The Reluctant Cinderella (13 page)

Greg laughed. “I didn't mind. I was glad to help.”

Megan beamed up at him. “He actually had sense enough to call 911 and get some instructions.”

He shrugged the compliments away. “No big deal. Honestly.”

“Well, thank you again….” Angela tasted the
sauce and set the spoon in the spoon rest. “And I know you two didn't plan to stick around here forever. As of now, you are both officially dismissed. Take off and have a great evening—what's left of it, anyway.”

Megan still needed to talk to Angela about Jerome giving Michael that pocketknife, but she supposed she would have to wait for a more appropriate time. Greg had been incredible about everything. She couldn't ask him to wait even longer while she and Angela got into it about the problems with Jerome—which Angela really wouldn't feel comfortable discussing with Greg around, anyway.

She wondered if Angela would try to call Jerome and let him know what had happened. Angela always did her best to play fair with the kids' father, to keep him informed of their troubles and triumphs.

Really, Ange did need to know about the knife before she called him….

Greg said good-night to Angela and headed for the foyer. Still thinking about that pocketknife, Megan followed him out.

He stopped at the door and turned to her. “How about tomorrow night? Could you swing it, do you think?”

“Hey,” she teased. “Wait a minute. Tonight's not over yet.”

“Yeah, it is.”

She started to protest—and then she realized: he
got
it. He understood that things still needed dealing with here at home. “Oh, Greg…”

He said, “I know you and your sister have to handle the pocketknife issue. And besides, I think she'd really appreciate it about now if you stuck around.”

“You're sure? You don't mind?”

“Not as long as I can see you tomorrow. Same time?”

She had way too much work to do to take two evenings off in a row. But she would manage it somehow. “Tomorrow,” she promised, and then remembered her plan to go to him in Manhattan, to avoid being seen with him in town. “How about this? When Angela gets home, I'll take the train down to the city and meet you at—”

He was shaking his head. “Uh-uh. It would be nearly eight by the time you got there. I'm coming here. At four-thirty. Same as today—only tomorrow I'm hoping we'll get lucky and avoid the thrills and chills of a visit to the E.R.”

She really did need to have a long talk with him about keeping things a little more…low-key. Very soon. Like tomorrow…. “Okay, then.” She put on a bright smile. “Four-thirty.”

He tipped her chin up with a finger. “Is there a problem? You seem a little…I don't know. Doubtful, maybe. Unsure….”

They could talk about it tomorrow. She evaded the actual question, sliding her hands up around his neck, lifting on tiptoe. “I'm fine.”

“Good.” He brushed a soft kiss across her mouth, making her lips tingle and sending a wash of warmth cascading through her.

 

When she walked back into the kitchen, Angela blinked. “Forget something?”

Megan went to the sink, flipped on the faucet and squirted soap on her hands. “Green salad?”

“Huh?”

She rinsed her hands and reached for the towel. “Greg's gone. He'll be back tomorrow, but tonight he said he thought I'd want to stick around here—which I do.”

Angela started protesting. “Oh, that's silly. You don't need to—”

“Yes, I do need to. Now, quit arguing and answer my question.”

“What question?”

“Green salad?”

“You're sure?”

“Positive—and it's okay. Truly. He'll be here tomorrow. It'll all work out fine.”

 

Since Michael was still sleeping, they sat down to eat without him. Angela frowned at Anthony and asked how Michael had gotten his hands on his big brother's pocketknife.

Anthony cried, “But it wasn't my knife!”

Once she'd heard the real story, Angela said quietly, “Your father shouldn't have given Michael a knife. I'll have to talk to him about it.”

Instantly, Anthony jumped to Jerome's defense. “But Michael kept
bugging
him about it. What could Dad do?”

“Say no—but that's not your concern. I'll discuss it with your father later.”

“But Dad was only trying to—”

“Anthony. That's enough. Eat your spaghetti.”

