Love Blooms on Main Street (10 page)

“I invited you for a drink.” His voice was low and smooth, and she could listen to it all day long. And all night. And that was just the problem.

“And then I went and insulted you. Consider us even.” She started to get off the bar stool again, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist. His hand was warm, his grip firm, and she knew she wasn't going anywhere. As much as she'd love to snap free of his hold on her, another part of her wanted him to never let go. Her stomach fluttered and tightened, and she fought against it, willing herself to fight the attraction, to stay focused on the facts.

Brett tipped his chin. His expression had turned serious, almost grave. “I think we've established that you aren't interested in me.”

Actually, it was more like the other way around, but Ivy listened.

His thumb grazed her skin before he dropped her hand, just long enough to send a tingle down her spine and straight to her belly. His mouth quirked into a small smile as he tented his fingers. “But I'm hoping we can still work together on this fundraiser.”

“Of course. I already told you I would do the flowers, and I appreciate the opportunity.” And she needed the opportunity, too, she reminded herself, thinking of the stack of bills waiting to be paid, the money that had never come from the sale of her mother's house, the fact that in addition to helping her out, Henry had covered the cost of fixing up the old place, only to have it sell for far less than he alone had sunk into it.
Simmer down now, Ivy. The man may have rejected you on a personal level, but you don't need it messing with your professional life, too.

Brett was still watching her, his entire body shifted on the chair now, his focus so intense that she had to shift her eyes away for a second to collect herself.

“We'll keep in touch then,” Ivy said, eager to get away. Quickly she added, “About the event.”

Brett's brow furrowed slightly. “Here. Let me give you my number.” He held out a hand, and, blinking, Ivy reached into her bag and handed him her phone.

She watched as he tapped the screen with his thumbs and then handed it back to her.

She had Brett Hastings's number in her phone.
Now don't get all crazy, Ivy. It's just for the fundraiser. It's nothing personal.

Except something about the way his hand lingered on hers and his eyes locked on hers with intensity made her wonder if it wasn't just a little personal.

Nonsense. He'd told her straight up where he stood. He wasn't interested. And that was just something she'd have to live with.

“Great,” she said, tucking the device in her handbag right next to her insulin shots. Just great.

Because just what she needed, in addition to having to see him around town and now suffer through this event, was the image of his name lighting up her screen, giving her hope where none belonged.

T
he gym offered a weekly Pilates class that Ivy decided was probably a better fit for both her physical and mental health than hitting the treadmill. Regular exercise was an important part of managing her diabetes, but she wasn't exactly sitting idle all day long at the store, and intense workouts could wreak havoc on her blood sugar levels—and watching Brett lift weights wreaked havoc on her heart. According to
Crushed: A Ten-Step Program to Accepting Rejection and Putting Your Life Back Together
, a scheduled class with her close friend, conveniently located nowhere near the main cardio and weight room so that she wouldn't be tempted by that cocky grin or confident swagger, was just the thing she needed to focus on herself… and not on those deep-set brown eyes and the rumble of that laugh.

“Did you start your new position yet?” she asked Kara as they settled onto their mats. A week had passed since Kara had announced her promotion, and nothing more had been said on the matter since.

Kara nodded. “This morning.”

“How was it?” Ivy asked when Kara didn't elaborate.

Kara pulled her long dark hair into a ponytail and shrugged. “Oh. Fine, fine.”

Didn't sound very fine, but Ivy decided not to press the topic. The instructor had taken her place at the front of the room, and Ivy had a feeling she was going to need all the help she could get to keep up with Kara, who had trained as a dancer under her mother's instruction and then went on to do regular yoga and Pilates in recent years.

At the end of the session, Kara turned to her, cheeks flushed, and grinning. “Fun, huh?”

“It was.” Ivy rolled up her mat and followed her friend to the door. Her plan was to dart into the women's locker room and take the back exit home, but Kara stopped in the hall, tipping her head in the opposite direction.

“Let's go to the juice bar.”

Ivy wrestled with her decision. After working out for forty-five minutes, a smoothie sounded delicious, not to mention good for her, but the chances of seeing Brett were high—she stopped herself right there. This was her town, too, and unless she wanted to live her life in hiding, she was going to have to start getting used to seeing him around. The more she did it, the less of an impact it would have on her. Hopefully.

Forcing back her trepidation, she said, “Sure.”

The juice bar was busy, even at nearly nine in the evening, but there was no sign of Brett. Ivy started to relax as she collected her drink and took a seat in the corner of the room.

“I have to admit, when they first opened this place, I was hoping it would be a chance to meet some guys.” Kara pursed her lips. “But instead, it's just the usual crowd.”

