Cinderella and the Major

by VanRooy, Cynthia

  After so many years of seeing nothing to be pleased about when she looked in the mirror, it might take her a while to stop grinning when she saw her reflection now.

  She suddenly remembered her lunch with Conn coming up on Saturday. Her smile widened, imagining his reaction.

  * * *

  Conn stood at Harmony’s door, waiting for her to answer the bell. He had been surprised when he arrived at the address she had given him and discovered it was a ground-floor apartment in a modest, two-story building. Not seedy, by any means, but definitely not high-rent.

  Remembering her car, he could almost hear her arguments in favor of her residence. Renting afforded less maintenance worries, lower insurance costs, a more central location. He smiled. She’d probably done a study on it.

  When the door opened, Conn’s first reaction was that he had somehow gotten the wrong apartment. “I’m sorry, I—ʺ He stopped when he registered the uniquely beautiful blue eyes. “Harmony?” He blinked and did a quick scan of the woman standing in front of him smiling widely.

  “My God,” he said softly. “What did you do?”

  She laughed. “That’s just what I asked your sister. She’s the one responsible for this.” She reached up and brushed the short curls that looked as though sunlight danced in them.

  “I haven’t been giving Sam enough credit.” When he dragged his gaze off her hair, he realized something else was different.

  “Where are your glasses?”

  “Contacts. Sam convinced me.”

  “Good call.” He continued to take in the hair, the heart-shaped face, the wide blue eyes, and that mouth. The color on the pouty lips drew his eyes and had him suddenly imagining hot things.

  “You look like a kewpie doll.”

  Harmony laughed. “Is that a good thing?”

  “That was my clumsy way of saying you look really cute.”

  “Is it tacky of me to say I think so too?” Her smile was impish. “I’m still not used to it. I spend way too much time looking at myself in the mirror.”

  She stepped back and pulled the door open wider. “Come in while I get my purse.”

  A marble-topped console that looked like it could have come out of Queen Victoria’s parlor sat against one wall of the entry. What he could see of the living room contained other antique-looking pieces. Given what she did professionally, he would have expected her home to be furnished in sleek lines and modern décor. Perhaps her decorating was an attempt at balance.

  Harmony reappeared with her purse, a small black leather satchel, its strap looped over her shoulder. She briefly eyed the cane he was using.

  He thought about trying to ignore the elephant in the room, but if he did that, the elephant would be joining them for lunch. “You don’t need to bring your umbrella today. I’ve got this covered. My cane is present and accounted for.”

  Her tentative smile acknowledged his attempt at humor. She lost her smile, and her brows drew together in a frown. “Does it hurt? Your leg, I mean.”

  Like a son of a bitch. “Not at the moment. Using the cane helps a lot. I was pushing things at the auction. Stupid. Are you ready to go?” He hoped the subject was closed.

  She took the hint and talked awkwardly about her neighborhood, pointing out things she found interesting or attractive as they walked to his car parked down the street, as close to her apartment building as he could get.

  He had chosen one of his favorite Mexican restaurants in Old Town, more for its parking lot than the food. The food was great, but not having to hike a couple of blocks after parking the car was the real draw for him.

  Chapter Six

  After they were seated with a bowl of corn chips and cheese sauce between them and glasses of iced tea, Harmony grabbed her menu and studied it like it held the meaning of life. Conn didn’t think she was avoiding his gaze so much as using the menu to fill an awkward silence. The conversation on the drive to the restaurant had been painful. The weather, same as always in San Diego—clear and warm. Harmony didn’t follow sports, so that topic was quickly dispatched.

  Conn mentioned local events, and she fell on the subject with alacrity. Small talk didn’t seem to come easily to her.

  She held the menu with both hands and he noticed each of her fingernails was painted a different color—pink, light green, turquoise, lavender, and yellow. They reminded him of a basket of Easter eggs. He reached across and brushed his fingertip over the backs of her fingers.

