If the Red Slipper Fits...

by Shirley Jump

  “What do you want for dinner, Dad?” Sarah called from the kitchen. “I have some chicken in the fridge—”

  “Not anymore.” Martin frowned. “That damned stove gets too hot. My chicken fricassee got fricasseed and then some.”

  Sarah returned, handing an opened beer to Caleb. “Okay, then the steaks I bought. Those—”

  “Have gone on to a better place.” Martin put up his hands in a wasn’t-my-fault gesture. “That broiler ain’t much better.”

  “Didn’t I tell you to shut off the stove today?”

  “I did. After I tried cooking a meal.” Martin scowled. “I was trying to be helpful, you know.” His face softened. “You do too much for me, little girl, and I was just trying to repay you a little.”

  “I know. And I appreciate it, but really, Dad, I don’t mind cooking.” Sarah crossed to the closet, and hung up her coat, then did the same with Caleb’s. “How about I just open a can of soup? You like that tomato one.”

  “Or I could take you all out,” Caleb cut in. He could read the frustration bubbling in Sarah from across the room. Undoubtedly, this kitchen-disaster scenario had played out more than once before between father and daughter.

  Martin kicked out the base of the recliner, then clicked on the television. A game show roared to life. “I don’t like going out. Too much work involved just to get a meal.”

  Sarah sighed. “Dad—”

  “Then we’ll order in. No work for anyone.” Caleb flipped out his cell phone. “What would you like, Martin? Steak? Burgers?”

  There was a pause as Martin assessed Caleb. “Well, if you’re going to force me to eat…” A ghost of a smile appeared on Martin’s face. “Steak. Medium. Baked potato with all the extras. And lots of rolls.”

  “Dad, there’s hardly a vegetable in that.”

  Martin shrugged. “Potato’s a vegetable.”

  “All health benefits are canceled by the sour cream, the butter, the salt and the bacon bits you put on top of it.” Sarah made a face. “Not to mention all the white flour in the—”

  “Sarah, you know I love you. And I know you love me, too. But if you try to tell me about one more thing that’s going to clog my arteries or raise my cholesterol, I think I’ll have to ground you.”

  Sarah laughed. “I am far too old to be grounded. And someone needs to tell you how to take care of yourself. God knows you’re not going to do it. The doctor has already told you to watch your meat consumption. If you’d just have more vegetables, you’d be a lot healthier.”

  “Vegetables, shmegetables.” Martin patted his ample belly. “I’m a meat-and-potatoes guy. Always will be. You aren’t going to change that.”

  Sarah ceded the argument and sent Caleb a smile of gratitude. The best she could do was sneak some vegetables into the spaghetti sauce, add pureed apples to her father’s morning oatmeal, and insist he take a vitamin every day. Martin Griffin had always been a stubborn man, and Sarah had learned to pick her battles. She needed to accept she wasn’t going to win the one over vegetables.

  Caleb shot her a grin, then completed his call, placing the order for delivery. While they waited for the food, Caleb and her father exchanged small talk and Sarah set about cleaning up the disaster in her kitchen from her father’s attempt at chicken fricassee. She soaked the burner covers, expended about a thousand calories scrubbing off the burnt bits of food in the oven and the cooktop, then did dishes until her fingers wrinkled.

  By the time she came out of the kitchen, Caleb and Martin were chatting and laughing like old friends. She paused in the entryway, watching them. She hadn’t seen her father smile that much in years. His face was animated, his eyes bright, and the laughter that poured from him was the deep, hearty sound she had missed so much over the last few years.

  Her dad—like he used to be, before his wife died and his world turned inside-out. Ever since then, he’d been a ghost of himself. She’d tried everything—calling his old friends, insisting he join a book club, dragging him to nearly every new movie released, but nothing had worked. Until now.

  The change she had prayed to see in him was finally coming to light. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she whisked them away before they made an appearance on her cheeks.

