Mistletoe Cinderella

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.

Dylan raised an eyebrow. “I have to admit, it’s not what I expected from a decorator. But then, you’re just full of surprises.”

Her heart hammered. Surprises as in her kissing him last night, or her fleeing immediately afterward? “Well, you know what they say about the cobbler’s children having no shoes? It’s like that with decorators, too.”

The sensible thing to do would be trying to convince him that she was a lousy decorator so that he’d abandon any half-baked notion of hiring her. But she was already humiliated enough over last night and hated for him to think she was completely incompetent.

She found herself adding, “Besides, I haven’t been here long enough to renovate much. It was my parents’ place, and they recently gave it to me. Moved into their own apartment at the seniors’ center. They’re older than a lot of my friends’ parents,” she explained. Nat’s mom had recently hit fifty, but could pass for a woman in her late thirties-good genes in that family.

“These your folks?” Dylan gestured toward a magnetic frame on the refrigerator. In the picture, her mother was wearing a bright green sweater and her dad a suit with a Christmas-tree tie.

Chloe nodded. “Yeah. That was taken at the Winter Wonderland Dance.”

“I remember that dance.” His smile was nostalgic. “For this town it was like homecoming and prom all rolled into one.”

He was right. Even though it seemed more heavily chaperoned than a high school event because of all the adults, the annual charity formal had always been a big deal among her classmates, wondering who would invite whom. Even the strictest of parents normally allowed their children to attend since it was a community fund-raiser, benefiting the seniors’ center and adjacent medical complex. No guy had ever asked Chloe, though. Her junior year, Natalie had tried to force a double date with her own date’s cousin who was visiting for the holidays, but it had turned out to be such an awkward fiasco that Chloe had skipped the whole thing her senior year, telling her parents she’d rather use the time to study for winter finals.

She didn’t realize she was scowling until Dylan asked, “Did I say something wrong?”

“Not at all. Just trying to decide on a plan for lunch. Pizza okay with you?”

“Sure.” He stayed out of her way while she bustled around the small kitchen, stowing her newly purchased groceries. “But I still can’t believe you opted for manual labor over my buying you lunch at the diner.”

“Well, there was the ice cream to consider,” she reminded him lamely.

The bigger consideration was the half-dozen people who would have greeted her at the diner, where she was a regular. Just the thought of being exposed as a fraud left her wanting her inhaler. Dylan would be gone again soon. Couldn’t she have this small, stolen period of time with him and retain her dignity?

Then say something, she scolded herself, and stop just standing here with a guilty expression. She cleared her throat. “Besides, my dinner plans are for the diner.”

“Ah. Hot date?”

If it weren’t for the faint brackets of tension around his mouth, she would have assumed he was poking fun at her, but she reconsidered from his perspective. If Dylan Echols had deemed her attractive and interesting enough to have dinner with last night, why wouldn’t she be good enough for some other guy to take to dinner? It was an unfamiliar yet pleasant way to think of herself.

“Just dinner with a friend. Nothing romantic.”

His shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly. “As embarrassing as this is to admit, I think I would have been jealous.”

It ranked among the most flattering things a man had ever said to her-right up there with technophobe Zachariah Waide telling her that the Web site she’d created for his supply store was a user-friendly work of art. “Th-thank you.”

Dylan’s eyes held hers. “You’re welcome.”

The moment took on an intimacy that heightened both her attraction to him and her discomfort. She turned away to preheat the ancient oven, then got out a baking sheet. When the metal hit the counter, she realized for the first time how quiet her house was. It never bothered her when she was alone, but somehow it seemed even more quiet with him here.

As she threw away the cardboard box and plastic wrapping, he asked, “How’d you get into feng shui?”

“You could say I followed an impulse.”

“I’ve heard of it in passing, but never met anyone who uses it. I’d love to hear some specifics.”

Gulp. She’d only mentioned feng shui because, at the time, it had been the single decorating term she could even think of. In retrospect, she should have told him her specialty was commercial interiors. Since there was no way he had the authority to hire her to redecorate a television station, that would have been a tidy way to end the discussion. I have to get better at thinking on my feet.

Except what she really meant was that she should get better at lying, a thought that made her queasy. Her parents would be horribly disappointed in her.

“Well, as you probably know, feng shui is an ancient Asian art. Or maybe more like a tradition. A philosophy. Having to do with the placement of items in the home and the different ways said placement can affect the home owner.”

“Such as?” He took a seat, watching her with fascination.

Chloe wanted to groan. After hearing Nat and other girlfriends complain about dating guys who talked only about themselves, why did she have to find such a good listener? Stalling, she opened the refrigerator with vague intentions of pulling together a salad to accompany the pizza. Until she remembered that she’d not bought any produce because she’d been dodging Dylan. And here he sits in your kitchen. Excellent job with the avoidance, girl genius.

She straightened. “Are you sure you’re really interested in hearing this? It’s pretty metaphysical. Probably not your cup of tea.”

“Why, because I’m just a jock?”

Oddly, in that moment, he reminded her of Candy Beemis, the way the other woman would say something under the pretext of “just kidding” when, in reality, she was speaking her mind. The difference was that Dylan wasn’t targeting someone else with the disparaging humor, but himself. Though his tone was light enough to be considered jesting, there was a vulnerability in his green eyes that sliced straight through Chloe. An insecurity, even.

Had someone made him feel like “just a jock”? He had to know there was more to his personality than that… although maybe he was more sensitive to the issue now that baseball had been ripped out of his life. A knot formed