  Her lashes flew up, her eyes wide and startled at the touch.

  “Another wild and crazy change?”

  She sent him a chagrined smile. “I couldn’t make up my mind.” She held her hand, up fingers splayed, and looked at her manicure, expression doubtful. “Do you think it’s too much?”

  “For whom? They’re your nails. If you like them, that’s the most important opinion.”

  She blinked at him as though the concept was radical, then returned to studying the menu.

  He watched her, still trying to take in the changes. He’d thought her individual features were attractive, but whatever Sam had done had turned a pretty enough little caterpillar into a frigging butterfly.

  “Ooh, they have shrimp cocktail. Mexican shrimp cocktail is fabulous. More like gazpacho with shrimp than what you normally think of as shrimp cocktail.” Harmony said. “Do you suppose it’s big enough to make a whole meal on?”

  “Not my area of expertise. You’ll have to ask our server.”

  When their waiter came to take their orders, he spoke in accented English and introduced himself as Carlos. Harmony immediately began speaking in what sounded like very fluent Spanish and pointed at the menu. Carlos’s smile widened and he responded in kind, presumably telling her about the shrimp cocktail. Apparently Harmony was happy with what she heard, because he wrote her order on his pad.

  He turned to Conn and asked in English what he would like. After Carlos took his order for enchiladas, he promised the food would be out soon and left them.

  “So,” Conn said when Carlos had left, “you speak Spanish.”

  “It seemed like a good idea to learn it, living this close to the Mexican border.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “And once I learned Spanish, it seemed silly not to just go ahead and learn the rest.”

  “The rest?”

  “Of the Romance languages.”

  He was distracted for a moment watching her lick a drop of the cheese dip off her bottom lip and then frowned, registering what she had just said. “Silly. Of course. All of them?”

  “Um-hm. They’re all Romance languages, after all. If you know one, you pretty much know them all.”

  “It’s been a little while since school. Refresh my memory on which ones those are.”

  “Besides Spanish, there’s French, Portuguese, Italian−oh, and Romanian. Most people don’t realize Romanian is one of the Romance languages, but it should be obvious from the name, don’t you think?”

  He stared at her, nonplused. “Right. Obvious. And you speak them all?”

  “Yes, but I have to admit, my Romanian is pretty basic. I don’t have much chance to practice it.”

  She tossed off what would have been a major accomplishment for almost any other American. He opened his mouth to speak, but could think of nothing in response, and closed it again. How did you talk to a woman this smart?

  She looked at him with an earnest expression, and he felt himself falling into those luminous eyes, more powerful now that they weren’t blunted by the glasses.

  “Can I ask you something,” she said.

  What now? “Sure.”

  “Do you really think my new look is an improvement?”

  He relaxed and smiled. Apparently she wasn’t so different after all. “Are you fishing for complements?”

  She appeared to be seriously considering his question. What an intriguing mix of smarts and naiveté she was.

  “Harmony,” he said gently, “I was kidding.”

 
“Oh.”

  “And in answer to your question, yes, I think your new look is very attractive. You are seriously hot.”

  Her delighted grin was quick. “Hot. Really?”

  “How could you not know? You have a mirror.”

  “It’s kind of a unique experience for me.”

  “Well, get used to it. This is your new normal.”

  She tipped her head and her eyes lost focus as she thought. “Normal.” Her gaze sharpened and she met his eyes again. “Normal,” she repeated, as though testing the word. Her lips softened in a faint smile, distracting him again. “It’s definitely an improvement on the old normal, right?”

  “That is a question no man with an ounce of sense would answer.”

  “Well, yes, but—ʺ

  Fortunately he was rescued from the verbal minefield by Carlos appearing with two plates. He held one with a hot pad and set it down in front of Conn with a warning that it was hot. The plate he set in front of Harmony held an oversized goblet. He topped off their iced teas, and left them to enjoy their lunch. For the next several minutes they were busy eating and discussing the food.

