Love Blooms on Main Street (22 page)

I
t was late, not that Brett minded—he was used to strange hours. The sun had long since faded behind the Green Mountains and the lampposts glowed in the dark, illuminating the quiet street. Brett glanced to the left, knowing he should say goodbye, get in the car, and go back to the carriage house, but right now, the thought of sitting in that empty place, with only the television to keep him company, seemed about as unappealing as fishing another piece of food from a curious child's nose. Here, with Ivy… this is where he wanted to be. Even though everything in him was telling him he shouldn't be here at all.

“I'll help you clean up,” he offered, seizing a legitimate excuse. The folding table was still in the middle of the room, covered with leaves and stems and the occasional broken flower, which he guiltily realized had been his doing.

Ivy slid him a knowing smile. “I knew you didn't like flowers, but did you really need to punish them?”

Brett barked out a laugh. It felt good. About as good as it felt to be in this quiet shop, alone with Ivy. He raked his gaze over her as she began brushing the clippings into a bin, feeling his body tighten and tense as he took in the curve of her waist, the cute little set to her lips as she concentrated on her task, and the hint of cleavage that made him long to do something he shouldn't.

She'd run away from the kiss. Broken it off. Torn away in that beat-up car. She wasn't interested.

But oh, he was…

“Why did you come to the class anyway, if you don't mind me asking?”

He watched as she carried the bin around to the back of her worktable and then returned to the center of the room to pick up a folding chair. He took it from her instead, and after a brief flash in her big blue-green eyes, she relinquished it.

He'd folded two chairs before he answered her question. “I came in to see you.”

A flush of pink worked its way up her cheeks as she stared at him. “Oh?”

He set another chair against the stack and shrugged. “I didn't like how we ended things the other day. I didn't mean to upset you.”

Ivy nailed him with a hard look as she reached for another folding chair. “I told you, Brett, you don't have to worry about me. I'm not hung up on you. But maybe you should stop trying to kiss me if you're so determined to keep telling me there's nothing between us.”

His expression didn't waver. “What if I said maybe I wanted there to be something between us?”

She froze mid-task and then quickly recovered. The metal chair clanked loudly as it hit the others. “I'd tell you to get your head checked, because last I heard, you were hell-bent on telling me every chance you had that you did not want to pursue something with me.”

“And do you feel the same?” he asked, holding her stare. Her gaze was steely, defiant almost, but the little lift of her chin gave her away.

“I thought you wanted to be friends,” she said, but her pulse skipped with sudden possibility.

“You didn't answer my question.”

“I thought you wanted to be friends. Then you try to kiss me. I don't kiss friends.”

“Neither do I,” he said.

She seemed to consider this for a moment. “You had no problems kissing me at Grace's wedding,” she pointed out.

“Yes, but we weren't close friends. We just grew up together. It's not the same. Now… we've shared things, Ivy. Things we haven't shared with other people.”

She let out a sigh of exasperation and set her hands on her hips. “Then why did you kiss me that night?”

“Because…” He shook his head. Because he couldn't resist her. Because, for the first time, something other than the pace of the ER was making him feel alive and excited. Because he'd thought it would be for one night. “Because I wanted to.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And do you always get what you want?”

His breath was heavy as he took her in. The curve of her nose, the slight parting of her lips, the light in her eyes. Her expression was still poised in question, or maybe, he thought with a jolt, expectation. His chest was pounding as he considered his options, but no amount of thinking through this was going to sway him one way or another. He wanted to kiss her. Taste her. Feel her mouth, hot in his. Run his hands over those hips and explore her soft, sweet skin.

He took a step forward, matching her expression. “You tell me.”

A small gasp escaped from her but was quickly silenced by the firm press of Brett's mouth on hers. Unlike their last kiss, which had felt so tender, this time Brett was leaving no room for confusion about his intentions. She stiffened against his touch, trying to resist him, but pleasure pooled warm in her stomach and the space between her legs began to ache as he wrapped two arms around her waist and pulled her to his chest.

Oh, God. She wanted to fight this. The feeling he was stirring within her. The need for more. She opened her mouth to him, letting him in. He kissed her deeply, not giving her a chance to break away, and she wasn't so sure she could, even if she wanted to. Her hands, which had been pushed off her hips by the strength of his arms, hung loosely at her sides, as if determined to stay out of this drama she was creating for herself, but, like her mouth, they lost the fight. She slid her hands up onto Brett's arms, taking in every curve of his hard muscles, and up onto his shoulders as she leaned into him. His breath was heavy as he kissed her harder, and she parted her legs to let his slide between and press against the tightness that was building within her.

“What are we doing?” she asked when they finally came apart. She blinked up at him and resisted the urge to flatten his disheveled locks.
I did that
, she realized with a flutter.

“I don't really know.” Brett's voice was low and coarse. “But I like it.”

She firmed her mouth and smoothed her dress. Not good enough.

Turning to stare at the folding table, she felt her spirits begin to sag. She'd let him in again. Let him take her to places she'd wanted, to dream dreams that should have stayed in her unconscious. And nothing had changed.
Men don't change, Ivy.
That's what her mother had always said. When would she learn?

“Well, it can't happen again,” she insisted.

“Oh no?”

She glanced back to see that slow, sexy smile. “No.” But even as she said it, her body was saying yes.

She reached under the table and starting fiddling with the legs, suddenly desperate to get the thing closed. To have the shop cleaned up and ready for tomorrow. To have Brett gone. Out of sight and, hopefully, out of mind. Only it was harder now, after that kiss, after knowing that he shared her secret, that he was somehow closer to her than most.

She reached lower, fumbling, and then stood back up. A rush of dizziness hit her and she set a hand on the surface to collect herself for a moment.

