Love Blooms on Main Street (15 page)

He couldn't think about it. Not when he didn't even know if he'd get the position in DC. Or anywhere else. For all he knew, his career was finished, over. His days as a trauma surgeon were gone; the path he'd so meticulously carved had reached its end. He'd spend the rest of his days treating sprained wrists and his weekends drinking coffee at the diner.

Was it really such a bad thought?

It was when he considered everything he'd given up to pursue something else.

“Did you hear that Brett's heading up the hospital fundraiser?” Mark offered, and Sharon's face immediately perked up.

“I was actually wondering if Rosemary and Thyme might cater the event.”

“Absolutely,” Mark agreed. “Shoot me the details and Anna and I will put together the menu.”

“I knew I could count on you,” Brett said. He always could. “I secured a table, so be sure to tell Rosemary,” he said to his mother. Even though they were technically linked by the now departed Hastings brothers, the two women were as close as biological sisters, and as difficult as his aunt Rosemary could be at times, Brett would never overlook the generosity she'd showed his mother when they needed family the most.

“How about you?” Mark elbowed him. “Bringing a date?”

It was easy for Mark, now that he had Anna, but his brother sure hadn't liked the attention he received back when he was still single, when every woman in town over a certain age was inquiring about the state of his love life.

“I'm working the event. Remember?”

Mark just shrugged. “So? I am, too, now that I'm catering.”

“Yes, but you work with your date. It's a little different.”

“I'm sure there are plenty of women down at the hospital who would love to be invited,” their mother said.

And plenty of women who'd be looking for a second date. And a third. And maybe a proposal, and a white wedding, and two point five kids with a picket fence. He wasn't having any of it.

“I'd rather not mix business with pleasure,” he said simply.

“Fair enough,” his mother commented, but he heard Mark snort. Brett slid his brother a glance. It was different for Mark. He and Anna wanted the same things. But no woman would want what he did. And no woman should have to settle for what he was offering.

“You should talk to Rosemary about donating some private dance lessons for the auction,” their mother suggested.

“Good idea.” Dr. Kessler had already secured the majority of the auction items, and tickets had been selling steadily long before he arrived back in Vermont. Now that the food and flowers were arranged, hopefully all he had to do was rent a tux and show up. And give a speech.

He dreaded that part. Public speaking had never been his strength. He preferred science and math and burying himself in a good book. Sure, he was happy to throw a ball, and he had been, as Ivy had mentioned, captain of the lacrosse team his senior year, but being on a team was different than taking the spotlight. It was one of the reasons he'd chosen emergency medicine. There was a sense of camaraderie there you didn't find in other specialties. It was all hands on deck, sleeves rolled, everyone ready for action. No one was going it alone.

But that didn't mean one person alone couldn't be responsible for what happened.

The pancakes were up and his mother set them in front of him. She met his eye for a brief second, and he wrestled with the emotions that stirred inside him at their warmth and familiarity. It had been a long time since he'd looked someone square in the eye, dared to look deep. Most days, especially recently, he couldn't even meet his own gaze in the mirror.

He realized she was waiting for him to take a bite, and he obliged. Sugary sweetness coated his mouth as he chewed, stirring up memories of sitting around the breakfast table, arguing with Mark over who got the comics section of the newspaper, the smell of coffee percolating, and his mother wearing her peach terrycloth bathrobe.

It felt like so long ago. But in so many ways, it felt like yesterday.

When was the last day they had gathered like that, first as a family of four and later as a family of three, not knowing that it was the last time? That the next week their mother would be given a devastating diagnosis and their world would be turned upside down? That their weekends would be spent in the hospital, not lounging around the old table in the kitchen overlooking the tree-filled backyard. That Brett would go off to college and that by the time he returned, Mark would have finally gone, too, and then… Then they were suddenly grown. Life had moved forward. And the casual comfort of their established routine was replaced with responsibility and ambition and a yearning for something different, something that didn't involve lazy pancake breakfasts.

Was it worth it?

He thought of his training, the years of studying, the hours he'd spent on his feet in residency, soaking up everything he could, learning on the job. The desperate gleam in a loved one's eyes as he rushed a patient into triage.

He forced another bite of pancakes into his mouth, even though his tongue felt dry and he'd lost his appetite.

Maybe it wasn't worth it. But it would have to be.

I
vy tapped her shoes together and grinned with satisfaction. The polka-dot kitten-heel sandals hadn't seen the light of day in two years, and their discovery at the far back corner of her closet had been met with a grin of delight followed by a chain of sneezes. After she'd wiped away the dust, they were good as new, and judging from the blister that was starting to form on her big toe, they nearly were.

She slowed her pace so as not to hobble and began heading back to Petals on Main, where, after a bit of thumping and banging and spewing of a few choice curse words, she'd managed to move her beloved station wagon at six o'clock that morning, before most of Main Street had awoken.

A flutter of nerves rumbled through her stomach as she inched away from the bookstore. Brunch with her friends this morning had been her test—if they commented on her clothes in the wrong way, she'd have time to run home and change. Or, rather, limp home and change. But instead they'd simply commented on the cute tank top and skirt, leaving Ivy pleased to know that she was not overdressed for her… whatever it was… with Brett, but rather, simply appropriately attired for what promised to be a sunny Sunday afternoon.

