She caught herself. Whispering his name when he was already gone wasn’t going to do her a damn bit of good.
She took off, around to the bread aisle: not there. Back to cereal; still no sign of him. To spices and baking goods: no Greg. She ran from aisle to aisle—soup to pasta to canned vegetables to coffee and condiments…
But it was no good. She couldn’t find him. She’d missed her chance. Her shoulders started to slump.
And she caught herself. No! No, she hadn’t missed him. Not yet. He had to be here somewhere. He couldn’t have gone through the checkout line that fast.
He had to be here in the market somewhere….
She raced to produce. Her hungry gaze scanned the big floor bins of potatoes and onions, garlic and acorn squash. The demonstration lady stood at her microphone, cracking cooking jokes and chopping up cabbage.
And wouldn’t you know it? Near the far wall, by the display of romaine and arugula, Rhonda Johnson and Irene Dare stood huddled together, staring Megan’s way.
Megan refused to let them intimidate her. She looked right at them, right into their narrowed, judgmental eyes—and realized that, for the first time in her life, she didn’t give a damn what they thought. Or what they said.
Because Angela had got it right. Megan Schumacher was not the skulking, scared little orphan anymore. She had people who loved her, people who would stick by her no matter what the neighbors said. By God, she was ready, at last, to stand tall and proud, to declare her love for Greg Banning loud and clear, and to hell with anyone who didn’t approve.
But…
How to tell Greg she loved him, when he was nowhere in sight?
Megan’s searching gaze swung toward the demonstration lady again, with her neatly curled gray hair, her half-shredded cabbage and her big, sharp knife. The woman winked at her over the rims of her glasses. “Cut it good and fine, folks. That’s the secret to a great slaw.” The words echoed through the store.
And all at once, Megan knew what to do.
She moved fast, before she could lose her nerve. She marched right up to the demonstration table and reached for the microphone stand, twisting it so the mike was turned her way.
“Miss?” The demonstration lady frowned, puzzled, and stopped chopping.
Megan tried not to look at that big chopping knife. “Please. I need this microphone. Just for a minute.” The device picked up her voice. She heard her own words as they were broadcast through the whole market.
The demonstration lady tried to protest. “But this is not—”
“I promise,” Megan interrupted. “I’ll make it quick.” She dragged in a big breath and spoke right into the mike. “Could I, um, have your attention please?” It came out crystal clear—and very loud.
All eyes in produce turned Megan’s way. Irene and Rhonda both looked stunned. Struck speechless, for once in their mean little lives.
“Greg?” Megan said, good and strong. “Greg, if you’re still in this store, it’s me, Megan. Greg. And, er, everyone…” She stared straight at the two women standing slack-jawed over by the lettuce. “I have been a liar in the neighborhood. And no, it’s not what you’re all thinking. I was never seeing Greg Banning when he and Carly were still married. But I have been pretending to be someone I’m not anymore. And by that I mean, a doormat, a get-along kind of girl. An orphan with no one to stand up for her. A lost child who begs for a little kindness and understanding. Uh-uh. I’m not begging anymore. I haven’t done anything wrong. And, Greg, from now on, whether you come over here to produce and get me or not, I’m keeping my head up and my shoulders back and…and I will be loving you, Greg Banning. No matter what anyone thinks or what anyone says. Because I, um—”
“Megan.” His deep, beloved voice came from behind her.
She let out a sharp cry and whipped her head around. And there he was. Looking at her as if she was the only one in the produce section. The only one in the world. “Oh, Greg…”
“Give the woman back her microphone.”
“Um. Yeah. Sure…” Megan pushed the mike back around toward the demonstration lady. “Here you go.”
She chuckled, a wry sound heard throughout the store. “Well. After that, my coleslaw recipe might not seem too exciting. But we all need our fiber. So I’ll just continue where I left off….”
Greg had Megan’s hand. He gave a tug and she was plastered up against his broad chest. She clutched the collar of his polo shirt and looked up into those wonderful, velvet-brown eyes and suddenly, the world flew away. The demonstration lady droned on and Rhonda and Irene—and probably everyone else in produce—stared. But Megan couldn’t have cared less. She had eyes only for the wonderful man who held her in his arms.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “That I wasn’t…brave enough.”
He touched her cheek. “I’m sorry, too. I should have been more patient. I know that. I should have given you time to find your way….”
She was shaking her head at him. “Oh, but you couldn’t. I see that now. You’ve been patient all your life, haven’t you? With your parents. With Carly. You’ve been waiting, I know it. For the woman you wouldn’t have to be patient with. That woman was me, wasn’t it?” He nodded. She added, “But then, I let you down…”
He gave her that half-smile she’d missed so much. “Funny. I don’t feel the least let down now.”
She said, “Greg Banning, I love you. I love you so much.”
And he said, “As I love you.” And then he scooped her high into his arms and carried her out of there, past the bins of fruit and the salad dressing display, through the bakery section, past the checkout stands and straight toward the automatic doors.
Megan wrapped her arms around his neck and beamed a proud smile at all the staring shoppers, as Greg carried her out the sliding glass doors into the blinding brightness of that sunny afternoon.
He paused at the edge of the parking lot. “Where to?” he asked.
And so she told him, firm and clear, loudly enough that anyone could hear, “It doesn’t matter. Anywhere. Just as long as I’m with you.”
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Christine Rimmer for her contribution to the TALK OF THE NEIGHBORHOOD miniseries.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-6227-4
THE RELUCTANT CINDERELLA
Copyright © 2006 by Harlequin Books S.A.
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