His Christmas Cinderella

by Christy Jeffries

  Camilla’s father took Jordan’s hand in his bearlike grip and, unlike his friendly, petite wife, did not insist that Jordan call him by his first name. But he did say, “Welcome to our home.”

  “Thank you.” Jordan shifted the cellophane-wrapped wine basket in his arm. “I heard you recently had surgery, sir, and thought I’d bring a little something to ease the recovery.”

  Mr. Sanchez’s eyes brightened when he noticed the wine basket Jordan had asked Mac to order on Friday. “That Napa cabernet certainly looks way better than the vegan lasagna my physical therapist brought over last week.”

  “Where did everyone go...” Camilla’s voice died out when she entered the room and her gaze landed on Jordan. How did she grow more beautiful every time he saw her? Her hair was twisted into a messy ponytail on top of her head, and she was barefoot in her fitted jeans and long-sleeved white tee. She pushed a loose curl behind her ear, leaving a streak of flour on her cheek. “You actually came.”

  Jordan’s throat tightened as he tried to make his tongue work. “You invited me, remember?”

  Felix stood up. “Don’t mind Cam. She’s never invited a boyfriend over before and is probably just as surprised as the rest of us that you actually showed up.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Denise said, nudging her daughter. “Mija, why don’t you introduce your friend to the rest of the family?”

  “Right.” Camilla cleared her throat. “Well, the guy who likes to embarrass me is my oldest brother, Felix.”

  Felix offered his hand then asked, “Can I get you something to drink?”

  Jordan glanced down at the empty bottle in Felix’s hand. “One of those would be great.”

  “One beer coming right up.”

  “Grab me a corkscrew while you’re in there,” Mr. Sanchez told Felix before taking the basket from Jordan’s arm and limping toward his recliner. “Gotta let the wine breathe before dinner.”

  “The guy in the Utah Jazz jersey...” Camilla pointed to a lanky guy sitting on the edge of a faded floral ottoman. “The one who can barely look over here because he’s too busy watching the game? That’s Dylan.”

  Dylan offered a wave. “Sorry, man, there’s only a coupla seconds left.”

  “And the one who is supposed to be correcting third-grade spelling tests is Dante.”

  “How can I grade anything when the Jazz are about to lose a home game and make Dylan cry like a little baby?” Dante said, but set aside the papers he’d been ignoring and stood up to shake Jordan’s hand. “What was your name again?”

  “Jordan Ta—” Before he could finish, a loud buzzer sounded from the TV and a chaos of yells erupted around him as everyone but Camilla rushed back to their spots around the weathered oak coffee table. Mr. Sanchez had the wine basket balanced on one knee and Mrs. Sanchez balanced on the other.

  “What’d I miss?” Felix handed Jordan a beer as he rushed by. “Did they get the three pointer?”

  “We’re going into overtime, baby!” Dylan pumped a fist while Dante cradled his head in his hands and groaned, “No!”

  Several voices spoke over each other at once, and Camilla gestured at the scene in the cozy living room. “So this is my family. I hope you like basketball.”

  “I haven’t played in a while.” Jordan took a sip of the cold beer, recognizing the label of a local brewery. “Football was more my thing in high school and college.”

  “Not so loud.” She put a finger to her lips. “Last year, Sofia brought home a guy who said he only played tennis and you would’ve thought he’d said he only enjoyed kicking puppies.”

  “That boy was no good for Sofia,” Mr. Sanchez, who apparently had tuned out Dylan and Dante’s bickering, called out.

  “You say that about every boy Sofia brings home,” his wife tutted before kissing his forehead.

  “Oh, come on, Mom,” Dante added. “The guy’s name was Winston and he drove a BMW convertible. In Montana. In winter.”

  “Dante’s right.” Dylan still hadn’t taken his eyes off the TV screen as he finally agreed with his brother about something. “That’s what happens when you guys let her get a job at that stuck-up clothing store in the Heights. She ends up surrounded by all those trust fund dudes whose daddies have to give them jobs because they have no real-world experience.”