  The doorbell rang. Caleb answered it and insisted on paying for dinner, even though Sarah offered several times. “My treat,” he said.

  “Thank you. You really don’t have to do all this.”

  He laughed. “Ah, but isn’t this my specialty?”

  “What?”

  “Sharing a meal with a beautiful woman.”

  Beautiful. She tried not to let the word affect her. To tell herself he was just joking. She was so far from his type, she wasn’t on the same planet. And besides, she knew what kind of man he was. She’d written the sentences that described him as a “footloose bachelor,” a “determined playboy,” a “charming heir to the fashion throne.”

  But the man she saw in her apartment living room, the one who had eased the tension between her and her father, who had gotten Martin to laugh and smile, didn’t seem to fit any of those adjectives. Was it all an act just to get her to write more positive stories about him? Or was this man the true Caleb, the one who existed under the intoxicating smile and models hanging on his every word?

  “Thank you,” she said, taking the food from him. Their fingertips brushed and a heat that had nothing to do with the food raced along Sarah’s skin. She had gone all these days without touching him, but the thought of what his touch would be like had always been there in the back of her mind.

  “Anytime,” Caleb said.

  Sarah just nodded and headed back into the kitchen. Don’t think about him. Don’t give in to the temptation.

  She busied herself with dishing up the food and setting the kitchen table. A few minutes later, the three of them sat around her small round walnut table. Despite everything she’d just vowed, she couldn’t help but notice how domestic it all felt. Sitting across from Caleb gave her an image of the future. If only.

  If only he wasn’t who he was. If only she would take a chance on him. If only she believed in fairy tales instead of writing about the dissolution of happily-ever-afters.

  “Wherever you got this food from,” Sarah said, “it’s delicious.”

  “I agree,” Martin said as he finished off his last bite of steak. “Best damned cow I’ve ever eaten.”

  Caleb smiled. “You really liked it?”

  Martin gestured at the half a steak remaining on Caleb’s plate. “You gonna eat that, skinny? Because if you aren’t, I will.”

  Caleb pushed his plate across the table. “Help yourself.”

  Her father polished off his second helpings in record time. Then he sat back in his chair and rubbed a circle over his stomach. “If I had known a kitchen disaster would bring about a meal like that, I’d have set the stove on fire a long time ago.”

  “Dad! I hope you’re not serious.”

  Her father sent her a wink.

  “I’d be glad to treat you again,” Caleb said. “Especially to a meal so good for your health.”

  Martin chuckled. “Good for my health. That’s a good one.”

  “I’m serious.” Caleb leaned in, and caught Sarah’s gaze for a moment. “Because this ‘steak’ dinner was actually vegetarian. Soy steak, as it were.”

  Martin jerked back, as if the plate might bite him. His silverware clattered onto the white porcelain. “Soy? As in that bean thing?”

  “Yep. Tastes just like the real thing, doesn’t it?”

  “Well…yeah, it does. Tastes damned good, in fact.” Martin glanced back down at his empty plate and chuckled. “Well, I’ll be. Fake steak. Ain’t that the damndest thing ever?” He rose, and clapped a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “I like this one, Sarah. Bring him around again.”

  Then her father headed back into the living room to catch a rerun of his favorite sitcom, still puzzling over the dinner switch while Sarah and Caleb cleaned up. She loaded the
dishes into soapy water and he bundled up the few leftovers into plastic containers. Sarah turned the water off, then pivoted and put her back to the sink. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He grinned again, and she realized she was getting used to seeing his smile. One of these days—soon—she’d be done with the article and she’d only see that smile when he used it on another woman in a nightclub.

  That day wasn’t today. Thank goodness.

  “You did a great thing today. It was more than just the steak.” She smiled. “Where did you get the idea to order vegetarian steak?”

