Cinderella Wore Tennis Shoes: A Novella

by Holly Jacobs

  “I know all about hell,” Dan continued. “Now that I’ve got heaven in my sights, I’m not willing to go back. Get in the truck.”

  “Con, you coward,” she shouted back to where Con lurked in the kitchen doorway. “Get out here and get rid of your partner and his truck so I can get in my car and leave.”

  “Sorry, Charlie,” he called back. “No can do.” The rat actually had the audacity to grin. “You don’t need your Blazer. Dan’s driving. He has some things to say to you.”

  “I think he said more than enough last night,” she muttered.

  “You’re right about that,” Dan conceded. “More than enough to hurt you. That’s the last thing I wanted to do, Charlie. Give me one more chance.”

  “I said I was done beating my heart against your stone walls.”

  “There aren’t any left, at least not for you.” He stepped away from the truck door, toward her. “I need you, Charlie.”

  “Ha!”

  “Let’s get in the truck and talk,” he coaxed.

  “No.” Charlie wasn’t going to allow herself to dream anymore. She hadn’t been playing Cinderella, but Sleeping Beauty. She’d been lying there, dreaming about her Prince Charming. Only her prince turned out to be a frog and she was done with her dreams.

  “Charlie, I—”

  Whatever Dan was about to say was lost as a car sped up the driveway. “It’s the Wicked Witch of the West,” he muttered.

  Charlie recognized her mother’s car and groaned. “You’re really mixing your fairy tales. I think we’ve got Cinderella.”

  “And her tennis shoes.”

  “And The Frog Prince, and now you’re talking about the Wizard of Oz, which isn’t really a fairy tale at all.” Bantering with Dan was easier than thinking about dealing with her mother.

  “But in this case, it’s accurate. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but this version of Cinderella doesn’t come with a wicked stepmother, but a wicked witch of a mother.”

  “You’re not telling me anything I didn’t know before,” Charlie muttered.

  Con’s horrible coffee was already burning a hole in the lining of her stomach. She really couldn’t deal with her mother now but didn’t see any way to escape the confrontation.

  Her mother’s car stopped behind Dan’s semi. “It’s not just the Wicked Witch of the West, but one of the flying monkeys too,” Charlie groaned.

  “Charlotte.” Harriet Eaton flounced from the car and faced her daughter.

  Charlie forced her shoulders back. Eatons met their challenges head-on. And Harriet was definitely a challenge. “How did you find me here, Mother?”

  “Winslow had you followed.”

  “He what?” Charlie’s broken heart was momentarily forgotten as the outrage of what her mother just announced sank in.

  That’s how Harriet had known where to send Con last night.

  Winslow, the rat, slunk from between the semi and the car. “Your mother and I decided that you weren’t quite rational, so I hired someone to see to it you didn’t hurt yourself.”

  “What you were worried about me hurting was my reputation, which would reflect badly on the both of you.”

  “There’s that as well,” Winslow said.

  Harriet glared at her daughter. “The wedding’s all arranged.”

  “There’s not going to be a wedding,” Charlie said for the umpteenth time.

  Harriet ignored her and continued, “The wedding is in three weeks, so it’s time to stop playing these games and come home and assume your place in society.”

  “Mother, do you ever listen to yourself talk?”

  Harriet looked confused by the question. “Of course I do.”

  “You’re a stuck-up, social-climbing snob. You’re an embarrassment to me and to yourself. Just go away.”

  “Charlotte.”

  “Charlie, Mother. I’m Charlie. And I’m not going back to the life you had mapped out for me. I’m going to New York.”

  Harriet raised a well-plucked eyebrow. “Charlotte, don’t be ridiculous.”

  “The only one being ridiculous is you, Mother. You’ve worked so hard to forget your past—to forget that once upon a time you were Harriet Wisniewski. To forget that you went to public schools, lived in a trailer park, and that you went to college on a scholarship. And you really want to forget that you worked as a waitress. You act like that’s something to be embarrassed about, when in reality, who you are now is your biggest embarrassment. Go away, Harriet.”

  She might love her mother, but she certainly didn’t respect her.

  “I’m not marrying anyone, certainly not Winslow here.” She turned to her almost-husband.

  “Winslow, I tried to tell you about my concerns for weeks, but you just ignored them. And then the night of our rehearsal, I came to you and said I didn’t think I could do it, and you ordered me to marry you. Ordered me. Winslow, ours was never a partnership. You saw how I let Harriet push me around and decided that I was malleable and would make a suitable wife. Maybe I thought so too for a while. Guess what, we were both wrong.”

  She paused a moment and added, “Can you honestly say you love me?”