  Wow. Jordan’s collar suddenly felt a lot tighter as that last comment hit a little too close to home. Maybe it was a good thing he hadn’t said his last name earlier.

  “For the record,” Camilla said as she turned toward her family and planted her hands on her hips, “nobody let Sofia get a job there. This isn’t the middle ages. She is a grown woman who does what she wants and is perfectly capable of making her own decisions.”

  “Says the girl who is also working with those snobs in the Heights,” Dante said before pointing at the television and yelling, “His foot never even touched the line!”

  “He was totally out of bounds!” Dylan yelled back, resuming the brotherly squabble.

  Camilla shot Jordan a look as though to say, See. I warned you.

  But Jordan’s own family—especially his uncles—were equally as passionate when it came to football. So sports rivalries were nothing new to him. Besides, the Sanchezes seemed welcoming enough. As long as they got to know him before finding out who his father was, everything should be fine. After all, he wasn’t here to talk about himself. He was here to spend time with Camilla.

  Or at least that was what he’d thought before she returned to the kitchen with her mom, abandoning him to watch the rest of the game with her father and brothers. He swallowed a few more sips of beer, settled into an open spot on the sofa and found himself cheering for a team of players he’d never shown much interest in before now.

  Sofia came through the door with the promised mangos, which started another round of teasing about Mr. Granada at the store having a crush on their mother.

  When the Jazz finally won, Mrs. Sanchez turned off the television before Dante and Dylan could argue about the postgame interviews. “Better get the grill going, Aaron. This chicken isn’t going to cook itself.”

  It was still clear and sunny for a fall day, so the family went outside to a faded wooden deck that held a long patio table and several mismatched chairs. The yard beyond the deck was only big enough for a fenced-off vegetable garden, a tidy patch of grass and a smooth concrete slab with a regulation-height basketball hoop at the end.

  In the center of the table was a tray of freshly cut vegetables coated with lime juice and chili powder, a bowl of tortilla chips, and the best mango habanera salsa he’d ever tasted. All three Sanchez sons offered to grill the seasoned chicken so that their father could sit down, but the older man refused, insisting that he needed to get accustomed to the surgical boot.

  Jordan, though, had a feeling that Mr. Sanchez’s insistence on maintaining command over his propane grill had more to do with a father not quite ready to hand over control to his sons. Cornelius, who never even used the professional grade oven at home, suddenly became a master griller every time the Taylor uncles came over for a barbecue. His dad would’ve accused his kids of trying to put him out to pasture if anyone suggested he couldn’t handle something he thought was his patriarchal duty.

  That certainly was one thing Cornelius Taylor and Aaron Sanchez had in common.

  Camilla eventually made her way outside and handed Jordan one of the two beers in her hand before taking the seat beside him.

  “Are you overwhelmed yet?” she asked under her breath, and he had to catch his. If he’d thought she’d been stunning at the gala, seeing her relaxed grin and total ease in this environment had him thinking thoughts he shouldn’t be thinking in the company of her parents and three big brothers.

  “Quite the opposite,” he replied. “Don’t forget that I have a big family, too, especially when you count my Taylor cousins.
But we can wait a few more dates before I subject you to all of that.”

  Camilla’s smile faltered and her eyes went round before she blinked a few times. “Let’s get through one awkward moment at a time before we get ahead of ourselves.”

  “Good call.” He clinked his bottle of beer against hers and added, “For once, I’m going to sit back and enjoy tonight before strategizing for tomorrow.”

  Unfortunately, just when Jordan thought he was going to finally get some time with her, Dante produced a basketball and spun it on his finger. “Who’s up for some two on two?”

  “I’m down.” Felix stretched his arms over his head. “I’ll even take Jordan on my team.”

  “Are you sure you want to go against us, big brother?” Dante asked before sharing a look with Dylan. “You know what happened last time.”

  Jordan glanced at Camilla, whose lower lip twisted in doubt. She lowered her voice and said, “You don’t have to play with them. Dylan and Dante would rather play against each other anyway.”