  Shortly after Harmony put down the spoon she’d been using to finish the last of the shrimp cocktail−she’d been right. It did look like a very chunky gazpacho−Carlos reappeared and set a small bowl of what looked like custard in front of her. She thanked him with a smile and picked up the small spoon he had brought along with the dish.

  “Dessert?”

  She nodded. “Flan. I love it, but don’t get a chance to have it very often. Carlos convinced me that if I had this and the shrimp cocktail it would be just the right amount of food for lunch. Looks like he was right.”

  “Or a good salesman,” Conn said tongue in cheek.

  She scooped up a spoonful and popped it in her mouth. “Hm, So good.” She closed her eyes for a moment, obviously savoring the flavor.

  Conn’s own mouth went dry observing her pleasure, and he told himself to get a grip.

  Harmony swallowed, opening her eyes, took a sip of tea and looked across the table at him. “Conn, we’ve talked about me and why I want to do this reunion. You know more than you probably want to about me, but we haven’t talked much about you. Samantha told me about your wife. I’m sorry things worked out the way they did.”

  He frowned, and she looked like she’d back the conversation up if she could. “Sam told you about Kari, huh? Well, it’s not like it’s a big secret. I don’t talk about her much because there’s not a lot to tell. Kari liked me because I was a military officer. I was young enough to get caught up in the drama. You know—going off to war, telling a woman goodbye, wanting to think she’d be waiting for me. She didn’t wait long, as it turned out.”

  “You must have been so hurt.”

  “We wouldn’t have made it in the long run. We were too different. I’m just glad we didn’t have kids. What about you? Ever been married?”

  She gave a small headshake, and Conn felt an unreasonable sense of relief that he didn’t have to hear about another man.

  He forked up his last bite of excellent enchilada, washed it down with a sip of tea and figured it was time to get down to business. “Let’s talk about this reunion. When, exactly, is it? Soon, right?”

  “Two weeks from next Friday. I thought we could drive up early that Friday, like right after lunch, arrive in plenty of time to check into the hotel, rest, change clothes, and attend the function. Spend the night there and come back Saturday. I hope that works with your schedule?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine. I can take off work early that Friday. You want me to make reservations at the hotel?”

  “No, I’ll take care of it. I already have one for me. I’ll have them add another room to my reservation for you. I certainly don’t want you paying for it, given what a favor you’re doing for me.”

  “You’re not paying for me. I don’t do boy toy. I’ll pay for my own room.”

  She stared at him a moment. “That’s ridiculously old-fashioned.”

  “Deal with it. I’m an old-fashioned kind of guy. A woman does not pick up the tab when she’s with me.”

  “Whatever. We can work the details of that out later.”

  They were worked out. She just hadn’t realized it yet.

  “My car is better for the trip,” he said. “What time should I pick you up?”

  He could see from her expression that she wanted to argue about that, too. He knew how to forestall further discussion.

  “My car gives me more leg room.”

  A tiny furrow appeared between her brows. “How is your leg. Better now?”

  “Yeah, it is better, thanks.” And it was. Just not better enough to make it through the medical board scheduled for the following week. He was slowly coming to realize it never would be. How he was going to accept the finality of the ruling, he didn’t know. He tried to focus on the situation at hand as a distraction.

  “So, what time?”

  They worked out the remainder of the details, he paid the check, and walked her out to the car for the drive home. Back at her apartment, he got out of the car, but she insisted he didn’t need to escort her clear to the door. He stood beside her as she thanked him for lunch and felt the same attraction to her he had felt the evening he’d met her.

  He looked down into her eyes, no longer shielded by her oversized glasses, and saw what looked like invitation. He also saw confusion, or perhaps just a lack of confidence. He had never met a woman so unaware of her own attractiveness. This close to her, her scent, that elusive combination sunshine and sin, drew him in further.

