Mistletoe Cinderella

“I won’t. I was just thinking out loud.” Her parents would be crushed if she abandoned them. She knew she couldn’t do that.

Natalie shook her head. “I can’t believe one stupid reunion has you second-guessing your entire life. It was just a dance, Chloe.”

“It isn’t only the reunion-it’s me. Even before Aunt Jane died, I…Knowing you want to make changes doesn’t mean you know where to start. It’s scary. And it’s difficult to re-create who you are in a place where everyone’s known you since preschool. I think, subconsciously, that’s why I told Dylan that my name is C.J. and I’m an interior designer. He doesn’t know me. It was my big chance.”

Natalie looked thoughtful, refraining from judgment. “Well, C.J., what are you going to do now?”

“Exactly what I told him I would. Go to his place on Wednesday.” She took a deep breath, reminding herself that she’d always been a quick study. With facts and books, anyway, if not people. “I can do this.”

“Do what?” Natalie’s blue eyes widened. “Decorate his place?”

“No, it won’t come to that. I’ll quote him a ridiculous price or suggest we do everything in orange and pink feathers or something. He won’t hire me. All I need is enough information to bluff my way through a conversation at his apartment. I’ll look up some decorating terminology online, maybe get one of those ubiquitous and insultingly titled books. You know the type. Feng Shui for Fools, Danish Modern for Dumbasses.”

Natalie snorted. “Now there’s the Chloe I love. You have a delightfully dry wit when you’re not censoring yourself. I get antsy on bad dates, eager to recap them for you because I know your observations will be more entertaining than the date itself. You can be wicked when you want to.”

“Thank you. I think. Jane was like that, unafraid to speak her mind even if it shocked people around her. And it always shocked Mama. Funny, you’d think she would have gotten used to it after all those years.”

“Chloe.” Natalie hesitated, which was so unlike her that it made Chloe sit up and pay closer attention.

“What is it?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but your parents? They could be really protective. I know you were sick a lot when you were a kid, but that was a long time ago. Don’t let their good intentions smother you. You don’t have to be perfect for them.”

“Last night, I went up to a hotel room with a guy I barely know and I’m losing count of the lies I’ve told him. I don’t think we need to worry about me being perfect.”

“I just meant-”

“I know what you meant.” Chloe just wasn’t sure how she felt about it. Her parents had tried to do right by her, and she loved them a lot. But she had to admit, there had been times she’d chafed under their sheltering strictures.

Natalie stood. “Come on, then.”

“Ice cream time?”

“No, let’s hit the Web and see what we can find out about feng shui.”

“I hate that you’re helping,” Chloe said. “I feel like I’ve made you an accessory, like I’m taking you down with me.”

Natalie waved a hand. “Are you kidding? This is exciting stuff. Besides, you know I’d help with anything in my power. I owe you. You’re the only reason a bubble brain like me passed math.”

“You’re not bubble brained!” Chloe protested vehemently.

“Math sure made me feel like I was. Until I met you.”

“You just had some bad teachers.” Though Chloe herself had never had trouble in school, she knew that some instructors weren’t flexible enough to account for different learning styles. “Look at you now! Taking care of the books for a profitable retail operation. You rock.”

“Back atcha,” Natalie said with a smile. “I was serious about helping you. If you want to make changes, I’m happy to lend advice. Or shoes. Or alibis.”

Chloe laughed. The fact that the person who knew her best thought she might need an alibi showed that, for better or worse, Chloe was changing already. Here goes nothing.

Chapter Seven

“You’re such a good son,” Barb Echols said from the hallway.

No, he wasn’t. Finished in the closet, Dylan descended the ladder, thinking that his afternoon sounded like the beginning of a joke. How many ex-baseball players does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

Just one, but it took him months to get around to the job. They both knew he’d done the bare familial minimum for years-mailing tickets to games and the occasional Mother’s Day card-but it was just like Barb to content herself on scraps of affection. He’d watched her settle throughout her marriage; an ugly thought chilled him. Was he no better than his father?

“Hey, Mom?” Dylan folded the collapsible ladder and shoved it to the back of the closet, wishing it were as easy to push aside his burgeoning self-disgust. “Would you like to go with me to dinner tomorrow night?”

She blinked the green eyes that he’d inherited. “But you have that important banquet at the KC Hall.”

“I know. I’m asking you to come with me as my date.”

“Me?” She looked shocked by the small gesture.

Why shouldn’t she be? He hadn’t even come home for the holidays, citing his busy new work schedule covering college football games. He hadn’t known then that it would be his father’s last Christmas. Would I have done anything differently? He wasn’t honestly sure, but his relationship with the man was now a moot point. His mom was a different story.

“Come with me,” he reiterated. “Unless you have other plans already? A lady scolded me just earlier today that it’s bad manners to ask at the last minute.”

Chloe had tried to sound mock-indignant at his eleventh-hour invitation, but he could tell she’d been anxious about the idea of going somewhere in public with him. Still, she’d exhibited plenty of nerve when, instead of wisely backing down, she’d brazenly agreed to come to his condo for a decorating consultation! As if he wouldn’t be able to tell she was a fake. What kind of moron did she think he was, to be duped by spluttered nonsense like “a philosophy of the placement of stuff”?

Please. A layman could pick up better specifics than that during a thirty-second HGTV commercial. Chloe was playing him for a fool, but she couldn’t keep it up forever.

“Earlier today?” Barb echoed, pursing her lips. “I’m not the first person you’ve invited to this dinner, am I?”

Oh, hell. Sensitivity was not his strong suit. “Sorry, Mom, I-”

“Are you kidding?” She beamed. “I’d love you to start dating a nice Mistletoe girl!”

She’s not that nice. Despite himself, he recalled the self-deprecating way she’d admitted to her high school crush on him-had that part been true?-and the pain in her voice when she spoke of the aunt she’d obviously adored. Plus, she’d blushed last night in his hotel room, hardly seeming a jaded woman of wiles. She had her parents’ picture displayed on her fridge as proudly as his mother had once hung his kindergarten drawings and, later, his baseball cards. Chloe had even asked how his mother was faring after his dad’s death, showing more compassion than Dylan himself, who avoided thinking about home.

The truth was, he didn’t know what to make of the woman.

He considered asking his mother if she knew anything about her, but Barb already looked entirely too delighted by the prospect of his seeing a local girl, probably imagining his being around more and chubby-cheeked grandchildren. He didn’t want to get her hopes up, especially since his association with Chloe Malcolm was going to be short-lived and would no doubt end badly once he exposed her as the shameless fraud she was.

AS SOON AS Dylan escorted his mom into the hall, his eyes went to Todd Burton, standing amid a throng of well-wishers. Whether the older man was actually stooped with age or Dylan was taller now than he’d been as a high school freshman, Coach B. seemed smaller than he once had, but he was still just as imposing, just as solid.