His Cinderella Next Door

by Cara Colter

  She padded back into the opulent apartment.

  It appeared to be empty, a night-light shining above the range. The space was deeply silent. She crossed the open space to that granite and stainless steel marvel that was his kitchen. It was obvious Truck had gone to bed. He had left pizza out for her on the island. It was still in the box it had come in. He had also managed to salvage some of the pomegranate and left her a small salad.

  She opened the pizza box and saw he hadn’t even eaten. She was starving. She wolfed down the salad, grabbed a slice of pizza, then went and stood in front of the picture of Ralphie to eat it.

  She felt the ache of missing him. What a good brother Oscar had been to Ralphie. His enjoyment of his brother had been so genuine. If he was playing football, Ralphie was included in some way on the team. If they went to a movie, Ralphie came along. Oscar, seemingly without effort, had made Ralphie part of everything. And it was Ralphie’s joy in that inclusion that had made so many of the times they had spent together shine.

  Oscar. The rarest of men. Decent. Honorable. Selfless.

  She had all those things to thank for the fact she was sitting here eating cold pizza alone. He, sensibly, had kept them both safe from the danger of that passionate current that had leaped up between them.

  Oscar had concluded, just as she had moments ago, that to give in to that passion could destroy their most valuable asset.

  Their friendship.

  Given that he was saving them both, why did she feel faintly resentful? Restless? Irritable with him?

  Jet lag was making her unreasonable, Molly decided. She ate the last of her pizza crust and checked her phone.

  Thankfully, some things were going according to plan. She made her way to her bedroom, showered off the pool water, and then she put on her plaid pajama bottoms and her T-shirt. She fell into the luxury of a very expensive bed, the crisp sheets announcing their thread count by feeling like silk against her tired body.

  She told herself she probably would not sleep.

  But she was asleep almost instantly.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  OSCAR WOKE UP EARLY. Outside his window, he could see the rain had lifted and it was going to be a perfect summer day in Vancouver.

  His space was silent, but that did not change the fact he was very aware that Molly was in it with him. On the other side of this wall. Curled up in bed, in her boy pajamas, her curls probably all squished to her head from sleeping on them wet.

  For his own self-preservation, he’d abandoned her last night, and now as he lay there, contemplating her close proximity on the other side of the wall, he also contemplated the possibility of continuing with a strategy of avoidance.

  But he’d invited her.

  They were best friends. He’d known her since kindergarten. He probably knew her as well as any other person in his world. It was a sorry way for a friend to behave, to want to give her a ticket to go home as soon as possible.

  How could he have forgotten how Molly complicated everything? She would definitely complicate his deliberately simple world.

  And those complications seemed to be intensifying since the last time he’d seen her.

  That wasn’t quite true. It was the last time he’d seen her that had complicated everything. He could still—six years later—conjure the taste of her mouth, the dazed look in her eyes, the hammering of his heart, the wanting...

  So easily triggered again, last night.

  “Suck it up, buddy,” he muttered to himself. He reviewed today’s agenda. Shopping.

  Molly had always been the quintessential tomboy. It was actually one of the things he loved—he stopped himself and edited that to liked—about her. She was unpretentious. Real. Molly in jeans with a rip in the knee and a too-large shirt knotted at her waist was more gorgeous than any model or movie star he’d ever seen.

  She hated shopping, so today should be a cinch. In and out in thirty minutes.

  He got out of bed. Though he normally would have just thrown a robe over his nakedness to go out to the kitchen, it now felt imperative that he be fully clothed around Molly at all times. See? Already, two minutes into the day, a complication in his simple routine.

  Because normally, he would wander out to the kitchen, have a coffee, maybe flip through the news on his phone before showering and dressing.

  Geez, he told himself, it’s not that big a deal to change a habit temporarily.

  It was only when he went to the kitchen, passing the photo of Ralphie, that an awareness—other than of his disrupted routines and Molly in his space—hit him.

  It was the first time in eight months, one week and four days that he had not woken up with his first thought being of Ralphie. It was the first time he had woken up without the odd feeling of being crushed by the empty space that his brother’s death had left in him.

  Yesterday was the first time he had laughed like that. Let go like that. And it suddenly felt like a few complications were a small price to pay to be out from under the burden of this grief, even briefly.

  Friends, he said to himself, like a vow that could not be broken. We’re just friends and it is going to stay that way.

  And here she came, his friend, just as he’d imagined—in those plaid pajama bottoms that were too big for her, and a plain white T-shirt that was also three sizes too large. Her feet were bare and her toenails, peeking out from under the too-long legs of the pajamas, were a shade of neon pink that was startling. Her hair was flattened to her head in some places and springing wildly away from it in others. There was a little print from the sheet tattooed across her cheek.

  “Morning,” she said, and yawned and stretched, way up high. Despite the fact the T-shirt was too large, it slipped up to show him the taut line of her belly. “You went to bed early.”

  “Uh—”

  “You didn’t even say goodnight.”

