Though he wasn’t surprised she knew about the situation, his gut clenched anyway. It had been galling the night of the reunion to find out he’d been made a fool of-it was worse that someone else was aware. Had Chloe revealed her tall tale only to Natalie or were there other people in Mistletoe who knew? A sickening sensation enveloped him as he too easily imagined a conspiracy in which townfolk nodded to his face and laughed behind his back. In his head, he heard Grady Medlock’s snickers, the titters of classmates when he’d been asked to read aloud during those early years before baseball had elevated his status to a popular student.

If you could throw an amazing curveball and owned a varsity letter jacket, your peers didn’t care whether or not you were struggling with Shakespeare and Steinbeck. Not that the varsity jacket fit anymore.

“Dylan?” Natalie’s blue eyes looked so genuinely concerned that it would be easy to hold it against her, knowing that behind her facade of friendly worry she was party to deceiving him. At least she was a smoother liar than Chloe, so it wasn’t as much of an insult to the intelligence.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Just second-guessing myself,” he heard himself say. “Maybe the flowers aren’t such a good idea.”

“No, wait. I think they’re a wonderful idea.”

“You’re the flower purveyor,” he pointed out. “Of course you’re in favor of it.”

“True. But-and she would kill me dead if she knew I was saying this-she likes you.” Natalie waited a beat, perhaps waiting for some assurance that the feeling was mutual. When she didn’t get it, she tensed slightly. “I hope that your being back in Mistletoe so soon, thinking about flowers, means that she wasn’t just someone to chat with at the reunion. I’d hate to see her hurt.”

Whoa, back the hell up, Mama Bear. He understood protective loyalty among friends, but from his point of view, Natalie should be issuing warnings about Chloe to unsuspecting men, not issuing warnings on her behalf.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said tightly.

“I overstepped, didn’t I? It’s really none of my business what happens between the two of you.”

The remorse in her tone made him sigh-she wasn’t the one who’d started this mess. “You were looking out for someone you care about. I get it.”

“Thank you. I do care about her. We’re both only children, more like sisters than friends. God knows I might not have earned my diploma without her.”

Dylan thought about how Nick had said more or less the same thing.

“And I’m probably more worried about her right now than I ordinarily would be. She just lost someone who meant a lot to her.”

“Her aunt?” He nodded. “Jane sounds like quite the character.”

“Oh, she was.” Natalie smiled fondly, then her expression became more somber. “I’m sure you know what it’s like to be turned emotionally upside down by losing someone. It wasn’t too long ago that your father…” She trailed off, probably realizing she was overstepping again.

If he were a different sort of son-if Michael Echols had been a different sort of father-Dylan would buy flowers for the grave while he was here. It was the decent thing to do. He could just imagine how such an action would cheer his mom, who’d always liked to pretend there was nothing wrong in her home.

Gritting his teeth, Dylan thought about how much the pretense had bothered him, the hypocrisy of his old man cheering for him at games, acting the proud father when happily accepting accolades from everyone else in the bleachers while, at home, he made his son feel like nothing he ever did was good enough.

And now Dylan was knowingly turning his own personal life into a pretense? The truth was, he did like Chloe. But he wasn’t sure he liked himself for it.

AT TEN O’CLOCK, Chloe met with Kimberley Warren, a local matron with four kids. Kim was opening a salon in the back of her house and wanted to talk about the possible cost of a Web site. Knowing that Dylan was supposed to reach town today, Chloe found herself losing her concentration more than she had when she was a teenager sitting in class with him. Luckily, with children ranging from a tired-but-refusing-to-nap six-month-old to an eight-year-old home from school after getting tubes in her ears yesterday, Kim was too distracted herself to notice Chloe’s momentary lapses.

Kim grimaced at the third consecutive interruption, a request for something to drink. “Can you give me just a second? The oldest one isn’t usually this much of a pain. She’s just bored silly because she’s cooped up at home. Honestly, if I’d realized how easy her recovery was going to be, I would have sent her to class.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Chloe said. Her next appointment, with Rachel Waide, wasn’t for another two hours. Plus, ever since Rachel and her husband, David, had found out they were expecting, the woman was extra indulgent about anything involving children. She wouldn’t mind if Chloe ran a few minutes late.

