Mistletoe Cinderella

Chapter Ten

“I tumbled into the photography thing,” Rachel bubbled, looking adorably round and almost too big for the precarious folding chair in the back room of the print shop. “I can’t remember-pregnant-woman brain-what do you call happy accidents?”

“Serendipity?” Chloe offered.

Rachel snapped her fingers. “That’s it! Pictures were a hobby, but then when the chamber of commerce approached me about doing a series for them, other opportunities presented themselves. It’s been a slow trickle. Nothing close to what you’d call a full-time job, but that’s not what I want after the baby comes, anyway. Just a supplemental income with flexible hours after I abandon poor May. But even for that, I think a Web site is a must.”

Ever since Rachel got married and moved to Mistletoe, she’d worked for May Gideon, who was helping customers out front while Rachel used a late lunch hour to meet with Chloe. May had expressed regret that her friend was quitting in her final trimester, but couldn’t be happier that it was to become a full-time mom.

“I can definitely help build you a site tailored to your needs,” Chloe promised. “We just need to talk ab-Are you okay?”

“Fine. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Rachel’s hands had jerked to her stomach so quickly Chloe had feared something might be wrong. “We’d been expecting to feel the baby move-‘flutters,’ all the books say-but nothing happened for the longest time. Dr. McDermott did an extra sonogram just to check on everything. Then this week, he-or she-started kicking up a storm. It’s amazing.”

“He or she? It’s still too soon to determine the sex?” With the baby due this summer, Chloe would have thought they knew whether they were having a boy or girl by now.

“David and I decided to wait and find out.” The woman’s face lit up when she mentioned her husband. “We asked Dr. McDermott not to tell us, even though she knows. Maybe it’s a little impractical, since it limits what we can buy ahead of time and I have to keep addressing it as The Baby, but-”

“I think it’s cool that you’d rather not know,” Chloe told her. “After all, when you stop and think about it, how many surprises are there really in life? This is a way to enjoy a huge one. Like throwing yourself a fantastic surprise party.”

Rachel nodded happily, but with a faraway look on her face, her focus was clearly on her baby.

Chloe had never had a surprise party, but she would have hated it. In her life experience, “surprises” usually consisted of a sudden inability to breathe or a moment of social ineptness she immediately wanted to take back or the rare computer crash.

She preferred structure, logic, predictability.

Was that why she’d resisted the idea of the reunion so strongly-because she couldn’t calculate what would happen, whether she’d be the newly created femme fatale Natalie hoped for or just Klutzy Chloe version 2.0? Unlike the aunt who’d lived each day as an unexpected adventure, on the eager brink of new discoveries and adventures, Chloe would probably spend the rest of her life here in Mistletoe. She’d gone into exactly the kind of field her instructors would have forecast for an introverted student good with computers. Her life didn’t lend itself to surprise.

Until Dylan. The night of the reunion, Chloe had thought of herself rather sardonically as Cinderella. Now, however, she felt more like Sleeping Beauty. Had she been sleepwalking through her carefully ordered existence all these years? Suddenly the idea of waking up each day and wondering what could happen didn’t seem like a terrible fate. It seemed…exciting.

“I can’t believe how different you look,” Rachel said, diverting her attention from the neonatal gymnastics back to Chloe.

“You mean my hair?” Chloe smiled shyly. Kim had layered it that morning, not taking off so much that it was tons shorter, but styling it so that the overall effect was quite different.

“Not just the hair. Everything! Your makeup, your clothes.”

Was the change really so noticeable? Chloe was wearing light powder, as usual, with mascara and gloss. It must be her blackberry gloss, which was darker and more dramatic than what she normally wore to a casual day meeting. The blue dress she’d chosen had been one of Aunt Jane’s more conservative gifts, which still made it more daring than anything Chloe had bought for herself. She’d looked in the mirror that morning and grinned, pleased by what she saw. Pleased by the possibilities.

Leaning closer, Rachel added in a confidential tone, “And then there’s the glow. Looking at you, I see what people must mean when they tell me I’m glowing.”

Chloe blinked. “Well, I’m not pregnant. I can guarantee you that.”

“No, that’s not what I was implying.” Rachel laughed. “You look like a woman in love.”

“What?”

“So who is he? If it’s anyone in town, I know him, right?”

“He’s not in town exactly. And it isn’t love. Maybe a crush.” What was she, thirteen? Dear Diary… Chloe groaned, then murmured, “This is why I need C.J.”

“His name’s C.J.?”

“No. C.J. is a long story. Kind of a role model.” Or, more accurately, alter ego. “She wouldn’t fall apart at the mere mention of a man.”

“If you makes you feel any better, I’ve fallen apart over David plenty of times,” Rachel commiserated.

“I find that hard to believe.” Chloe had seen the couple together often over the past few months. They looked like a perfect fit. Not in the sickeningly Stepford kind of way, just that they seemed so natural, as if it were a universally accepted equation. Like the fundamental theorem of calculus.

And completely unlike me and Dylan Echols.

“Rachel, did you ever worry that maybe you and David didn’t belong together?”

Chloe was shocked when the other woman burst into nearly hysterical laughter.

“Oh, honey. You have no idea.” Rachel wiped an eye. “Trust me, there were days that we both questioned it. There was even a time when I almost walked away. But we ultimately realized our relationship was worth working on.”