Brett was quick to notice. “What is it?”

She resented his sharp tone. He sounded like Henry. Overly concerned at the slightest little thing.

Then she thought of the reason why Henry always sounded that way. It was because he cared.

Was it possible that Brett did, too?

“I'm fine.” She brushed him away and went to reach down for a table leg again, but the blood rushed in her ears, and she knew it was no use.

It was late. It had been a busy night. And her blood sugar was low. She didn't need to prick her finger to know it.

Neither did Brett.

“Sit down,” he ordered, grabbing a folding chair from the stack and tenting its legs. He strode to the back of the shop, returning with a juice box and her handbag.

“I don't…” She sighed. The truth was she did need, well, help. Help from Henry. Help from Brett. “Thank you.”

He nodded brusquely and watched her take a sip from the straw. Then, as she finished the juice box, he disassembled the folding table and carried it and the chairs to the storage room. She was just starting to slide one of the display tables back into place when he came back through the doorway.

“Don't even think about it,” his voice boomed.

“But I know where it goes,” she protested. There was a very precise angle to these tables to allow for optimal visual presentation when a customer first entered the shop. She'd gone so far as counting the floorboards to know where the corner of each one went. “If they don't get put back right, the room will be too cluttered and customers won't be able to move around, and it won't have the same impact.”

Brett was listening to this with forced patience, which she gathered by the slight flare of his nostrils. His hands were set firmly on his hips as he tipped his chin, staring her down. “Anyone ever told you that you need to let people in more?”

She gave him a long look. “You should talk.”

He shrugged and, grabbing her waist, gently pushed her away from the table.

She hated the thrill that simple gesture gave her.

Her body still warm from his touch, she stood back and verbally guided him to the floorboard where the left front table leg needed to be. “An inch to the left should do it.”

His brown eyes widened. “An inch?”

She nodded primly. “An inch.”

Muttering something under his breath, he did as he was told, and eventually, all the tables were put back in their usual places. Just to be sure, Ivy did a lap of the room.

“Okay, you really need to chill out,” he said, but she noticed the amusement that flashed through his dark pupils.

“And would
chill out
include casually kissing, or friends with benefits, or whatever else you have planned?”

His jaw twitched, and his eyes fell flat. “I don't have anything planned, Ivy. But that doesn't mean I don't want something.”

Her mouth went dry as she stared at him across the room, and suddenly her cozy little shop felt very small. Too small. Like the walls were caving in and she didn't know which way to turn. Or what to believe. Or if what he was offering was good enough.

“You should get some rest,” he said, reaching for his coat and the sad arrangement of flowers. “Good night, Ivy.”

She stood still, watching as he slipped out the door and disappeared into the darkness.

So he was proving to be a nice guy after all. The guy with all the qualities she'd first noticed in him. That didn't mean he was capable of giving her what she needed.

She'd have to reread
Running from the Ring: Men Who Simply Can't Commit
again tonight. Lord knew she wouldn't be getting any sleep.

The flower arrangement looked out of place sitting on the coffee table in the carriage house. He'd have given them to his mother if they'd turned out any better, but the sad state of things would only call into question who made them, and there was no disguising the fact that he had. No doubt his brother would tease him for months over taking this class, if Rosemary hadn't already let everyone in town know about it. There'd be no explaining it, not unless he wanted to profess his feelings for Ivy.

Feelings. He'd made it his point not to have any. For women. For patients. Sometimes, even for his own family. And he'd failed on every account.

His gut stirred as it always did when he thought of that woman out there somewhere, with a baby by now. A baby who would grow up without a father. Just as Brett had.

He clenched a fist, trying to hold back the building emotions, but it was no use. Nothing could change the fact that a man was dead. Nothing Brett did could bring him back.

Just like nothing could have changed the fact that his mother developed cancer that he couldn't wish away.

That Ivy had diabetes.

He'd promised himself a long time ago not to get close, not to care so much, to distance himself from that type of hurt and pain and potential loss that came with illnesses and diseases that could only be managed but not cured. He'd vowed never to cry himself to sleep the way he had so many nights when he was young, alone in the house with Mark, their mother still in the hospital hooked up to machines.

Headlights illuminated the backyard, and Brett stood, walking to the windows to see Mark's car pulling to a stop in front of the garage below. Grinning, he unlocked the door and cracked it, then walked to the fridge and took out two beers.

“Saw your light on,” Mark said. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” He was grateful for the company. He handed his brother a beer and nodded toward the leather couch.

Boxes were still stacked along the far wall and Mark gestured to one. “Still moving in or moving out?”

Brett took a long pull on his beer. “I can't stay here forever.”

Mark frowned. “The carriage house or Briar Creek?”

Brett shifted against the couch and considered his options. Mark understood him better than anyone. “Honestly, I'm not sure.”

He took another sip of his beer, unsettled. As much as he hated to admit it, now that he was back, a part of him would be sad to leave.

“What about the job?”

“It's temporary,” Brett reminded his brother. “Through the end of the year. It's not exactly what I set out to do, either.”

“Does Mom know that?”

He gave his brother a knowing look, and Mark whistled under his breath. “She's not going to be happy.”

“I know.” Brett frowned.

“Neither am I,” Mark admitted. “But I get it. Briar Creek's a pretty small place for so much history.”

Too much history, Brett considered. And now, after getting close to Ivy, there would be even more. He didn't want Ivy to be a girl he looked back on or who triggered additional bad feelings and guilt about his hometown. He wanted… more than he could have with her, he supposed.

Her life was here. And his wasn't.

“It won't be easy to leave again.” If anything, it would be harder than ever. Last time he'd come to town was before his mother's scare, before her cancer was foremost in his mind again. Before he started thinking of Ivy, caring about her.