After the meal, there were baths and bedtime stories. Finally, the two older kids went to bed—and then Michael woke up, crying; the medication they'd given him at the hospital had worn off.

Angela gave him his medicine, convinced him to slurp up a little chicken noodle soup, and then sat with him in the big chair in the living room until he dropped off. When those blue eyes finally drooped shut, she carried him back upstairs and tucked him into bed again.

Downstairs once more, she called Jerome. She used the kitchen extension. Megan went on into the living room so her sister could have the privacy to say what needed saying.

It was only five minutes or so before Angela was dropping down next to her on the sofa.

Megan asked gingerly, “How did it go?”

Angela cast a glance toward the ceiling. “Jerome is Jerome and his own bad judgment is somehow never his fault.”

“Sorry, sis.”

“Yeah. Me, too…” Angela sank onto the cushions and lazily turned her head Megan's way. “On a happier note, I'm glad at least one of us has good taste in men.”

Megan flopped back and sank down until she was eye to eye with her sister. “Greg was wonderful today, wasn't he?”

Ange agreed. “Absolutely the best. It's so funny. When he lived in the neighborhood, we hardly ever saw him. He was always working, rarely at home. And he was nice enough, but distant, didn't you think? He always seemed…preoccupied, then. He comes across as so much more relaxed now. A happier man, you know?”

“Umm…” Megan's dreamy grin faded a little as she remembered Irene at the market. And Carly, so pretty and so very sad, standing in front of her huge, empty McMansion in her gardening gloves and sun visor.

“Okay,” said Angela. “Why the long face?”

“My reputation is in shreds.”

Angela chuckled. “Lucky for you this is the twenty-first century. Nowadays, people do what they want to do, and they don't waste a lot of time worrying about what the neighbors are going to say.”

“Too bad that here in Rosewood, the neighbors are still gossiping just as much as they ever did back in the bad old days.” Megan pretended to shiver. “I mean, can you believe it?
I'm
the ‘other woman.' That is so not me. I'm everybody's best friend—the woman everybody else can talk to. I'm no threat. If you'd asked me a month ago, I would have sworn to you that I would never get myself in a position like this. I am not and never have been the husband-stealing type.”

Angela chided, “How many times do I have to remind you that Greg and Carly are divorced—not to mention that you're way too concerned about what other people think?”

“I think I sense a lecture coming on.”

Angela widened her blue eyes. “Me? Lecture you? Never.”

Megan blew out a breath. “Okay. Yeah. I know I worry too much about other people talking. But, well, they
are
talking. And it
does
bother me.”

“You're sure they're talking—that it's not just you
thinking
that they are?”

Megan told her about Irene, in the market that day. And about Rhonda's little visit on Saturday.

Angela advised, “Ignore them. Those two aren't worth the time it takes to get upset at them.”

“I know you're right. But it just seems like, well, this thing between Greg and me…it's happening so fast.”

Angela reached across and lightly squeezed her arm. “
Too
fast, you mean?”

“I'm totally gone on him—but yeah. Maybe. Too fast.”

“Talk to him. Tell him you need to…slow down a little.”

“I will. Tomorrow. He's coming at four-thirty. He'll hang out with me and the kids until you get home, and then I think he's taking me out to dinner or something.”

“He does like kids, I noticed.”

“Yeah. He does.”

“Still, he and Carly never had any…”

“Greg told me that at first, he wanted to and she wasn't ready. Then, by the end,
she
wanted to—and he felt they just had too many problems to solve.”

“Sad, huh? The way things work out sometimes….” The faraway look in Angela's eyes had
Megan wondering who she was really talking about—Greg and Carly or her own failed marriage? Then her sister smiled. “Did I mention that I do think Greg's a terrific guy?”

“Yes, Ange. You did.”

“And I'm taking a family day tomorrow to look after Michael, so you're off the hook as far as the kids go.”

That news had Megan popping up straight on the couch. “I could meet him in the city, after all.”

“Well, yeah. I guess you could.”