Ivy looked around. Kara was right. She recognized every single person in the room, even if she didn't personally know them. “Maybe someone new will move to town,” she offered, even though she doubted that very much. Briar Creek wasn't exactly a destination point, unless you were a tourist looking for a country weekend getaway. The ski resorts were close, and she'd met a few guys there in the past, like the ski instructor she'd thought had long-term potential but who turned out to be casually dating half the other ski instructors and some of his adult students to boot.

“The only new face around here is Brett's,” Kara said, and Ivy's heart began to beat a little faster. She took a sip of her drink to distract herself. “Still, I'm happy I joined. It gives me something to do, and it takes the pressure off joining one of those adult dance classes my mom is now offering.” She rolled her eyes and chuckled under her breath.

Jane had told Ivy all about the adult classes and the book club group in their neon leg warmers, squabbling over the music selection. It had been Henry's idea to start those classes back when enrollment at the studio hit a rough patch, and now that things had picked up again, Jane was never going to let Henry forget it. Deep down, Ivy knew that Jane was pleased, though. She loved teaching dance, just like Ivy loved making beautiful bouquets. It worked out well for both of them, too. Now that Ivy was feeling better, she didn't need as much help around the shop, and Jane had enough hours between the dance studio and the bookstore café to keep her busy.

She wondered, as she often did these days when she spent time with Kara, what her friend might really enjoy doing.

“I take it that working at the dance studio doesn't appeal to you.”

Kara's mouth dropped. “Are you kidding me? I can think of nothing worse! My mother had me in every show until I was old enough to put my foot down and refuse. I still break into a cold sweat when I see blue eye shadow and frosted pink lipstick.”

“Gotta love the eighties,” Ivy mused, though she had never had the opportunity to take a dance class. She'd envied the other little girls in their sparkly tutus and makeup, and she'd made doll clothes for her sole doll with any bits of shiny fabric she could find, hoping to re-create the event she was missing. Dance lessons were expensive, and besides, there was no one to drive her. Her mother was usually at the bars by seven, if she even came home from the various jobs she had at all. Dinner was cereal; bedtime was of their own choosing. Somehow they'd figured it out. Gotten to school on time every day with a packed lunch, even if it was a little lacking.

Ivy took another small sip of her drink. It was cool and sweet and creamy. And rare. She'd make sure to enjoy it.

Kara, on the other hand, took a long, casual sip of her smoothie as if it were nothing more special than ice water. “My days at that studio are behind me.” She played with her straw. “It's not where my interest lies.”

“You'd rather be working at the restaurant,” Ivy hedged.

Kara glanced around the room. “I'd rather be in the kitchen of the restaurant, actually.”

Ivy perked up. “Then why don't you?”

“Because I'm not a chef,” Kara said, her shoulders visibly sagging. “Once Anna joined up with Mark and opened Rosemary and Thyme, they hired a whole team of sous chefs. The menu is much more complicated, too. I'm not qualified for that sort of thing.”

She had a point, Ivy supposed, but it still made her sad to hear it. “Grace said your cookies were better than Anna's. They were really delicious.” They were—not that she'd be eating one again. “Has Anna tried them? You should get her opinion.”

“I gave her a box of my cookies as a thank-you gift… for the promotion. And she never said a word. If she thought they were any good, she would have said something.” She shook her head. “I guess I was just kidding myself thinking that…”

“Thinking what?”

“Never mind. It doesn't matter now. I have a promotion. I'm helping Anna and Mark. How can I not be happy about that?” Kara's smile was grim.

“Don't give up on your dreams,” Ivy encouraged as they finished their drinks and tossed their plastic cups.

Kara looked her square in the eye. “Face it, Ivy. Some things aren't meant to be, no matter how much we wish they were.”

The girls walked outside a little quieter than when they'd come in. It had grown dark in the time that had lapsed, and Main Street was empty. Most people were home, enjoying a summer night with their family, Ivy supposed.

Kara's words echoed in her mind. Maybe that type of life just wasn't in the cards for her.

A burst of fury bubbled within her. Since when was she giving up or standing by and watching Kara do the same? She'd been a fighter all her life—she'd had no other choice. She and Henry had been born hustling and scrambling. It was their only chance. And the only reason she had Petals on Main was because she fought to make it happen. And she still fought for it every day.

“I have an idea for your cookies,” she said firmly.

She expected Kara to match her enthusiasm, but instead she just groaned and lazily turned to face her. “There's no point, Ivy. They're nothing special.”

“But they
are
special,” Ivy insisted.

Kara thought about it as they crossed the street. “Okay, I'm curious. What's your idea?”

“Forest Ridge Hospital's annual fundraiser is coming up. I'm doing the flowers this year, and Brett is helping out, too.” Just saying his name! She checked herself, focused on her friend. “Why not make some cookies for the silent auction, or even see if they'll work for the dessert buffet?”

“Cookies? At a black-tie event?” Kara didn't look convinced.

“Hey, you have to start somewhere, and this kind of exposure doesn't present itself all the time.”