  “My mother. She also had high cholesterol and blood pressure that made the nurse cringe. Didn’t matter to my mother. She liked what she liked, and that was it, no arguments. She was going to have her chocolate cake and the sauce on the side, too.” A smile flitted across his face, but this one was bittersweet. What secrets did he keep tucked in that gesture? “So I called around to all the bakeries in the area until I found one that made a healthy chocolate cake. She couldn’t tell the difference, and after that, as long as it tasted like the real thing, she’d eat it.”

  “I went through the same things with my mother,” Sarah said. She plunged the sponge into a glass, then rinsed it, and paused a moment before putting it in the strainer. “When I was ten, my mother got breast cancer. She beat it the first time, but then it came back, and she had a long, long tough time before she died. I did my best to make her healthy meals that tasted good but sometimes getting her to eat was a battle.”

  Caleb’s hand lighted on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. That must have been so hard on you.”

  She nodded, and felt the sting of tears against the back of her eyes. Oh, damn. She didn’t want to cry. Not now. Not in front of Caleb.

  His hand lingered on her, and a tear slid down Sarah’s cheek. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. How long ago did she die?”

  Sarah’s gaze met his. “Two years. Some days it feels like yesterday.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, and she could hear the heart felt sentiment in his voice, the sympathy in the syllables.

  She nodded, then sighed, and put the glass in the strainer before reaching for another. “Have you ever watched someone you love go through something so painful, so difficult, you find yourself praying for their suffering to end?”

  There was a long pause, so long, Sarah glanced over at Caleb. His features were as set as stone, his gaze on something outside her window. “No. But I can imagine how difficult it must be.”

  She had a feeling there was something more he wanted to say. She waited, the dishes simply soaking. Whatever it was, Caleb didn’t say anything more. Instead, he held up a platter. “Uh, where does this go?”

  “In the cabinet in the hall.”

  He disappeared to put the dish away, and probably to put an end to a difficult conversation. She regretted bringing up her mother. She’d opened a door to her personal life that she had kept shut for years—and to the last person in the world she would have thought she’d open it to. But there’d just been something about Caleb, something that seemed to say that he understood.

  Why him, of all people?

  He returned to the kitchen, picked up the towel and waited for her to wash more dishes. “Your dad really seemed to enjoy dinner tonight.”

  Subject of her mother definitely closed. Good.

  “He did.” Sarah deposited a clean plate into the strainer. “You’ll have to give me the name of that restaurant. Maybe I should set up a standing order.”

  Caleb pulled the damp plate out of the strainer and swiped it with a dish towel. “Sure. No problem.” He held up the plate, a question on his face, and she gestured toward the cabinet on his left. Caleb slipped the plate inside, then reached for another.

  As he did, he came within a millimeter of touching her. Every fiber inside her was acutely aware of the nearness of him. The way his T-shirt hugged his muscular frame, outlining a body that had clearly spent a lot of time in the gym. As she watched him handle the dishes, a part of her wondered if he would handle her with that same care and attention to detail.

  The connection that had formed between them all those days ago had deepened tonight, augmented by the way he had taken care of her father, how he had stepped in with a simple phone call, a few words. Who knew a takeout order could change things so much?

  “You know, I’m not as evil as you like to think I am.” His words broke the silence.

  “I never said you were evil.” She concentrated on making concentric circles with the sponge, watching the soap bubbles multiply, disappear, multiply again.

  “You might have thought it a time or ten when you were writing about me. Admit it.”

  A laugh escaped her. “Okay, maybe. But not evil, more…devilish.”

  “I assure you, I’m neither. What you see and what’s reality are two different things.”

  She let the silverware in her hands slip back to the bottom of the sink, then turned toward him. “Oh, really? Then who are you, Caleb Lewis?”

  He put down the dish towel and moved closer to her, so close, all she had to do was take a step, maybe two, and she’d be in his arms. Her heart rate accelerated, her pulse thundered in her veins.

  “I’m just an ordinary man trying to run a company. One who doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing most days, but who keeps showing up anyway.”

  “Good.” Anything with more than one syllable seemed impossible to say.

