Dixie Browning - Cinderella's Midnight Kiss

A few minutes later, after freeing a snagged zipper, collecting a bundle of lingerie to hand wash, a trayful of dirty dishes and an empty pizza box from the room Steff’s friends shared, she headed down the front stairway—the back one was so steep she avoided it whenever she could, even though Aunt S. always frowned to see her coming down into the front hall with a load of laundry or dirty dishes.

“Hi,” someone called softly when she was halfway down. Her carefully balanced load tilted precariously.

“Steff’s not here, but I think Maura might be around somewhere.” Maura was always around somewhere if there was a chance of seeing Hitch. Cindy had heard them talking about him last night—Steff, Maura and Steff’s girlfriends. The consensus was that he was a real catch, a certified hunk and sexier than what’s-his-name who had starred in that hit movie that Cindy had never got around to seeing.

She could have added her own opinion, but she didn’t think it would be appreciated.

“Watch it—here, let me take that tray.”

“I’ve got it,” she said, and grudgingly added her thanks.

“You need a dumbwaiter.”

It stumped her for a second, but then she blinked and said, “Oh, you mean one of those elevator gadgets. If they come in mahogany with stained glass windows, I might get Aunt S. to have one installed. She doesn’t care for modern conveniences.”

“But then, she’s not the one being inconvenienced, is she?”

Cindy couldn’t help herself. Her eyes sparkled, her lips twitched and she bit back an irreverent retort. Hitch was grinning openly. Had anyone mentioned that he had gorgeous teeth?

And a sense of humor?

Would that crew even recognize, much less appreciate, a sense of humor?

She knew in explicit detail what they thought of his narrow behind and his broad shoulders, and the way his slacks rode low at his waist and sort of bunched up at the fly. Maura said she’d seen him in swim trunks, and he more than lived up to his advertising.

They’d all groaned and then giggled—even Steff, who wasn’t a giggler, and who shouldn’t be thinking that way about her fiancé’s best man.

Cindy, who’d been delivering another round of diet colas at the time, was tempted to mention his nasty disposition and his recklessness behind the wheel, but she’d learned a long time ago to keep her opinions to herself.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about what happened the other day,” he said when she reached the bottom step.

At close range he was even more lethal than he was behind the wheel of a car. Funny how she could remember so much about him after all these years. Such as the way he’d always been so patient with the pesky kids from across the street. Such as the way he’d always risen whenever Mama Mac came into a room.

Such as the way all the girls, herself included, had been in love with him then. Not that he’d ever even noticed her.

And while the intervening years might not have improved his driving skills, they’d done nothing but enhance his dark good looks. Fortunately, Cindy had long ago outgrown her brief infatuation, since the days when she used to gaze at him through the hedge whenever Mac brought him home from college.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I really don’t have time to talk now. Besides, there’s nothing to talk about. You’re a rotten driver, and I’m lucky as the dickens, and that’s the end of that, okay?”

“Not okay. I’m usually an exemplary driver, but—”

“No excuses, I told you I don’t have time.” She edged past him and headed for the kitchen.

He was two steps behind her. Where in the world was Maura? she wondered. Where was everyone else? Usually, the house was brimming with people, all with their separate demands. “Shouldn’t you be practicing your role as Mac’s best man?”

“Tonight’s the rehearsal.” The festivities were being held immediately following the rehearsal instead of after the ceremony, as the bride and groom had to leave right after the wedding to make their connections to Bermuda. “Tell you what, save me a dance at the party afterward and we’ll call it even.”

She gave him an exasperated look that in Hitch’s estimation did nothing at all to diminish the effect of those steady blue eyes. “I never—”

“Never say never.” Hitch’s smile, meant to be disarming, faltered as it occurred to him that she might not dance because she was self-conscious about her limp. He started to tell her it was barely noticeable, and thought better of it. “Look, we could just sit and talk, maybe share a glass of champagne and some cake—how about that?”

Cindy always hated it when people were embarrassed by her limp; otherwise, she seldom even thought about it. More often than not when people noticed they assumed she’d hurt her ankle, or had something in her shoe. Sometimes she said she had. It was no big deal. Didn’t even bother her except when she was rushed off her feet, as she had been lately.

“I really do appreciate the offer, and there’s nothing I’d like better, but I’ll be far too busy to join the festivities. You wouldn’t believe how much work is involved in a simple home wedding.” And if that sounded condescending, then it was just too bad. It was a wonder she was able to put two coherent words together, the way he affected her brain.

“It’s being handled by a professional, right?”

“Not even professionals can do everything.” Especially not with Aunt S. second-guessing their every move and Steff constantly changing her mind about details.

“Caterers handling the rehearsal dinner?” he persisted. He happened to know the Macs were footing the bill, although there was no preventing Mrs. S. from running the show.

“We have a houseful of guests. They have to eat three meals a day—more like seven, if you count snacks. And then there’s Charlie….”

“Oh, yeah, I do remember Charlie. How is he?”

“Still into everything, which is one more reason I’ll be too busy to take you up on your kind offer. But thanks.” Looking directly into his cool gray eyes, she smiled, confident she had handled the matter tactfully and efficiently, and that would be the end of that.

Mercy, it had better be! She couldn’t take too many more up-close-and-personal encounters with John Hale Hitchcock.

With the end in sight, Cindy was fervently looking forward to the moment when everyone was busy dining and dancing downstairs and she could have the big old claw-footed tub to herself for more than five minutes. As large as the house was, there were only two and a half baths—none at all, of course, in the attic. She had plans for a long, peaceful, lilac-scented soak followed by an evening spent reading in bed while everyone else was downstairs partying.

Sheer, hedonistic luxury.

Steff poked her head into the laundry room where Cindy was folding sheets. “You put him up to it, didn’t you?”

“Put who up to what?” The last time she’d seen Charlie he’d been pestering the caterer’s helper for samples.

“As if you didn’t know. He wants you to go to the party.”

“Charlie?”

“Not Charlie, Hitch. He told Mama you’d promised him a dance.”

There went her heart again, doing aerobics. “I did no such thing. Besides, I’ve got a date with a good book.”

“Break it. You can put in a brief appearance without dancing. Tell him your feet hurt.” For all her arrogance, Steff could be generous in her own careless way.

“Well, they do, but that’s not the problem. I don’t have anything to wear. I don’t think Aunt S. would be real happy if I turned up in jeans and one of my fancy hats.” She smiled, picturing her aunt’s reaction. Still, it was nice to be invited, even if she had no intention of going.