  “We had a good relationship and certainly I have feelings for you,” he said.

  “But do you love me? Can you honestly say that your heart broke when I ran out on you?”

  He didn’t say anything, and that said it all.

  “Winslow, somewhere out there is a woman who will love you, a woman you’ll love, and for both your sakes, I hope she gives you a run for your money. So go find her. And whatever you do, stop listening to my mother. I’ll never marry you.”

  “It would be illegal as hell anyway since Charlie here is marrying me,” Dan added.

  Charlie turned. In her annoyance with her mother, she’d almost forgotten Dan. She shot him a cautious smile. He might not love her, but he couldn’t resist playing her white knight one last time.

  “A truck driver?” Harriet gasped. “You might have a fling with one, but you wouldn’t really marry one, would you?”

  “Yes, he’s a truck driver, and yes, I would have done more than have a fling with him. But I’m not. You see, he doesn’t love me any more than Winslow does. And I deserve to be loved. I deserve to have someone to love me for me. So don’t worry, Mother, I’m not marrying Dan.”

  Harriet’s face lightened, so Charlie quickly added, “And I’m not marrying Winslow. I’m not marrying anyone, ever. As a matter of fact, I’m going to the pound today to get the first of what will probably be many cats.”

  She could visualize all those long and lonely years with only her cats to love. Charlie couldn’t resist a little self-indulgent sniffle. “You see, I’ve decided to become a slightly eccentric spinster. I’m going to wear odd clothes, talk to my cats, and work in a museum so I can shush people all day.”

  “I think it’s librarians who shush,” Dan said. “And you’re not going anywhere.”

  Charlie ignored him. “Just go away, Harriet, you bore me. And take Winslow with you.” She glanced at the frog she’d once imagined might be turned into a prince. “Dan, you go too.”

  “Get in the truck, Charlie,” Dan said.

  “No thanks. I’ll make alternate arrangements.”

  “What are you afraid of, Charlie?” Dan asked softly.

  What was she afraid of? Charlie refused to answer the question, unwilling to voice her fears, all of which had to do with living a lifetime without him. Dan. Her frogish, reluctant prince.

  “Go away, all of you. And Winslow?”

  He turned, his icy blue eyes meeting hers. “Yes?”

  “When you leave, make sure you take Harriet with you.”

  “Charlotte,” Harriet gasped. “I insist—”

  “Insist away, Harriet, but I’m done listening. Trying to b
uy your approval by sacrificing my happiness just isn’t worth the price.”

  “I—”

  “Come on, Harriet.” Winslow took his former mother-in-law-to-be’s arm. “I think that’s our cue to leave.”

  “But, Charlotte . . .” Harriet continued to protest as Winslow practically stuffed her into the car.

  Charlie stood next to the semi and watched them go. As the car backed out of the driveway, she realized she had her cue. It was time for her to leave as well. Maybe she could forget this whole week ever took place.

  She turned and drank in one last look at Dan. Her eyes locked with his smoky gray ones. No, she’d never be able to forget this week, or this man.

  “Now, we’re going to talk,” he said softly.

  Charlie tore her eyes away from him. “No.”

  “What are you afraid of, Charlie?” he asked again.

  “You,” she admitted to him, and to herself. “You have the power to hurt me, the power to cut me to ribbons. I can’t do it again, Dan. I just can’t take the chance.”

  Dan moved toward her and grabbed her wrist. With his other hand he opened the semi’s door. “Come on, we’re going.”

  Charlie planted her feet, but Dan merely scooped her up and tossed her up onto the driver’s seat.

  “Move over,” he said as he climbed in after her.

  She scrambled out of his way, unwilling to risk touching him, because if she touched him, she knew she’d never want to stop. Why? Because she loved the cantankerous, stubborn frog of a man.

  Charlie thought about trying to escape out the passenger door but realized escaping from Dan was the last thing she really wanted to do. “Where are we going?” she asked as she settled into her seat.

  “Gloria and I have decided to take you on a road trip.”

  “Take me where, precisely?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Anywhere you want.”

  Where did she really want to go? Nowhere but Dan’s arms. Anywhere in Dan’s arms. “Where do you want to go?”

  “I thought we’d hit some state that allows instant marriages without some long wait, because truth be told, I can’t wait.” His eyes were on the road as he backed the semi out of Con’s driveway.

  Charlie wished he would look at her. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, what he wanted from her. “Marriage?”

  “Marriage.” He stopped the truck at the end of the driveway and finally turned to her.

  Charlie peered into those fathomless, unreadable gray eyes, but this time they were readable. His walls were down and all she could see in his eyes was love—love for her.