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice soft, quiet. Sexy.

  Her breath caught and held, every ounce of her captured by his blue eyes. Caleb leaned in closer, propping one hand on the edge of the sink, nearly touching her waist. Electricity hummed inside her.

  “I’m really a very nice guy.” He was so close, he could have kissed her without any effort at all. She wanted him to—oh, how she wanted him to kiss her. Wanted to feel his lips against hers, to taste him, hold him. To see if the reality was anywhere near as good as the fantasy.

  “I believe that,” she said, the words almost a whisper.

  “Do you?”

  “After tonight, yes, I do.”

  A smile quirked up one side of his face. “Good.”

  “Then what’s a nice guy like you doing out on the town almost every night?”

  The wall between them couldn’t have been rebuilt faster if a team of masons had come in to lay the cement. Caleb backed up, grabbed the dish towel again, then withdrew another plate from the strainer. “That’s different. It’s…. hard to explain.”

  “Why don’t you try?” Which Caleb was he? She still didn’t know. There were parts of Caleb Lewis that he kept to himself, parts that were partitioned off from her, from the rest of the world. Why?

  He held up the plate. “Where does this go again?”

  “Same place as all the others.” She gestured to the cabinet on his left. “Are you avoiding the question?”

  “I just don’t think it’s pertinent.”

  “To what?”

  “To the piece you want to do on the company. I am not the company, nor is my social life. I’m sure you can write a fair, balanced and incisive piece, without including what martini I ordered at the 21 Club last week.”

  “Of course I can.” Sarah pulled the plug, watching the water drain away. She should be glad there was distance between them again. Glad she’d avoided being kissed by one of the most well-known playboys in New York. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it?

  Of course. Except for that part of her that already missed Caleb’s grin.

  “I need to get going,” Caleb said. “Early day tomorrow.”

  Back to work. Which was where her mind should be going, too. “About the shoe…” In the last few days, she’d nearly forgotten all about it, but she knew Karl would be back to work tomorrow, which meant she had to have the Frederick K back, too.

  “Can you come by my office first thing tomorrow? I’ll give you that and we can finish up whatever else
you need for the article.” Caleb hung the towel on the oven-door handle. The move seemed so final, and despite her better judgment, a part of Sarah wanted to ask him to stay. To ease this constant ache in her body for more…for him.

  One night wouldn’t make any difference one way or the other, Sarah decided. And a few hours away from Caleb would surely help her clear her head. “Of course.”

  The grin curved across his face, and something deep inside Sarah fluttered. “I look forward to it.”

  She did, too. The problem was how much.

  Sarah saw Caleb to the door. On the way, he stopped to say goodbye to her father. His gaze swept over her apartment, and he was seeing, no doubt, how different she was from all the other women he knew. She would be smart to remember that and stick to what she did best.

  Write the story and stay uninvolved with the subject.

  CHAPTER SIX

  PEDRO had sent Sarah a half a dozen texts before she even got out the door, warning her that Karl was on the warpath about the Frederick K shoes, wondering where they were and if both they and Sarah had skipped town. “He sez U better B in the Witness Protection program or B dead,” Pedro texted. “Did U find Prince Charming yet?”

  Oh, she’d found a prince all right. The prince at the head of LL Designs. And he was definitely charming. But as for being the right prince for this Cinderella—

  All she wanted from him was the shoe, not the ride into the sunset on the back of a white stallion.

  Except her hormones didn’t seem to be getting the message. After Caleb had left the night before, Sarah had lain awake for hours, replaying those moments in the kitchen. What if he had kissed her? What would she have done?

  Pushed him away—or drawn him closer still?

  “You can go in now.”

  Sarah jerked to attention. “Oh. Thank you.”

  The gray-haired woman at the assistant’s desk nodded and went back to typing entries into the scheduling program open on her computer. Clearly, she was Caleb’s assistant and chief guard dog, judging by the way she’d fended off employees stopping by and the unending phone calls.