  “I didn’t?” he said, raising his eyebrows, as if he were surprised.

  “I hope you’re not becoming a dull boy, Truck.”

  He hoped not, too, but sadly he thought of how the small change to his morning routine had grated on him. It reeked of dull, didn’t it?

  If he had not made and taken the just friends vow, he could take it as a challenge. And unfortunately, he could easily think of a way to prove to her he was not dull, right now.

  “Early to bed, early to rise,” he said, evenly.

  “What’s your plan for us for the day?”

  She was trusting him to be predictable. Dull. And suddenly everything he did have planned seemed exactly that, dull.

  “I was thinking a bit of sightseeing.” The Vancouver Aquarium and the VanDusen Botanical Garden had been on his agenda today. Maybe the gondolas at Grouse Mountain, depending how time went.

  “That sounds wonderful,” she said, as if it weren’t dull at all. “Should we get the shopping out of the way first?”

  Out of the way. Hard not to love—correction: like—that about her.

  She sighed. “Between the loss of the pants yesterday and the stains on the shirt last night, I could use a few things.” She hesitated. She looked almost shy. “I need a dress.”

  James, he remembered sourly.

  “It’s not like you to need a dress,” he said carefully.

  She scrunched up her nose. “I know. I hope you’ll help me pick the right one.”

  That was just the reminder he needed—that while he struggled, Molly was managing to still be just friends with him. Was he really going to help her buy a dress to wear for another guy?

  “What’s the occasion?” he asked, careful in his tone.

  “A party. I’ll be hopeless at picking that out. You’ll help?”

  Just what every guy wanted: to help a woman pick something to wear for another guy. Would it be evil to help her pick something ugly?

  “What
’s the party for?” he asked, casually, as if it were about helping her with the right dress choice and not prying into her relationship with James.

  “O-oh,” she stammered. “It’s...um...a birthday party.”

  She had always been a terrible liar. Still no mention of James, the one she had promised to wear a dress for.

  “What kind of a birthday party?” he pressed.

  “A birthday party is a birthday party!” She said this a bit aggressively, because he suspected she didn’t have an answer ready.

  “Is it a child’s birthday party? Or an adult’s birthday party?”

  The deer-trapped-in-the-headlights look let him know there was no birthday party.

  “Both!” she cried.

  “Okay. How far away is it? Because currently, your choices might be limited by the color of your toenails.”

  She looked at her toenails, then tried to tuck them inside her pajama legs, as if the wild color revealed something of herself she didn’t want revealed.

  “It’s soon,” she said. “I could remove the color.”

  “It’s cute, though.”

  She blushed. Who blushed over the color of their toenails?

  Complicated, Oscar thought with a sigh. She could cavort around the swimming pool in her underwear without a trace of self-consciousness, but try to hide her feet as if they were revealing some big secret about her.

  He thought about that for a second. Her toenails were bright pink. What would that say about a person?

  Feminine.

  And passionate.

  Molly’s two most guarded secrets.

  A friend would let her know it was okay to let those secrets out, that really, being a girl didn’t have to be a cause for alarm.

  Even if there was another friend involved.

  Molly hated shopping. Dreaded it, actually. And yet her emails this morning confirmed that her plan was coming together for the celebration of Ralphie, and she would need something to wear other than what she had brought. She’d promised James a dress, which, given her plan, was silly.

  But really, the sillier—the more fun—the better.

  Besides, walking down the busy downtown Vancouver street with Oscar at her side, the familiar dread she felt around shopping didn’t seem to be there. She felt incredibly light, connected to him, ready for whatever the day held.

  She hadn’t felt like this for a long time. The swim last night—or maybe chasing him through the apartment before that—had awakened her senses, and they remained awake.

  Of course, having one of the world’s most handsome men making you a coffee for the second morning in a row—coffee that a barista would have been proud of—might have had something to do with that. And the fact he’d noticed the color of her toenails.

  It was those things and more. It was just being with him.

  Again, today, the geeky scientist of her memory had been banished. The man walking beside her was loose-limbed and confident. He was like a magazine cover model with his crisp haircut and perfect features. Unlike some men, who got paunchy and pallid as they settled into their desk jobs, Oscar radiated fitness and good health, getting better as he matured.

  If he were a model, his look today would be “summer casual for the successful guy.” He was wearing a light blue pressed shirt, untucked, tan cotton pants, canvas loafers with no socks. Sunglasses hid his eyes from her and completed that film-star look.

  And yet, despite the fact his appearance was so sophisticated now, there was a solidness, presence and inner strength about Oscar that was the same as it had always been. It seemed to quiet her chaos. She was so aware of how lucky she was to have this man for her friend.

  Don’t wreck it, she warned herself, again.

  “Let’s try this one,” Oscar said, holding open a door to a shop. She looked up at the sign over the door.

  “Seriously? Elite? I think they have the snooty salesladies.”

  “Who are you kidding? What would you know about Elite? You’ve never bought anything but Everest Outdoor in your adult life.”

