Stacy Connelly - Small-Town Cinderella

Not that Gary was to blame. When she and Drew had kissed, the whole world had faded away. How was the poor guy supposed to compete with that?

“Would you like a drink?” he asked before waving their waitress over and requesting a wine list as if they were at a five-star establishment instead of a casual, family-friendly restaurant. She tried to ignore that it made him seem more than a little pretentious. But once she spotted that chink in his armor, she couldn’t help noticing a few more less than attractive details. Like when he mentioned for the third time that he drove a Mercedes. And that he’d graduated with honors. And that he was working with a group of investors to build an exclusive resort in the area.

Debbie supposed it would have been hard to fit all that on a name tag.

Suppressing a sigh, she smiled as the waitress returned with their drinks and took a sip of the white wine Gary had ordered for both of them. She fought to keep her attention on the man in front of her instead of on the one across the bar. But that focus only brought more details to light. Like...wasn’t Gary’s blond hair combed a little too neatly? His clothes too perfectly pressed? And she’d bet the bakery that the shine on his nails came from a manicure.

Good hygiene was one thing, but that was just...weird, she decided, reaching for her wineglass again. Drew would never—

Debbie tried to stop the hopeless comparison, but suddenly the floodgates were open. There was nothing overstated about Drew, nothing that said he was trying too hard or that he was too hung up on his own good looks. Just a quiet confidence and yes, he was gorgeous enough for Debbie to be hung up on his looks. Of course, he was more than a pretty face and a drool-worthy bod.

He was...Drew.

The boy who’d stood up for her when some of the other kids in school had teased her about her weight and the outrageous desserts her mother always packed in her lunch. Of course, he’d been thirteen at the time and helped her in typical boy fashion—by stealing huge bites out of her cupcake or éclair or torte when Debbie wasn’t watching and then flashing her a cocky grin. In typical girl fashion, Debbie had protested, calling him names and probably sticking her tongue out a time or two, even as warmth bloomed inside her.

At nine years old, she’d known he was saving her from pigging out in front of the rest of the class or from hurting Bonnie’s feelings by refusing to take those desserts to school or, heaven forbid, throwing out the food her talented mother made with such love.

And then there was the day of her mother’s funeral. Just about everyone in town had stopped by to tell her how much her mother would be missed and how they would be there for Debbie if she needed anything.

She’d smiled through it all, reminiscing about her mother, talking about how much she loved to bake and to share her gift of sweets with the town. Only later did Debbie break down in the back of the bakery, crying over a batch of éclairs that she had never, ever been able to make as well as Bonnie, as it hit her that she would never taste her mother’s baking again. It was then, after everyone else was gone and she was alone, that Drew knocked on the bakery’s back door. He hadn’t said much, simply holding her as she cried and then helped her to clean up the mess she’d made of the kitchen.

He’d told her everything would be okay, and though countless others had offered that same platitude, wrapped in Drew’s arms, breathing in the familiar scent of his aftershave and listening to the quiet confidence in his deep voice, she’d believed him. And she’d held on to that belief deep in her heart, pulling it out when life got rough and she’d had her doubts about running the business on her own or during the holidays when at times she felt so alone. And somehow she knew everything would be all right. Because Drew had told her so, and he would never go back on his word.

This time, she couldn’t keep her glance from straying over toward his booth. Her heart slammed against her rib cage when his dark-eyed gaze snared hers. His date had disappeared, and he was looking back at her without a hint of surprise. A wash of heat crept up her face. How long had he been watching her while she’d been trying so hard not to watch him? And was he really going to sit there the rest of the night, studying her as she pretended to have a good time? Because, yes, by now she was past the point of convincing herself she actually was having a good time.

She reached for her glass, surprised to find it almost empty, but thankfully the waitress quickly stopped by with reinforcements. She started when Gary reached out and grabbed her hand. “I’m so glad you came to this event. It’s hard to meet the right person, isn’t it?”

The right person? Oh, good Lord, she really hoped he wasn’t talking about her! “Um, yeah. Look, Gary—”

“I knew as soon as I saw you that you were the one.”

Debbie swallowed. “Gary, that’s so...sweet of you to say. But the thing is...” Oh, jeez. She hated doing this. She’d been on the other side of the “it’s not you, it’s me” speech too many times not to feel badly about delivering it. “I’m not really looking for anything serious. I just want to meet some new people, to go out and have a good time.”

His sincere expression quickly morphed into one that was far more interested. “Well, in that case, why don’t we get out of here? I’ve booked a room in a hotel just down the street where we can really have some fun.”

“Whoa, there, Gar! I think you still have the wrong idea about me. But, you know, good luck with all that!”

Grabbing her glass, Debbie downed half the wine in a single gulp as she made her escape.

Speaking of which... Yep, Drew was still in the corner booth. Still watching...which meant as much as tonight was starting to look like a bust, she couldn’t go home yet. She didn’t want to give Drew the satisfaction of thinking that he’d run her off or worse, that he was right and that she should be spending her nights at home alone like a good girl.

She was going to have fun tonight, she thought grimly, even if it killed her.

* * *

She was killing him.

Drew’s hand tightened around the soda he’d been downing all night. He hadn’t come to the bar to drink, though that was the invitation he’d issued to Cassidy Carter. It had been strictly business, and he didn’t drink on the job. Of course, Cass had left over an hour ago, and he still hadn’t switched to anything harder than pure sugar and caffeine. He was a little afraid of what he might do if even so much as a beer went to his head. Hell, the rate the night was going, he should probably switch to diet and caffeine-free.

Every time Debbie laughed, every time she touched another guy—even if it was just to shake hands—every time she leaned closer to hear what one of them said, every damn time the guy’s gaze dropped to the rounded curves on display beneath a sweater that looked like it was made out of cotton candy, Drew had to fight to keep his butt in the booth.

He’d always considered himself a patient man, but he was quickly running out. Still, he kept waiting. Waiting for Debbie to realize none of these losers were good enough for her. He could see it at first glance. What was taking her so damn long?

He’d thought overhearing Debbie at Darcy’s bachelorette party was bad. But that had only been words, and he’d done his best to convince himself it was just talk. That she wasn’t serious about wanting some stranger to sweep her off her feet. Clearly, he was wrong. Not only had Debbie meant every word, she was backing them up with actions.

And it was killing him.

Drew didn’t want to look too closely at the reasons why. Debbie was an old family friend, and he was worried about her. That was reason enough, right? He didn’t want to think that he was jealous or that he wanted to be one of the men standing close enough to her to know if that sweater could possibly feel as soft as it looked. He certainly didn’t want to think about any of those men kissing her the way he had on the balcony last weekend because he shouldn’t have been the one kissing her, either. Tonight only drove that home more than ever. How could he be the one to protect her if he had to worry about protecting her from himself?