memorabilia her first week back at home.

Was the Echols house a similar museum to Dylan’s achievements? Like her, Dylan was an only child, and she imagined his parents must have been bursting with pride for him. There were probably team pictures, from kindergarten community league to the major leagues, and sports trophies in every room.

“So this is your place, huh?” Sliding off his glasses, Dylan glanced around at the serviceable but worn furniture, her mother’s faded floral curtains and the rug Chloe planned to replace with faux hardwood. Eventually.