  “I love you,” he said. “It took me long enough to admit it, but that doesn’t diminish just how powerful that love is. I love you.”

  Those words were Christmas and Easter all rolled into one. Charlie suddenly knew just how Cinderella had felt when Prince Charming showed up at her door with her glass slipper in hand. Her frog was handing her a slipper, and Charlie knew for a fact it would fit like a glove. She didn’t care how many fairy tales she mangled.

  Dan loved her.

  “You didn’t really want to be a spinster, did you?” Dan asked.

  “I like cats,” she hedged.

  “I might not be as cute as a kitten, but do you think you could like me as much?”

  “No.”

  “No?” Dan’s teasing lilt had disappeared, and Charlie could see the wall start to go back up.

  “No, I can’t just like you,” she said hurriedly. “I love you, you frog, though at the moment I can’t remember why.”

  “Maybe the princess should try kissing me, and maybe she’ll remember.” He leaned across the cab and took her in his arms. “It was only one night, but I missed you,” he whispered as he leaned over and slowly brought his lips to hers.

  The fairy tale was right, they were a perfect fit. “Hm, I think I’m starting to remember.”

  “What do you remember?” Dan asked.

  “Why I love you.”

  Dan pulled her onto his lap. It was a tight fit, with the steering wheel in the way, but by turning toward the center of the cab, he managed. “You love me because I kiss good?”

  “Well, that too, but mainly because you’re a mighty nice prince, when you forget about being a frog.”

  Con’s face suddenly filled the semi’s window. Dan leaned awkwardly over and unrolled it. “What?”

  “I brought Charlie’s bags out. I thought you might need them.”

  “Toss them in, would you?”

  Con literally tossed the bags in through the window. “There you go. I don’t expect to see either one of you back at the office for at least a couple weeks.”

  “Maybe longer,” Dan said. “And, Con?”

  “What?”

  “Thanks. You saved me from making the biggest mistake in my life.”

  Con grinned. “Anytime.”

  Charlie squirmed on Dan’s lap. “About this marriage idea.”

  “Yes, about marriage. Did you pack your shoes?” Dan asked Charlie.

  “Yes, Cinderella has her tennis shoes.” And more important, she had the man she loved.

  “Then let’s go,” he said.

  She shimmied out of his lap. “What are the chances you’ll buy me a cat, even if I’m no longer going to be a spinster?”

  “Honey, you can have whatever you like. Cats, dogs, maybe even a baby or two?”

  Babies? The thought warmed Charlie. She could picture herself holding a little boy with Dan’s colorless eyes and valiant heart.

  “I’d like to have your baby, but more than that, I’d like to have your love, because you’ve had mine since that first day when you rode to my rescue.” Before she moved into her seat, she kissed him just because she could.

  She could kiss him. She could love him. Dan Martin was hers. The thought sent her heart soaring.

  “And you had my heart as well,” Dan murmured. “Only I was too—”

  “Dumb to realize it?” she helped.

  “Confused. I was too confused.”

  “And now?” she pressed.

  “Now I know that fairy tales do come true. I love you.”

  “So where to now?” she asked as she climbed into her own seat.

  “It’s your magic carpet, Cinderella. Gloria will fly wherever you want to go.”

  “See, there you go again,” she scolded as she snapped her seat belt in place. “You’re mixing your fairy tales. That’s Aladdin, not Cinderella.”

  “Sweetheart, any fairy tale is appropriate for explaining how I feel when I’m with you.”

  “Any? What about Snow White? She had those seven little men.”

  “Okay, maybe not that one. I’m not sharing you with anyone.” He gunned the engine and began reversing Gloria onto the street.

  Charlie stared at the man she loved—her Prince Charming. “You know, you’re right. There is something our love and every fairy tale ever written shares.”

  “What’s that?” Dan asked as he shifted into first gear.

  “Just like every fairy tale, I plan to have our story end with an everlasting love. You know, the kind that ends with a happily-ever-after on the last page.”

  “Sweetheart, a happily-ever-after is exactly where we’re heading.”

  It was the perfect ending, she reflected as Cinderella and her nonfrogish prince rode off into the sunset in Gloria.

  A perfect happily-ever-after ending in their sights.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Award-winning author Holly Jacobs has sold over two million books worldwide. The first novel in her Everything But . . . series, Everything But a Groom, was named one of 2008’s best romances by Booklist, and her books have been honored with countless other accolades.

  Holly has a wide range of interests, from
her love for writing to gardening and even basket weaving. She has delivered more than sixty author workshops and keynote speeches across the country. She lives in Erie, Pennsylvania, with her family and her dogs. She frequently sets stories in and around her hometown.