“I don’t think what I have qualifies as a relationship,” Chloe admitted.

“I am dying to hear more,” Rachel said, her tone apologetic, “but I have a tiny person doing chorus-line kicks over top my bladder. Give me a sec?”

“Sure.” Alone in the room, Chloe pulled out her cell phone, unable to resist checking messages. Had Dylan called? The suspense was killing her.

As soon as she saw his name and number appear on the tiny digital readout, she could feel her blood racing faster in her veins. She hesitated before listening, drawing out the moment, the way she sometimes paused before eating the last bite of a really exquisite dessert, savoring it. Then she gave in to curiosity and punched the button.

“Hi, it’s Dylan. I’m here in Mistletoe…and I hope I can see you tonight. Call me?” Beneath his crisp, confident tone, there was a single boyish note that made her grin. She reached for a pen and paper, then replayed the message to catch his number at the end.

She’d just finished writing the digits when Rachel returned. The other woman stopped in the doorway, doing a double take of Chloe’s broad smile and flushed cheeks. “I have no idea if you have a relationship or not,” the other woman said, “but you definitely have something going on!”

The question was, what?

DYLAN WAS DRIVING home after leaving the high school when the cell phone played his John Fogerty “Centerfield” ring tone. “’Lo?”

“Hi.” Hearing Chloe’s voice created the strangest sensation throughout his body, as if it subtly relieved certain tension he was carrying with him but created tight bands of something different altogether. “It’s me.”

“C.J.?” he pressed.

“Yeah. I got your message. So you’re in town?” It was the same husky tone he’d first heard the night of the reunion.

He could close his eyes and listen to her talk like that for hours. “I’m here. Are you available tonight?”

“Very. You could come over again and-”

“Actually, why not come to my mother’s for dinner?” It was an impulsive invitation, thrown out in part because he didn’t trust himself with Chloe unchaperoned.

“Y-your mother? That would be Barbara Echols?”

“Yep. You know her?” That would certainly bring the situation to a head.

“Just by name,” Chloe said. “Are you sure she won’t mind?”

Barb would be thrilled, and Dylan discovered that he wanted the extra time with her before leaving tomorrow. “Tell you what, I’ll double-check with her. The tentative plan is that you’ll come over and I’ll cook-”

“You cook? Your kitchen was spotless. It didn’t look as if anyone ever ate there, much less cooked there.”

Spotless could have been a compliment, but her tone, not to mention her expression when she’d seen it, made him think that she really meant barren. Was his kitchen so devoid of personality? “Well, I don’t spend hours on end simmering sauces and whipping up new culinary creations, but yeah, I can cook. If that’s inconvenient for Mom, we’ll go to the Dixieland Diner.”

His suggestion was met with a long silence.

“Check with your mom,” she said finally, “and we’ll play it by ear. But one of our homes really would be convenient so we can take a look at a computer after we eat. There are some decorating sites I wanted to show you.”

He agreed to call her back with the final verdict, then disconnected as he pulled into the driveway. His mother met him on the front porch.

“Did you have a nice time at practice?” she asked.

“I don’t know. It’s a lot to think about.” The boys on the field had played with enthusiasm, but even watching them for a short time, he’d thought of several things he’d have them try differently. Still, he wasn’t sure he was the man for the job. Players needed someone wise and motivational, like Coach. “Not to change the subject, but how would you feel if I had a friend over to dinner?”

“When you’re in town, this is your home! You can have people over whenever you like,” she assured him. “Is this one of the guys from the banquet? Nick or Shane?”

“No, this is a female acquaintance who wasn’t there.”

His mother pursed her lips thoughtfully. “The one who turned you down before you got stuck taking me?” Her green eyes were twinkling, making it clear she’d been teasing him.

“I was honored to have your company, Mom, but yes, it is the same young lady.”

“So are the two of you an item?”

“No, she’s going to help me redecorate my condo.” It was a safe, convenient explanation that might stave off further questioning. “Until the reunion, we hadn’t spoken in ten years, and we didn’t run in the same circles in high school. To tell you the truth, I don’t know her that well. But maybe…”

“Maybe?” His mother nodded sharply. “I’ll take maybe for now.”

“Great. You let me know what time works for you, and I’ll call her back to hammer out the details. Then I might need to make a quick run to the store. Any special requests on what you’d like me to cook?”

“You cook?”

He didn’t know whether to be amused or affronted by getting the same incredulous response twice. “Is it really that hard to believe? I’ve been living on my own for some time now. Did you think I just ordered pizza and nuked frozen entrées?”

She shrugged. “Other men have gotten by on less. I’m glad you have some domestic skills.”

“Oh, I’m all over the domestic skills. Sometimes I get really wild and crazy and even do my laundry,” he deadpanned.

Chuckling, she poked him in the ribs. “Don’t get smart with your mother, son.”

He looped his arm around her diminutive shoulders. “I love you, Mom.”

It was startling to realize that he’d misjudged a woman he’d known his entire life. For years, he’d pegged her as someone too soft-spoken to be capable of mischievous humor, too weak to acknowledge difficult truths. But he’d only viewed a single, simplistic side of her.

If there was one thing Dylan had learned in the past two weeks, it was that people were always more complex than they appeared at first glance.