“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 in her chest. On top of her other crimes this weekend, she’d inadvertently belittled him just because she was trying to cover her own butt. After all the times she’d felt inadequate in her life, she couldn’t stand to do the same to someone else, even accidentally.
“I’ll come to your apartment,” she blurted.
Both his eyebrows shot up. “You’re kidding.”
Well, he couldn’t be any more surprised by the spontaneous offer than she was.
“You caught me unawares today—I don’t usually give presentations to former crushes while standing in my kitchen in bright purple T-shirts of dubious taste—but I’ll get my materials together and do a formal consultation for you later in the week.” After she’d had time to learn something about feng shui but before she lost her nerve. Unless…“I’m afraid it will have to be soon. Starting next month, my schedule just takes off. But if you don’t have the time right now, I under—”
“Not a problem.”
“Oh. Great,” she lied. This is getting to be a bad habit.
She wanted to smack her forehead and just admit all; it seemed simpler than continuing this far-fetched charade. But she looked into those green eyes and forgot what she was going to say. As Natalie had grumbled during their teen years, Chloe avoided conflict whenever possible, even if it meant letting someone like Candy occasionally run over her. While Chloe hoped she’d matured past some of that, the thought of the conflict, the contempt, she’d cause if she told Dylan the sordid truth made her stomach clench.
Grateful to break eye contact, she put the pizza in the oven and set the timer.
As soon as she sat at the table with him, he asked, “So, you have a home office?”
“Down the hall. But it’s way too messy for anyone to see,” she prevaricated. Chloe was compulsively neat, a holdover from her mother believing that if they could just keep the home dust-free Chloe wouldn’t have asthma attacks. Rose had kept the house meticulous and raised Chloe to do the same.
“Fair enough. But do you have a portfolio of your work here that you show perspective clients?”
“Actually, no. That’s a good idea, though.”
“Surely you have a Web site.”
“It’s, um, down temporarily. Being transitioned to a new server.” She bounced out of her chair like a demented jack-in-the-box. “I’m being a terrible hostess. Can I get you a drink?”
“Whatever you’re having.”
Her hands trembled as she pulled a jug from the fridge. Dylan sat looking so relaxed in comparison that she wanted to scream just to relieve some of her tension.
He smiled. “For the record, I like the bright purple shirt. Have you actually been lei’d?”
Lemonade sloshed over the top of the pitcher. “Excuse me?”
He flashed that same wolfish smile from this morning. “What I mean is, have you been to Hawaii? You mentioned wanting to travel. I wondered if the shirt was a personal souvenir or a gift from someone else or…”
“Ah.” Barely paying attention to what she was doing, she tore too many paper towels off the roll to clean up her spill. “Gift. From my late aunt Jane. She was really something…visited at least four continents. She sent me all kinds of crazy things. She died on her most recent trip. In her sleep, in the Caribbean. There are definitely worse ways to go, so I should be glad.”
Dylan studied her, the playfulness gone from his tone. “You miss her.”
“A lot. Even though she wasn’t in Mistletoe much, she was still a major presence in my life.” She blinked hard against the tears she hadn’t expected. “We just buried her last week. To tell you the truth, I haven’t been myself ever since. I…”
“Yes?” There was empathy in his voice. Because of how much he missed his father?
Chloe leaned against the counter, staring into the eyes of a man she hadn’t seen in ten years, a man who hadn’t even known she existed ten years ago. Yet she felt she could tell him anything. Would he understand how she’d so desperately wanted to become the person Aunt Jane saw in her? Chloe knew that her aunt had loved her, had been proud of her, but she was also aware that Jane had hoped for more for her niece. Recently Chloe found herself yearning for an undefined more…but not enough to change a carefully organized and mostly satisfactory existence to reach for it. At least, not until last night.
That had been a big enough shake to register on the Richter scale. She probably should have hurried for the nearest doorway as soon as she’d seen Dylan in the lobby.
“C.J.?” His tone was heartbreakingly gentle. “Was there something you wanted to say?”
But she didn’t think she’d be able to get the words past the lump of emotion. It was all tangled together, and the minute she tried to explain any of it, she’d start sobbing. Her eyes were already stinging. She had plenty to regret about her behavior this weekend, and she wasn’t going to add to the list by bursting into tears in front of Dylan.