  “You’ve barely seen me in my adult life.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Which means you’re reading the label on my pants,” she teased him, “and it’s creepy. These slacks are their office-to-cocktails line, by the way.”

  “As quick-drying as their outdoor line!” he said. “I remember those pants being soaked last night.”

  “I know,” she said. “It’s a miracle! Hang them over the shower rod, dry by morning.”

  “Imagine Everest Outdoor being able to cover all your shopping needs. And probably from a catalogue, too.”

  “I also shop at Crockett and Davey for Women now. Less expensive. More durable.”

  “How’s their dress selection?” His mouth lifted at the corner. “Durable?”

  “I bet they could deliver overnight,” she said hesitating at the door.

  “I don’t think they’ll have suitable party dresses.” He slipped off his sunglasses and turned the full force of those suede brown eyes on her. “Besides, you can’t show off those toenails in hiking boots.”

  She looked down at her feet. “They’re not exactly hiking boots. They’re comfortable!”

  “And durable,” he guessed dryly.

  “Yes!” Why was she defending her footwear? And what kind of weakness was it that suddenly she wanted to show off her toenails?

  “When’s the last time you bought a dress?”

  She lifted a shoulder.

  “High school graduation,” he guessed. “I remember that dress.”

  “So do I. It wasn’t like anything any of the other girls were wearing.”

  “It wasn’t?” he said, genuinely baffled. “I don’t remember that.”

  “Well, I do and not fondly. It was too long, even with ridiculous shoes. Didn’t I rip it before the night was over?”

  He laughed. “Pretty sure you did. It wasn’t really made for climbing trees.”

  “But I wanted to get that shot, looking down through the branches at the graduating class.”

  “Is that really the last dress you bought?” he asked.

  “No. But to be honest, I don’t have good taste in girl clothes. I’m counting on you to steer me in the right direction!”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m probably the wrong person to trust with this. I don’t mind the...” he looked at her, searched for a word “...the girl Indiana Jones look.”

  “Really?” Coming from him, it felt like one of the nicest compliments ever.

  “Really,” he said, reminding her of why they had been best friends for so long. “But if you’re going to give up that look, this is probably the place to do it.”

  The snooty saleslady zeroed in on them and came across the store like a battleship plowing through rough waters. If her look at Molly’s best slacks—okay, maybe they were sporting a rather obvious crease where they had hung over the towel bar—and her T-shirt was faintly disparaging, all Oscar got was the brilliant smile.

  “How may I help?” Her name tag said Barbara Kay.

  Molly waivered. Her eyes were adjusting to the change in light from coming inside. The shop looked very expensive, with mood lighting and antique furniture scattered artfully about. Her sense of adventure abandoned her. She wanted the safety of same old, same old. She wasn’t going to shop for dresses with Truck. What momentary madness had made her agree to that?

  “What have you got in travel clothes?” she asked.

  “Travel clothes?”

  “You know, wrinkle-free? You can crumple them in a ball, throw them in your suitcase and put them on right away when you unpack?”

  “Like what you have on?” The old battleship looked horrified and made no attempt to hide it.

  “No,” Oscar said smoothly. “We’re looking for
a special occasion dress.”

  “I’d be happy to help. Formal? Informal? Cocktail? Business?”

  “I’m getting a headache,” Molly said.

  “Gorgeous,” Oscar said, easily. “The perfect summer dress. In a brilliant color. Fun. Flirty.”

  “I’m not going to be flirting with anyone,” Molly warned him in a dark undertone.

  Something crossed his face. Surprise? Relief? Was he hoping she wasn’t going to be flirting with him, then?

  CHAPTER NINE

  NOTE TO SELF, Molly thought, a little glumly. Truck did not want her flirting with him. Why would that bother her? It was so darned wise. Didn’t he ever get sick of being the wise one?

  “I don’t like those kind of dresses,” she told him. “The flirty kind.”

  “How would you know?” he shot back. To the saleslady, he said, “Please show us what you have.”

  “Here are summer casuals,” Barbara Kay said, leading the way. “Let me know if I can help you find any sizes. When you’re ready, I’ll be happy show you the fitting rooms.” She beamed at Molly before backing away.

  The dresses were not squished together on racks, but displayed as if they were art pieces. Still, there appeared to be way too many to choose from. Molly turned over a price tag. “My headache is getting worse,” she said mournfully.

  “Why don’t you pick three, and I’ll pick three?” Oscar said. “How hard can it be?”

  Reluctantly, Molly played along and went over to the “small” section of the circular rack closest to her. She flicked through them and chose one. She held it up.

  “Navy is always practical,” she said.

  “It doesn’t exactly sing party.”

  She gave him a mutinous look, held onto it and made her second choice. “And this one is good. A nice length to it.”

  He stared at the selection she held out to him. “What exactly do you mean by a nice length?”

  “I won’t be showing my panties to strangers if the wind comes up?”