  “No way,” Denise Sanchez said. “They fight too much when they play against each other. They either play on the same team or not at all.”

  Jordan felt everyone’s stares as they waited anxiously to see how far he was willing to go to impress Camilla’s family.

  He stood up and she tugged on his hand. The excitement of her touch, though, was short-lived by her warning. “They won’t go easy on you.”

  Was any phrase more crushing to a man’s ego than that? Or more compelling?

  Unbuttoning his flannel shirt, he smiled. “Good.”

  The match was close at first as Jordan paced himself and got a sense of his teammate and his opponents. Felix was good, but Dylan and Dante were way better than their older brother. They also got along surprisingly well when they had the same goal in mind.

  Jordan left the very playful trash talking to Felix, who gave as good as he got when it came to insults. Several times, Sofia and both parents seemed to be doubled over with laughter at the zingers and one-liners exchanged on the court. But amid the fun, there was also some serious competition. The game heated up as more baskets were made and more elbows were thrown. Mr. Sanchez called out the personal fouls—and there were several of them—from his spot behind the grill.

  Halfway through the game, Jordan found his stride and learned how to read the younger brothers’ passes and how to avoid Dylan’s larger frame trying to box him out. They were playing to twenty-one and Jordan and Felix won the first game by only two points.

  They won the rematch by ten.

  Jordan was covered in sweat—and possibly a few tears from holding back his laughter—by the time they walked back to the patio table.

  He snuck a peek at Camilla, hoping she didn’t object to his soggy appearance. Not that he’d ever cared before about how he looked. Her eyes were locked on his damp white undershirt, though, and his chest muscles flexed instinctively.

  Before things could heat up too much, Sofia threw them each a towel and Mrs. Sanchez passed out bottles of ice-cold water. She tsked sympathetically at her younger sons. “To help you wash down your loss.”

  “You could’ve at least cheered for us, Mom,” Dante told her.

  “That’s what you get for underestimating our guest, mijo.” Mrs. Sanchez laughed. “Besides, your father burned the last few pieces of chicken because he was too busy calling out advice for you and Dylan. You two needed all the help you could get against Jordan.”

  Camilla had neither cheered nor offered any words of advice, but Jordan had felt her eyes on him the entire time. Even now, as she openly studied him, a slow smile playing on the corner of her mouth. She pulled out the chair beside her. “I thought you were more into football.”

  “I am. But that doesn’t mean I’m not good at other sports.” He took a long pull from the icy cold bottle of water. The aching muscles in his back were already starting to disagree.

  She drew up one knee as she turned in her seat toward him. “I have a feeling that you’re good at everything you do, Jordan.”

  “You have no idea,” he promised, meeting her gaze.

  Chapter Four

  What day works best for you this week?

  Camilla read Jordan’s text on Monday morning as she huddled under her down comforter in her studio apartment.

  Yesterday afternoon, she’d thought that she’d finally get him to admit defeat when it came to pursuing this ridiculous three-week trial dating period. She’d thought he’d take one look at her family’s humble home, meet her obnoxiously competitive brothers, have dinner on her mom’s favorite—and unbreakable—melamine plates, and hit the pavement.

  Instead, he’d beat her brothers at their favorite sport and talked about grilling temperatures with her father and washed those same unbreakable dishes with Felix, whose turn it was to clean the kitchen. He’d even agreed to stop by their mom’s salon for a haircut that he didn’t need but Denise insisted on.

  How had he won over her family so quickly? Probably because they had no idea he was one of those Taylors from Bronco Heights. At one point, she’d whispered a warning to Jordan not to bring up his name in front of the rest of the Sanchezes—unless they wanted to get teased unmercifully like Sofia and her last boyfriend.

  Not that Jordan was her boyfriend. Or anything close to it. In fact, they hadn’t so much as held hands yesterday at her parents’ house. Still, it was best to keep him from getting any grand ideas.

