The Reluctant Cinderella. Christine Rimmer

it didn’t matter. This crazy feeling she had for him was going nowhere. When she saw him next Monday, she’d make sure it was business and only business.

      Period. End of story.

      “Pancakes, pancakes. I love pancakes….” Michael sang the words and then poked a great big wad of pancake, dripping syrup, into his mouth.

      “Eeww,” remarked Olivia. “You’ve got syrup on your chin and it’s rude to sing at the table.”

      “We’re not at the table,” Michael corrected with the pure and literal logic of a five-year-old, the words mushy with that mouthful of pancake. He swallowed. Hard. “We’re at the breakfast counter.” Angela’s roomy kitchen had an L-shaped eating area along one section of the main counter.

      “It’s the same,” insisted Olivia. “The breakfast counter is the same as the table when it comes to singing—so you just quit it.”

      “Pancakes, pancakes,” Michael sang some more.

      “Mo-om. He’s sing-ing.” Olivia turned on her stool to stick her chin out at her mother, who stood by the electric griddle down at the end of the counter, flipping another batch of blueberry pancakes.

      “Eat your breakfast, honey,” said her mother. “And Michael, stop singing and finish eating.”

      “Humph.” Michael forked up another huge bite and shoved it in his mouth. Olivia flounced around to face front again and delicately picked up her own fork. Anthony ate in silence, staring at his plate.

      The doorbell rang. Anthony’s head jerked up. “It’s Dad!” he crowed, brown eyes suddenly alight. “He’s early.” Jerome was due at ten to take the kids to the Catskills for the day.

      “Dad!” echoed Michael around a half-chewed lump of pancake.

      “Gross,” muttered Olivia.

      And then, in unison, all three kids announced, “I’ll get it.”

      “Stay put.” Megan slid her napkin beside her half-empty plate. “All of you.”

      Olivia groaned. Michael shrugged. Anthony let out a big, fat sigh. But they all remained on their stools.

      In the foyer, Megan pulled open the door and found Carly on the front porch looking absolutely gorgeous. Her blond hair fell in soft, perfect waves around her beautiful face, which glowed with just a touch of blusher and a dab of lip gloss. She was dressed in the spirit of the day, in trim, royal-blue capris and a curve-hugging white shirt. On her perfectly manicured feet she wore a pair of strappy red sandals. She carried a layer cake on a crystal cake stand.

      The cake was almost as stunning as Carly, a good eight inches high and slathered in ivory-colored swirls of buttercream frosting, with an accurate depiction of an American flag drawn in colored icing across the top.

      “Wow.” Megan was so impressed with the cake she almost forgot to feel guilty about going love-wacko over Greg. “That is beautiful.”

      Carly blushed and smiled her prettiest smile. “I baked it for you and Angela and the kids. It’s a red velvet cake. And if I do say so myself, it is delish. Where I come from, we would always have red velvet cake on Independence Day.”

      Megan ushered her inside and shut the door. “Come on back to the kitchen. We’re having blueberry pancakes. There’s plenty. Join us.”

      “Oh. No. Really. I can’t. All I have to do is look at a pancake and I put on five pounds.”

      Megan, who always did a lot more than look at her pancakes, only shrugged and offered, “Coffee, then?”

      “I’d love a cup. Yes.”

      They went on to the kitchen, where Angela spotted the cake and said, “Oh, Carly, you shouldn’t have….” Even the kids got all wide-eyed over it—well, except for Anthony, who only got wide-eyed lately when his mostly absent dad was at the door.

      Carly took a stool, accepted a cup of black coffee and talked to each of the children in turn, asking them how they were doing and what their plans were for the day. Michael peppered her with a volley of questions. Olivia, whose rock collection was her pride and joy, solemnly explained that her grandpa had sent her a real quartz crystal, a big one, all the way from Arkansas. Even Anthony opened up to her a little. He said his dad was coming and they were going to the Catskills Game Park and maybe there would be fireworks after dark.

      Carly was good with kids. Megan couldn’t help wondering why she and Greg had never had any.

      Not that she would ask. Oh, no. Not going there. No way…

      The kids finished their breakfast, cleared their places and ran upstairs to get ready to go. Angela served herself the final stack of flapjacks and sat at the counter while Megan got the coffeepot and gave all three of them refills.

      Carly, sitting between Angela and Megan, sipped and said how good the coffee was, and asked Angela how her job managing that dentist’s office was going.

      Angela said it was great. “And I get holidays. All the good ones. What more can I ask for?”

      Regular support checks from Jerome would be nice, Megan thought. But of course, her sister would never say that.

      Megan knew what was coming. After a moment, it did.

      Carly turned to her and sweetly scolded, “You didn’t call me yesterday to tell me how it went. Did Greg hire you?”

      Keeping her expression totally noncommittal, Megan shrugged. “Not yet. That was just the preliminary meeting. There will be a more formal presentation at my office next week, with my whole team involved. There’ll also be Gregory, Sr., and a few vice presidents, I think.”

      Carly let out a cry of delight. “Look at you. So calm and collected. I mean, you just said ‘Not yet.’ Why, he is going to hire you, isn’t he?”

      “Surprised?” Megan couldn’t help teasing.

      “Well, I…I just…”

      Megan smiled. “Hey. It’s okay. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your setting up that interview.” Too bad I went and fell for the guy you’re still in love with….

      “Oh, well.” Carly’s thick lashes swooped down. “I was happy to do it.”

      “I’m very grateful. The chance to land the Banning’s account, that’s a big deal for me.”

      Carly sipped more coffee. “So tell me. How is Greg?” Her cheeks were pinker than ever and those Delft-blue eyes glittered with a frantic kind of hope.

      “Well, of course, it was a business meeting,” Megan hedged, and felt like a low-down, backstabbing creep. “But he seemed well. You know, healthy. All that…”

      On Carly’s other side, Angela looked up sharply from her plate of pancakes. She’d always had a sixth sense about what was going on with Megan. Megan lifted an eyebrow and Angela lifted one right back.

      Carly was oblivious to the sisterly signals. “Did he seem too thin? I worry, you know? That he’s not eating right…”

      “Uh. No. He looked okay. Fine. Really.”

      “What did he say about me?”

      Good googly moogly. Megan honestly couldn’t recall his mentioning Carly’s name once. “Nothing. Really.” Carly’s face fell. And Megan heard herself adding, “He sends his regards, of course.” Liar, liar, pants on fire…

      “His regards…” Carly mulled that over for a moment, her full lower lip quivering just a little.

      “Yes,” Megan said, so cheerfully it set her own teeth on edge.

      Carly pasted on a smile. “Well. That’s something. I guess….” She popped off the stool as if she’d been ejected from it. “And you know what?” She tugged on the hem of her crisp white shirt.