So she swallowed, reaching for the timer before it had a chance to buzz. “I think the pizza’s ready.”
“Right.” He looked away, and the startling connection between them was broken.
Chloe didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.
CHICKEN-FRIED STEAK wasn’t nearly as good when it was cold, Chloe discovered. The gravy had congealed unappetizingly while she filled Natalie in on the details of the past twenty-four hours. Natalie, sitting on the living room floor on the opposite side of the rectangular coffee table, had finished her dinner, almost choking on laughter and mashed potatoes when Chloe repeated her supposed specialty.
“Feng shui?” Natalie had sputtered. “What on earth possessed you to say that?”
“It’s not like I have an extensive mental encyclopedia of decorating terms to choose from! Heck, I’m lucky I was able to come up with that on the spot. It was just…everyone in this town sees me as a computer geek, which I am, but it was nice for Dylan to see me as—” A total fake? Yeah, much better.
Chloe pushed away her take-out container of untouched food and considered her rash promise. “I can’t believe I agreed to go to his apartment.” He’d just looked so irresistibly vulnerable. She would have agreed to virtually anything in the moment.
“What I cannot believe is that you’ve scored more alone time with Dylan Echols.” Natalie wagged her brows. “Lucky girl.”
“Alone time is how I got into this mess in the first place.” Chloe sighed, resting her head against the couch behind her. “Maybe it’s not too late to…Think I could convince him that every graduating class has a senior prank and this was it, ten years later?”
“We did have a senior prank. Back in ’99. A few guys from the swim team and a few from the chess club took apart the lavatory stalls and reassembled them on the front lawn.”
Only partly listening, Chloe tried to regroup. It was devastating to imagine telling Dylan she was a big fat fake. How could she admit that after the way she’d once idolized him, after the immensely flattering way he looked at her? The way he—her skin flushed with warmth—kissed her. She’d officially gotten herself in too deep to undo all the fibs, including the comparatively innocuous one that she had dinner plans with her parents tomorrow. Before he’d left today, Dylan had invited her to be his last-minute date to the dinner honoring the coach.
Stupid irony. The gu
y of her dreams was seeking her out at seemingly every opportunity, and she had to turn him down because of her own self-sabotage.
Her intellect argued that he was seeking her out for local weekend events because he happened to be here in Mistletoe and she was convenient. Even then, he probably would have rapidly lost interest if she’d said, “Don’t you remember? I’m Chloe, the mousy tongue-tied girl you ignored throughout high school. I stayed in Mistletoe, live in my parents’ house and work with computers.” Where was the glamour and sex appeal in that? Most people were not turned on by HTML code.
“I think I want to be someone else,” Chloe said.
“Okay, but Candy?” Natalie pulled a face.
“No, not her. Someone with her confidence maybe, but not her cruel streak. Someone who knows how to talk to men. Someone who, when she notices a guy staring, assumes it’s for a good reason and not because she tucked her dress into her panty hose. Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed in Mistletoe.” Chloe was an arguably successful adult; would she have fared better if she’d started fresh someplace, where no one knew her as the wheezy kid or uncoordinated teen?
“Hey!” Natalie looked genuinely alarmed. “I, for one, am thrilled that you stayed in Mistletoe. Don’t move!”
“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. He’d already been losing his red hair when Dylan had played for him; now, only a circle of faded orange and silver remained around his mostly bald head. Dylan was startled to see that the man had gotten rid of the matching mustache. He’d never seen Coach Burton clean shaven before.
The last time the two of them had seen each other was when Dylan had been in the hospital after the first shoulder surgery. Coach had come to visit him. Michael Echols had not.
When Dylan’s father had died right after the new year, Coach Burton had been visiting his daughter in Colorado before the school’s spring semester started. He’d ordered an arrangement of flowers for the funeral and later visited Barb to tell her he was here if she needed anything. Dylan wondered if his mother had ever taken the man up on his offer. Barb could be borderline passive-aggressive, depending completely on others while constantly fretting that she didn’t “want to be a bother.” She’d adopted an apologetic attitude with her own husband, instead of grabbing him by the collar, reminding him that she was half of the marriage, too, and demanding his respect.
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