  She typed back, Actually, this week isn’t so great. I’m working as many shifts as I can and I’m behind on my reading for my Business Ethics class. Plus, I have to find time to drive to Missoula to meet with my academic advisor before Thanksgiving break.

  She saw the three dots indicating he was typing. Thinking he would give up, she held her breath. Then let it out in an unladylike snort when she saw his response. What day? I’ll see if I can use the company chopper and come with you.

  So much for him not getting any grand ideas. She groaned before replying. It’s only a two-hour drive. I don’t need you to go to the trouble of booking a helicopter to impress me.

  I was going there anyway to meet with one of our distribution representatives. It’ll be easy to reschedule my meeting for whatever day you need to go.

  He used the word easy as though distributors would shift their entire schedules just to meet with him. As though helicopter pilots had no problem just idly sitting around waiting for Jordan to change flight plans on a whim.

  But...

  Camilla’s old Toyota had seen better days, and she hadn’t had time to drop it off to get serviced lately. Plus, she’d never ridden in a helicopter before...

  No. She slammed her phone down on the soft mattress. She was being ridiculous to even consider the possibility. There was no way she was going up in the air with that man.

  At least, that was what she told herself all day Monday. But after working a double shift on Tuesday and barely being able to keep her eyes focused on her textbook on Wednesday, Camilla decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  “Put these on so we can hear each other during the flight,” Jordan said on Thursday morning as he passed her an oversized headset that covered her ears. The Taylor Beef helicopter was dark blue like their ranch trucks, with only a discreet TB logo on the tail of the aircraft. The inside was plush with wide leather seats and a minifridge between the rear seat and the control panel. “The pilot said we should be there in about thirty minutes. I arranged for a car service to pick you up at the airfield. I didn’t know which building you had to go to on campus, so you’ll have to give the driver directions. They’ll wait for you there and then bring you to meet me for lunch after you’re done.”

  “What if I’m done before you?” she spoke into the microphone of her headset just before the enormous propeller whirred to life.

  “You won’t be,” he replied be
fore giving the pilot a thumbs-up.

  Her stomach dropped as they lifted into the air, and she grabbed at the most solid surface she could find: Jordan’s thigh. Before she could remove it, his warm hand covered hers and held it in place. As their altitude increased, so did Camilla’s wonder and excitement. She leaned toward the window, staring down at the rolling green hills below.

  “It’s beautiful from up here,” she said, the amazement in her voice echoing back through the headset.

  Instead of looking at the view below them, though, Jordan watched her instead. Her ears felt impossibly hot and she tried to keep from squirming under his appreciative stare. She licked her lips and pointed to a range of dense green trees. “Is that Flathead National Forest?”

  Finally, he shifted his gaze to follow her finger. “Yep. You should see it after the first snow of the season. White as far as you can see. Maybe we can go up again in December.”

  Camilla shouldn’t need to remind him that their three-week agreement would be over by then. Jordan was a smart man and probably knew full well that he was suggesting the impossible. She told herself to enjoy the experience and not think about the messy emotions that would likely come later.

  So that was what she did. She sat back in the luxurious leather seat and marveled at the majestic view of the purple-tinged mountains and lush green treetops below her. Without releasing her right hand, Jordan passed her an orange juice from the small fridge. She was glad it wasn’t anything stronger, because she didn’t want to be tipsy or over-caffeinated when she met with her academic advisor, who also happened to be the assistant dean of the business school. When they started their descent ten minutes later, Camilla was almost disappointed the ride was over so soon.

  She told herself the disappointment was due to the thrill of being so high up, and not because she would have to let go of Jordan’s firm, warm hand.

  Just as promised, there were two luxury SUVs waiting for them at the airfield. Camilla thanked the pilot, and Jordan told him that he’d text when they were ready to head back. Jordan held the door open for her and insisted on carrying her messenger bag with her laptop and notes. When one of the hired drivers opened the back seat door for her, Jordan quickly brushed his lips against hers and said, “See you at lunch.”