Operation Cinderella by Hope Tarr

glass, slopping vodka over the rim. Feeling like a klutz, he shook out his wet hand. “As you can see, I’d never make it beyond busboy.”
    A cocktail napkin materialized in her hand. With brisk efficiency, she wiped up the spillage and stepped back.
    He managed to bring the glass to his lips, this time without incident, and took a sip. “This is so good I might think you’d been a bartender.”
    She laughed, the sound reminding him of the wind chimes on his mother’s porch. “Not hardly. I just looked the recipe up online and followed it.”
    He dropped his gaze to her empty hands. “Aren’t you joining me?”
    “Well, no, I’m working.” She hesitated, and then admitted, “I don’t have much of a head for alcohol.”
    Of course she wasn’t about to booze it up. Coming from a small town, she’d probably grown up sipping sweet tea at church socials. It didn’t help him that her unspoiled disposition and solid, old school values came packaged in the body of a Victoria’s Secret model.
    A buzzer going off drew him back down to Planet Earth.
    “That’s the oven timer,” she said, turning to the door. “Dinner’s ready. Why don’t you go and make yourself comfortable in the dining room?”
    Ross shook his head. “I’ve never actually seen a single meal come out of that high-end oven. No chance I’m missing out on that.” Mrs. Alvarez had left the prepared food in the refrigerator for later reheating.
    She bit her bottom lip. “In that case, maybe you could open the wine. I’m afraid I don’t have much practice and your corkscrew is a little complicated.”
    Ross didn’t recall his corkscrew as being anything special but, happy to be of use, he said, “You’ve got it.”
    He bypassed the breakfast nook and stepped inside the kitchen, fully expecting to be greeted by some degree of culinary chaos. On those rare occasions when his ex had been moved to do more than microwave, their kitchen had resembled the day after an atomic explosion. To his surprise, though, every surface was wiped clean. Not just clean but spotless. The copper pots and pans all hung from their wall hooks and there wasn’t so much as a dirty spoon left out.
    Salivating, he sniffed the beef-scented air. “Your roast smells amazing.”
    She smiled. “Let’s just hope it tastes amazing as well. It’s my mother’s recipe with rosemary and pearl onions, and I made parsley buttered potatoes and baby peas to go with it—oh, and biscuits, of course.”
    He felt his jaw drop. “You baked?”
    At her casual nod, he walked over to the oven and opened the door partway. A metal tray of big, fluffy, home-baked biscuits was set inside to warm. Biscuits like his mother made.
    “There’s dessert, too, but it’s a surprise.” Her impish grin did funny, fluttery things to his insides.
    “That’s okay. I like surprises.” I like you , he was tempted to add, but instead he held out his hands and said, “Put me to work. Where’s that wine that needs opening?”
    …
    Ross pushed his chair back from the table and laid a hand on his stomach, which somehow managed the trick of still looking washboard flat despite the heaping plate of food he’d put away. “You keep feeding me like this, and I’m going to have to renew my gym membership.”
    Macie swallowed a snort. Who did he think he was kidding? A Type A personality like his probably drove him to work out every day at his office gym.
    She stuck on a saccharin smile and summoned what her mother might say in such a situation. “After a hard day at work, you deserve to come home to a good meal.” To wash the bitter taste from her mouth, she allowed herself a sip of the merlot he’d insisted on pouring her.
    The light lines bracketing his mouth relaxed into a smile. She’d seen that smile twice before, the first time on his website and then again at last week’s lunch when his daughter had said something that had both exasperated and amused him. But this was the first time it was