She jumped to her feet. “I'm calling him right now.”

 

“No way,” said Greg. “It has to be Rosewood.”

“Er, it does?”

“That's right.”

“Why?”

“You'll find out. Tomorrow.” He seemed really pleased with himself, so pleased that she didn't have the heart to ruin whatever it was he had planned. “I miss you. Already,” he said.

And she clutched the phone tighter and said, “I miss you, too,” and realized she meant it with all of her heart.

“Dress casual,” he instructed. “Flat shoes.”

“Well, all right…”

“Four-thirty,” he said. “Be ready.”

“Yes, Master.”

“I do like the way you say that.” She could tell he was smiling. And then he whispered, “Good night, Megan,” and he was gone.

 

All the next day, while she plowed through the mountain of work in front of her, Megan practiced how she'd tell him that she needed to take things a little slower, that she didn't want to meet him in Rosewood anymore, not for a while, anyway. That she would come down to the city whenever she could get away—and that she did, after all, have to go to Banning's, Inc. every couple of weeks, at least, now they had a contract to fulfill. So of course, they could be together for the evening then….

By the time he drove up at four-thirty, she knew just what she would say.

But when she opened the front door and saw him standing there on the step in faded jeans and a T-shirt, wearing that crooked smile that stopped her heart, a stack of cartoon DVDs cradled in those big, strong arms…

Suddenly, all those carefully planned speeches deserted her. She didn't want to talk about what would happen from here on out. She just wanted to be with him.

She wanted to spend the afternoon and the evening at his side. In Rosewood, out of Rosewood. In Manhattan.

On the moon. In Timbuktu….

She wanted today. And any day they could get together. Somehow, she would learn to take her sister's advice and ignore the people who didn't deserve her attention in the first place.

And as for poor Carly, well, slowly, her hurt would heal. She'd get over Greg, stop waiting for him to come back to her. Until she did get over him, she was going to be suffering—whether she saw Greg with someone else or not.

And besides, at least half the time, Megan would be going to
him.
If they got lucky, they might see each other for months and never again run into anyone from the neighborhood.

He glanced down at the DVDs in his arms. “I thought Michael might be getting stir-crazy about now. Maybe a few movies will help….”

“A few? You've got at least twenty there.”

His smile was rueful. “I had no clue which ones he might already have.”

They took the DVDs upstairs, where Michael, already bored with being an invalid, brightened considerably at the sight of all those movies.

“Oh, wow,” he said. “Cool.
Aladdin! Shrek 2! A Shark's Tale!
” He picked up each DVD in turn and exclaimed over it.

Angela thanked Greg for his thoughtfulness and, with a definite twinkle in her eye, told them to have a great time.

When they went out the front door, Megan didn't so much as glance toward Carly's house. If Carly was out there on her broad, green slope of front law, looking dejected, so be it. It wasn't Megan's fault that Carly's marriage was over.

Greg held the passenger door for her and Megan settled into the leather seat. When he slid
in behind the wheel, she asked, “All right. So where are we going?”

“You'll see.”

“You are just so mysterious.”

“Won't be long now….”

Five blocks later, he was pulling into the driveway of his house. The garage door trundled up and he drove in.

“Hmm. Another visit to your empty house,” she said. “Is there something I missed the first time?”

He gave her a smug grin. “Not so empty now.”

She looked down at her T-shirt and jeans. “Flat shoes and casual clothes, you said.” She sent him a knowing look. “Your furniture arrived—and we're going to be unpacking everything and arranging the pieces.”

“That's right. Some date, huh?”

“The best. I not only got to pick out most of your furniture, I also get to tell you where to put it.”

“That's my plan.”

“Do I get takeout?”

“Pizza, Chinese—you name it.”

“Chinese. Later.” She rubbed her hands together. “But right now, let's get started.”

“Wait.” He caught one hand and pressed a kiss on the tip of the longest finger. “There's an extra surprise—beyond how hard you get to work for your egg roll and pot stickers.”