  He put a finger under her chin and lifted it, moving slowly to give her every chance to object. Instead she raised her face and met him halfway. He brought his head down and pressed a gentle kiss on the mouth that had been driving him crazy.

  Big mistake. Harmony breathed in a soft little gasp that was one of sexiest sounds he’d ever heard. He wanted to deepen the kiss, slip his tongue between her lips and taste her, but they were out on the street standing beside his car. Not the time or place. He figured he was pushing his luck as it was.

  He raised his head, regarding her moistened lips regretfully. Her eyes fluttered open, and she stared at him like a little girl who had just tasted ice cream for the first time. It was all he could do not to pull her to him and kiss her more thoroughly.

  He cleared a throat gone thick. “I’ll see you two weeks from Friday.”

  She nodded slowly and he sketched a quick salute before easing himself into his car.

  * * *

  Harmony’s fingers tapped rapidly over the keys as she concentrated on her current project. Her phone dinged, indicating a text. She frowned at the interruption and stopped typing to pick up her phone. Conn. Her brows arched in surprise.

  Where are you? he messaged.

  Home, she texted back. Why?

  I need to come over.

  Okay. What’s up?

  Tell you when I get there. 15 min.

  She couldn’t imagine why Conn was coming over. She hoped it wasn’t to tell her he had changed his mind about going to the reunion. She glanced at her watch. She had fifteen minutes to straighten the apartment and fix herself up.

  She was standing in front of the bathroom mirror using the pick Samantha had given her to lift and refresh her curls when the doorbell rang. She gave her reflection a nod. She was as good as she was going to get for now. She put down the pick and went to answer the bell.

  She stood on tiptoe to check though the peephole, assuring herself it was Conn, and opened the door.

  No wonder his ex had fallen for him. He was wearing his uniform, navy blue pants with a red stripe down the side and a crisply pressed khaki shirt that accentuated his squared shoulders and flat stomach.

  Her gaze went to the ribbons on his chest, noting how many there were. She knew each one represented a medal. She didn’t know exactly what each one was for, but her heart contracted when she recognized the purple and wh
ite ribbon that went with the Purple Heart. His hand grasped the handle of his cane.

  “Conn?” She had been distracted by his uniform, but took in, now, the grim expression shadowed by the visor of his cap. She stepped back and drew the door open. “Come in and tell me what’s wrong.”

  Chapter Seven

  Conn stepped into her apartment, removing his cap automatically, and laid it on the marble-topped table console. He scraped his hand through his hair, suddenly at a loss for why he was even there.

  Harmony shut the door behind him and waved a hand toward the living room. He headed for the curvy, fussy-looking couch and dropped to it, propping the cane next to him. The couch was more comfortable than it looked.

  A fat gray tabby cat that had been curled in a side chair stood and stretched, then leaped down and stalked toward him. It had just brushed itself against his leg before Harmony swooped the cat up and deposited it back in the chair.

  “I don’t want her to get hair on your uniform.”

  “I take it this is the famous Cookie. Doesn’t look like she suffered too much from getting her dinner late the evening of the auction.” His joking words were at odds with the shadow that darkened his eyes.

  “No, she probably has enough stored fat to make it through a famine. I know I spoil her.”

  Harmony sat down beside him, a concerned frown creasing her brow, and laid a hand on his thigh. “Enough about Cookie. Conn, what is it? Why are you here?”

  He looked down at her hand, and she snatched it back, as though unsure what was appropriate. She continued to watch him, though, with that caring look in her eyes. He noted distractedly that she was wearing her glasses. “Where are your contacts?”

  Surprise at his comment obviously threw her off for a moment, but she humored him. “I didn’t want to go to the trouble of putting them in. I planned to stay home all day working. Are you going to tell me what brought you here? And in uniform no less?”

  How to explain? He had thought he was prepared. He knew his leg was never going to improve enough to put him back into fighting shape. He had accepted that, had even begun to plan for what he would do in civilian life. The board had just been a formality. But still . . .