Mistletoe Cinderella

“Is that your polite way of turning down the haircut?”

Now that Chloe thought about it, when was the last time she’d had a trim? Her thoughts skittered back to Dylan. She’d be seeing him soon. It wouldn’t hurt to look her best. “Okay, sure. We could take off a few split ends.”

“You don’t want anything else done?” Kim looked disappointed. “I was hoping for something at least dramatic enough for ‘before’ and ‘after’ pictures.”

Chloe smoothed her hand over her head. Barring the short-lived and ill-advised highlights when she was a teen, she’d worn her hair pretty much the same way ever since…what, second grade? Good Lord. She was a one-woman definition of stagnant.

Not anymore. “What did you have in mind?”

Kim brightened. “I’m glad you asked!”

FAR FROM the somewhat timid woman Dylan often remembered her as, Barb Echols seemed positively jubilant now, flitting about her kitchen and humming while she prepared lunch for the two of them. She was so happy that Dylan found himself grinning, her mood contagious. For a little while, he forgot Chloe Malcolm and simply took pleasure in having made a right decision.

“I was so excited when you called to say you were coming back!” Instead of being discouraged that he couldn’t stay longer, his mom was obviously touched. “Some people wouldn’t even think the drive was worth it for only an overnight stay.”

“It’s not that far.” The trip was not even two hours. He knew people in the Atlanta area who commuted close to that just to get to work. It was not a hardship for him to get in the convertible, turn up the MP3 player and drive on a sunny day.

Barb stirred a pot of her homemade chicken noodle soup, the peppery aroma that wafted from the pot immediately taking him back to childhood. “Still. With gasoline prices what they are these days…I’m so glad to see you. You know who else would be equally happy? Todd.”

Dylan was so accustomed to everyone he knew calling Todd Burton “Coach” that it took him a second to make the connection. “Coach B.?”

His mother nodded. “Have you talked to him since the banquet? About his offer?”

Suddenly restless, Dylan stood. He busied himself getting bowls down for the soup. Unfortunately that only killed about three seconds.

“It wasn’t really an ‘offer,’ Mom, merely a suggestion. He can’t just hand out a job. I’m sure there’s a lot of bureaucracy with the school board involved.”

Barb hesitated; he assumed she’d agree with him and change the subject. It’s what she would have done in a similar situation if she’d been talking to his father. So Dylan was startled to see her square her shoulders, lift her chin and shake her silvered head at him.

“That’s silly, and you know it. With your record in the sport and Coach Burton’s sway in this community, you could probably walk into the school’s administration office this afternoon and have the position before dinner.” As if realizing how vocal she was being with her opinion, she lowered her gaze, mumbling, “If you wanted it.”

Passing behind her on the way back to the table, he stopped to give her a quick squeeze of affection. Go, Mom. He didn’t want the job, but he was thrilled to see his mother showing some spirit. “I’m not convinced that I’d be a good coach. Besides, some people in Atlanta pulled strings to help get me into a really good job after my shoulder gave out. It seems wrong to just walk away from that.”

“So you’ll stay in a situation you know deep down isn’t right for you because you feel obligated?” Her voice cracked.

“Mom.” Instead of taking his seat, he returned to her. “You okay?”

“No. I’m an old woman looking back on her life.”

He hugged her to his chest. “You’re not old.”

“I feel it,” she muttered into his shirt. “I’ve felt old for years. And now I…now I…”

Oh, damn. She was crying, and Dylan didn’t have the first clue what to do. Irrationally he wished Chloe were here. Next to his mother, Chloe was currently the central female in his life, and this seemed like an occasion requiring a feminine touch. She’d been sensitive and insightful at his apartment. So what would Chloe do in this situation? Probably lie through her teeth. Not helpful.

“I’m getting your shirt all wet,” Barb sobbed.

“I have plenty of shirts, but only one mother.” He led her to the table and she sat down. “I want to help.”

“Such a good boy. And after you were handed such a poor lot in life.”

He squirmed guiltily-he’d endured his difficult adolescent years surrounded by friends and admiring peers, had gone on to follow his dream and had been able to pursue it further than most men ever did. “It’s not so bad. I played major league ball for a few seasons. Even now I have decent gig. I also have people here who love me, like you and Coach.”

“I know it was hard on you,” she insisted. “The struggles at school. Before you found baseball, I was always scared to death you’d drop out before you graduated. I wanted more for you than I ever accomplished. I got married so young I never even considered college. And you have a diploma and a degree!”

She wasn’t this upset about his dyslexia, and they both knew it. It wasn’t just school that had been an ordeal. The fact of the matter was, sometimes being there had been a nice respite from being home.

He shoved a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“I don’t blame you. Looking at the man you’ve become, I wonder if I did the right thing staying here all these years or if I should have…I don’t know what I would have done without your father, but maybe it was only cowardice that kept me from finding out, not love.” Her eyes filled again. “Is it wrong to look at this as a fresh start? There was a time I loved him, there must have been.”

She looked unconvinced, but Dylan was the wrong man to plead his father’s case.

Dashing away a few tears, she added in a stronger tone, “I do want you to know he loved you. In his own way, he loved you very much. I don’t know if he ever told you this, but his mother had a learning disability. Not that it was diagnosed well or that school curricula back then were developed to handle that. I think your father had a misplaced sense of anger, that maybe you’d inherited something through him.”

“Mom, I know you have the best of intentions, but I do not want to talk about it.” To lessen the sting of his vehement words, he knelt by her chair. “We should look at this as a fresh start, with each other. Please don’t beat yourself up over what-ifs. You can second-guess your plays all you want, but it still won’t change the score after the game’s finished. The truth is, I wasn’t an ideal son, either. But we can work on that, right?”

“Right.” She gave him a watery smile, emboldened. “And we could work on it even more if you took a coaching job in Mistletoe.”

AFTER LUNCH, Dylan attempted to distract himself from everything his mom had said by calling Chloe to let her know he’d reached town, but her cell phone rolled immediately to voice mail. You’ve reached C. W. Designs, she chirped. Leave a message, and I’ll call you back as soon as I can! The cynical part of him wondered if that had always been her outgoing recording, or if she’d altered it and removed her name since giving him her number. Having struck out getting in touch with her, he tried Nick Zeth instead.

Nick laughed as soon as Dylan identified himself. “Dude, when I offered to buy you dinner next time you were in town, it’s because I figured you wouldn’t be back for at least a decade. What happened, you get back to Atlanta and decide you missed us?”

The picture of Chloe’s smile swam in his memory. “Something like that. But don’t worry, I’m not looking for a free meal. Maybe just some company at batting practice?” He had sworn to his mentor to at least consider the idea of coaching. Now, with Barb adding her own pressure, Dylan felt that, at a minimum, he should swing by the high school to watch the team for a few minutes this afternoon.

Showing up might make him look more interested in the job than he really was, though. He planned to use Nick as a human shield, just two former players motivated by recent nostalgia to check out the old stomping grounds and see the new team in action.

“I can get away for a little while,” Nick agreed. “I’m not active today, just on call. I’ll bring the pager with