Tanya Michaels
Mistletoe Cinderella
The second book in the 4 Seasons in Mistletoe series, 2009
Dear Reader,
Have you ever wanted to be someone else, just for a day? That’s the premise I started with for
Ten years later, at her high school reunion, Chloe shows up with a makeover courtesy of her fairy godmoth-Er, best friend. Dylan notices her, all right, but confuses her with somebody else entirely. When midnight strikes, will she turn back into plain old Chloe?
My mom, who has a great sense of humor, raised me on funny, romantic films of mistaken identity like Doris Day’s
Happy reading!
This book is dedicated to all of you
wonderful readers who e-mailed to ask,
“Will there be more Mistletoe stories?” Enjoy!
Chapter One
It was a bad sign when you were feeling envious of the person in the casket.
Chloe Malcolm winced at her own thoughts, which were highly inappropriate and completely out of character. Chloe was
Aunt Jane had appalled Chloe’s parents by nicknaming her niece “Wheezy,” making the childhood asthma Chloe later outgrew seem like more of an in-joke than a handicap.
“How are you holding up?”
Chloe turned to see blond and beautiful Natalie Young, her best friend and manager of the town’s flower shop. “Okay. I know she wouldn’t have any regrets and wouldn’t want any of us moping. She was just so full of
“Yeah. She was a force all her own.” Natalie grinned. “I’m amazed at some of the stories I’ve heard this afternoon, but I guess you grew up with them.”
Not exactly. Chloe’s parents had loved Jane, but they hadn’t minded her keeping a geographical distance from their impressionable daughter and had deemed some of Jane’s exploits unfit for young ears.
Back in the sixties, Aunt Jane had shocked her own parents and her older sister when she’d eloped with a local boy who’d left shortly after for Vietnam. When he’d come back, he’d been unable to assimilate to small-town Georgia life; he and Jane had restlessly roamed the country for the remainder of their marriage, part of which she’d spent dancing in a Vegas show and perfecting her blackjack skills. Chloe’s mother, Rose, had commented more than once that her younger sister had the devil’s own luck. She’d said it with neither jealousy nor censure, but worry. Fear that Jane’s exuberant, outrageous ways would catch up to her one day.
But Chloe believed Jane left this world exactly as she would have wanted-after a day of parasailing in the Caribbean and a romantic evening with a forty-nine-year-old divorced tax attorney, she’d died of a blood clot in her sleep. Jane had dated a wide range of men in the past two decades, never lacking companionship. She’d aged beautifully, like Helen Mirren or Diane Keaton. Still, Chloe thought that what really attracted admirers was her aunt’s confidence and verve-two qualities Chloe lacked, except when it came to computers.
During Chloe’s teen years, Jane had insisted her niece was simply a “late bloomer.” At twenty-seven, Chloe had resigned herself to the fact that she was as bloomed as she was going to get.
Trying to push away vague pangs that she might have let her aunt down, Chloe redirected her attention to Natalie. “The arrangements are beautiful, by the way. I’m sorry I didn’t say so earlier.”
“Thanks.” The blonde pursed her lips. “You don’t think the flowers seem too formal? I filled people’s orders, but I feel like Jane would have preferred sunflowers or daisies. Something bright or funky. The remembrance wreath and spray of roses are a little at odds with…everything else.”
“Like the music and the open bar? I thought Mama would have a conniption.”
Jane’s final wishes had been well-documented with her lawyer, right down to the slide show and five-song sound track for the memorial. It had been designed to follow Jane’s life, ending a few minutes ago with “Spirit in the Sky.” But it was the earlier “It’s Raining Men” that seemed to have left an impression on guests. Jane Walters hadn’t wanted a funeral; she’d wanted a party at which the people she’d known could celebrate her life. If she’d picked out Chloe’s attire for the service, it probably would have been the flowered sarong Jane had once sent her niece from Maui. Instead, Chloe had paired a lightweight blouse with her navy skirt, her only touches of whimsy the polka-dotted yellow headband holding back her long dark hair and pomegranate-flavored lip gloss.
“Speaking of your mother.” Natalie looked around. “Is she doing all right?”
“Hard to say.” Chloe’s parents, aside from making sure their only child knew how adored she was, didn’t make a point of discussing their emotions. What Chloe had deduced for herself was that restrained and proper Rose, dutiful first daughter, had always had a complicated relationship with her free-spirited younger sister. “Mama mentioned that she didn’t think Jane had ever truly stopped loving her husband and that the two of them can be together now. She was talking to some old schoolmates the last time I saw her, but I should check on her.”
As soon as Chloe said
Chloe headed her off at the pass. “Let’s not discuss the reunion now, okay?”
“Of course not.” Natalie’s blue gaze was suddenly bright with innocence. She should have joined drama club as a student instead of the cheer squad. “I wouldn’t nag you at your aunt’s memorial service.”
A refreshing change. Natalie had been nagging on a daily basis since she’d signed on as a committee member for the Mistletoe High reunion. During their senior year, Natalie had made a few uncomfortable attempts at socially assisting Chloe, her erstwhile algebra tutor, but had felt ever since graduation that she, as popular cocaptain of the cheerleaders, should have done more to boost her nerdy friend’s status. Whenever Natalie talked about the reunion, she got an overzealous gleam in her eye and morphed into a stubborn fairy godmother hell-bent on dragging Cinderella to the ball. Nat harbored unrealistic dreams of making Chloe over so that everyone could be dazzled by her a decade later, the once-shy brunette voted prom queen or reunion queen or whatever.
“Girls.” Vonda Kerrigan approached, nodding her respects. In her midseventies, Vonda was closer to Rose in age but closer to Jane in personality. The two women had shared a cheerful disregard for conventionalism and had