The beleaguered mommy poured some grape juice and exited the kitchen muttering. As Chloe waited, she found herself looking around and evaluating the room. Round table, which was good chi, but the stove was not optimally placed, in conflict with-Chloe blinked when she realized the direction her thoughts had taken. You know you’re not actually a decorator, right?

Still, she’d found herself inspired over the weekend, brainstorming some ideas for her own home. It wasn’t a bad little house and she certainly had some fond memories of growing up there, but she was an adult now. Wasn’t it time to make it her place and not her parents’? She hadn’t started any projects yet, but she’d put together an outline of what she wanted to accomplish and gone window-shopping Sunday afternoon to compare prices on supplies.

“Sorry about that.” Kim came back into the room. “But I think that’s the last of the interruptions. I told the eight-year-old we could order pizza for lunch if she can find something to watch in the DVD collection until then, and the baby finally fell asleep in his playpen.”

“Not a problem. Now, about some simple things you could do for a site…”

They tossed around some ideas, including Kimberley’s desire to include pictures of Mistletoe locals, which she could update periodically. As Chloe started getting more into the technical side of things, she realized Kim was staring at her absently.

“Did I lose you?” Chloe asked.

“What? Oh, it’s not that. I was just wondering…Would you let me cut your hair? Then we could take a picture! You’d be one of the first photos for my online portfolio, and it would be my way of saying thanks for today. Well, more than today. I swear every time we’ve talked on the phone, one of the kids has been playing drums in the next room, tattling on a sibling or inciting the dog to bark in the background.”

Chloe laughed. “It hasn’t been too bad.”

“Is that your polite way of turning down the haircut?”

Now that Chloe thought about it, when was the last time she’d had a trim? Her thoughts skittered back to Dylan. She’d be seeing him soon. It wouldn’t hurt to look her best. “Okay, sure. We could take off a few split ends.”

“You don’t want anything else done?” Kim looked disappointed. “I was hoping for something at least dramatic enough for ‘before’ and ‘after’ pictures.”

Chloe smoothed her hand over her head. Barring the short-lived and ill-advised highlights when she was a teen, she’d worn her hair pretty much the same way ever since…what, second grade? Good Lord. She was a one-woman definition of stagnant.

Not anymore. “What did you have in mind?”

Kim brightened. “I’m glad you asked!”

FAR FROM the somewhat timid woman Dylan often remembered her as, Barb Echols seemed positively jubilant now, flitting about her kitchen and humming while she prepared lunch for the two of them. She was so happy that Dylan found himself grinning, her mood contagious. For a little while, he forgot Chloe Malcolm and simply took pleasure in having made a right decision.

“I was so excited when you called to say you were coming back!” Instead of being discouraged that he couldn’t stay longer, his mom was obviously touched. “Some people wouldn’t even think the drive was worth it for only an overnight stay.”

“It’s not that far.” The trip was not even two hours. He knew people in the Atlanta area who commuted close to that just to get to work. It was not a hardship for him to get in the convertible, turn up the MP3 player and drive on a sunny day.

Barb stirred a pot of her homemade chicken noodle soup, the peppery aroma that wafted from the pot immediately taking him back to childhood. “Still. With gasoline prices what they are these days…I’m so glad to see you. You know who else would be equally happy? Todd.”

Dylan was so accustomed to everyone he knew calling Todd Burton “Coach” that it took him a second to make the connection. “Coach B.?”

His mother nodded. “Have you talked to him since the banquet? About his offer?”

Suddenly restless, Dylan stood. He busied himself getting bowls down for the soup. Unfortunately that only killed about three seconds.

“It wasn’t really an ‘offer,’ Mom, merely a suggestion. He can’t just hand out a job. I’m sure there’s a lot of bureaucracy with the school board involved.”

Barb hesitated; he assumed she’d agree with him and change the subject. It’s what she would have done in a similar situation if she’d been talking to his father. So Dylan was startled to see her square her shoulders, lift her chin and shake her silvered head at him.

“That’s silly, and you know it. With your record in the sport and Coach Burton’s sway in this community, you could probably walk into the school’s administration office this afternoon and have the position before dinner.” As if realizing how vocal she was being with her opinion, she lowered her gaze, mumbling, “If you wanted it.”