Kara took a deep breath. “I guess it wouldn't hurt to ask.” She bit her lip, fighting a smile. “Okay, ask him for me.”

Ivy felt her blood go cold. “Ask him for you?”

“Brett. Could you ask him for me?”

“But you're his cousin!” Ivy cried.

“So? Mark is his brother! My boss! I don't even know how to bring it up! But maybe if you mentioned you'd had my cookies, and they were really good…” She stopped walking. “Oh, please, Ivy. He likes you.”

No, actually, he didn't like her. Not in the way she'd once wanted him to, at least.

Ivy stared into the pleading eyes of her friend, kicking herself for even bringing it up. She shouldn't have said anything. Should have let Kara figure it out for herself.

But she wasn't that kind of friend.

“Oh. Fine.” She sighed, feeling it roll through her shoulders.

“Great, let's call him now.”

Her eyes sprang open. She'd been planning to mention it next time she talked to him about the flowers, in a real meeting, of a professional nature. But to call him… Her heart began to race and despite the cool evening air, she felt hot and clammy.

Kara moved to a bench under the glow of a lamppost. “I have his number—”

“I have his number,” Ivy said. Gritting her teeth, she reached into her bag and pulled out the phone. Sure enough, there in her contacts list was Brett's name.

Kara rubbed her hands together nervously as, with a pounding heart, Ivy tapped Brett's number and put the phone to her ear. Her stomach churned with dread as the first ring went through. She didn't know what she would do if he answered.

Her breath was heavy, and she moved the receiver slightly lest he catch her panting on the other end when he answered. Instead, the call went to voicemail. So, perhaps there was a God after all.

“Hey, Brett, it's Ivy. Um, Ivy Birch.” She cleared her throat, her mind going blank. In front of her, Kara was clenching two fists to her mouth, her big blue eyes watching her. “I'm here with Kara and we had an idea for the dessert buffet at the fundraiser. So um…” Blank. It was all blank. What next?

Suddenly it came to her: She should tell him to call Kara.

But before she could say just that, Kara whispered frantically, “Tell him to call you back.”

“So call me back.”

Oh crap, what had she done? She'd just told the man who was hell-bent on telling her that he wasn't interested in her to call her back. It's just what he wanted. Just what he expected, she was sure. To find some lame excuse to have the guy who rejected you still interact with you.

Ivy disconnected the call with a shaking hand.

Now she had the pleasure of waiting for Brett to call her back. And no doubt he'd be assuming that she'd found a reason to call him just to hear his voice.

Brett walked into the break room and pulled open the fridge, grinning to himself at the carefully labeled items that lined its shelves. Forest Ridge Hospital might be a far cry from what he was used to in Baltimore, but some things were consistent, like triple-labeled yogurt containers and notices of the wrath that might happen if he accidentally took one. Instead, he reached for his own not so carefully labeled jug of orange juice and took a long sip, straight from the bottle.

It had been a busier shift than he'd expected, and he was happy for it, even if his heart was beating a little faster than usual. In the week since he'd been back, he'd already adjusted to the slower pace, already forgotten the jolt that came with thinking quick, reacting on instinct and years of training. With each case he successfully handled, he was that much closer to getting back to normal—and that much closer to a position in a bigger and busier emergency room.

With the orange juice container in hand, he pulled a plastic chair out from an empty table and dropped into it. He was used to being on his feet for hours, and most of the time he didn't have time to even think about it until he was finally able to relax for a few minutes.

He glanced up at the TV in the corner, where the local news was relaying the week's weather forecast, and pulled out his phone. He skimmed through his emails, frowning at the one from his old coworker asking how he was settling in, and moved on to missed calls. Predictably, one from his mother and one from Mark. Less predictably, one from a number he didn't recognize. For a minute, his heart skipped a beat, betraying that little fact he'd come to accept: His dad was long gone, wasn't looking for him, and Brett would never hear from him again. He'd come to that conclusion years before, but he couldn't deny the ping of disappointment when he realized it was a local area code. Briar Creek. Definitely not his father. Connecting to voicemail, he wedged the phone in his ear and took another sip from his drink.

His pulse flickered with interest as Ivy's hesitant, sweet voice flowed into his ear. The connection was bad—there was wind in the background, no doubt an early hint of the storm that blew in an hour ago—but her final words were clear as crystal.

He disconnected the call with a smile. So Ivy Birch wanted him to call her, did she?

He was looking forward to it more than he probably should. Looking forward to hearing the soft melody of her laugh, hearing that soft, feminine sound filling his senses.

He ran a hand over his jaw, recalling the way she looked that other night at the bar. There were moments of flirtation in there. A few glimpses of the woman who had caught his eye and showed him a certain level of interest that he'd then acted on. But only a few. By the end of the conversation, those electric eyes were positively blazing with indignation, and she'd all but left him coolly in her wake, just like she had every other time he saw her since he'd moved back.