The clock tower of the old church at the end of Second Avenue began to chime, and with a lurch, Ivy realized that there was a good chance Brett would make it to the shop before she did. She decided that was a good thing. Less time to flit around and get nervous. She ran her tongue over her teeth, happy that she'd opted for an herbal tea instead of coffee so she didn't risk coffee breath.

She stopped walking. Why? Why did it matter if she had coffee breath or not? In case he tried to kiss her?

He's not going to kiss you again, Ivy. So just get over it and stop wishing he would.

Because she realized, after last night in the car, that a part of her did still yearn for the touch of his lips. For the excitement she'd felt all through those cold winter months, imagining what it would be like when she saw him again.

But now she knew. Now she knew exactly how it would be. And it would be anything but the grand romance she'd envisioned.

Petals on Main was just up ahead. Normally, Ivy cheered up at the sight of its awning, in a crisp grass green, and the cast iron planters bursting with colorful blooms that flanked the paned front door. Since she wasn't open today, the racks of galvanized pots she usually propped outside the front windows were instead tucked in the storage room, and she spent the rest of the walk back to the shop thinking of what she'd look for at the wholesale market that night… and whether or not she spotted Brett anywhere in her periphery.

She was so busy darting her eyes that she didn't even notice the figure parked on the bench outside the storefront until she was too close to hide her surprise.

“Brett!”

He looked at her quizzically. “You seem surprised to see me. Wasn't this the time we agreed to meet?”

He was dressed casually, in jeans and a tight T-shirt that showed off the ripples of his chest and clung to the curves of his thick biceps. A day of stubble graced his square jaw, framing that slightly cocky grin, and his deep-set eyes danced with invitation, as if daring her to fall for him. And she wanted to. So badly.

She lifted her chin. “No, this was the time. Sorry, I just… I was in my own world,” she finished hurriedly, keeping her body a healthy four feet from the park bench, even though she could almost imagine what it would feel like to scoot next to him, relax in the shade of the oak tree that swayed in the breeze overhead, feel the heat of his body radiating next to her own.

Crazy talk.

“The car's around the back,” she offered, allowing her eyes to lift as he stood.

“You mean to tell me you actually got that thing to move?” His eyebrow arched in such an overly friendly way that she had to look away.

“I told you,” she said as she led the way to the small alley behind the building. “It does drive. I use it every day.”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head as they approached the car. “Let's put it to the test then.”

Ivy tightened her grip on the leather straps of her handbag. “No.”

Merriment twinkled in his eyes, and in the afternoon sunlight, flecks of copper sparked through the rich brown color. “I'm here to help. There's only one way to know if this thing can run.”

He reached out for her handbag, and Ivy tensed, thinking of what she had in the bag. Her blood glucose monitor. Her insulin shots. The juice boxes and fruit snacks. Everything she didn't want him to see.

She turned slowly as she slid her hand into the bag, feeling for the metal keys and the familiar rubber key chain in the shape of a tulip. She fumbled deeper, sensing Brett's eyes from her periphery and noticing the amusement in his grin, the mock impatience he showed by rolling back on his heels, refusing to busy himself with something else, determined instead to make this difficult for her.

Finally, once her face was starting to burn with humiliation, her fingers touched something metal and cold.

“Here,” she said, triumphantly pulling the keys from her bag.

“Took you long enough,” he commented, turning out his palm. “What do you have in there anyway?”

“Girl stuff.” She glanced at his hand, so masculine and inviting, and dropped the keys into it before she did something stupid, like set her own in it.

Brett glanced down at the key chain, his brow furrowing a bit. “You don't have an automatic lock, I see.”

“Well, it's too old.”

“So no air bags, either.” He tsked under his breath as he manually unlocked the door and slid inside. Frowning in concentration, he tried the ignition. Ivy bit her lip, knowing what would happen. The engine revved and surged but never quite clicked. He tried again. And again.

Finally, he stepped out of the car. He set his hands on his hips as he towered above her, but Ivy refused to bristle. She was used to this kind of treatment from her brother; she could take it. But somehow, coming from Brett, it had a whole different meaning. A sort of warm and tingly meaning. A good meaning. Maybe even a sexy meaning.

She suddenly realized what Jane meant when she said she liked Henry's protective side.

“Am I in trouble?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper.

His dark eyes gave her the once-over before locking her gaze. She held her breath, wishing he didn't have to look so good in that tight T-shirt. “You're in trouble, all right,” he said, his voice hoarse and scratchy. He cleared his throat and broke her stare. Stepping around to the front of the car, he popped the hood. “Have you considered trading up for a newer model?” He reached inside and started inspecting whatever was in there… machinery, she supposed.

Of course she had, but unlike him, she wasn't earning a doctor's salary. “I like my car. Besides, I'd rather put my money toward other things.”

He looked up. “So safety isn't your top priority.”

She stepped back, hurt at the accusation, but he just laughed again and turned his attention to the car. Anger surged, stirring up the feelings she'd tried to suppress, the guilt that crept up every now and again when she thought of how recklessly she had behaved and how much she'd caused people who cared about her to worry.

“I do care about my safety,” she ground out.

Brett looked up in surprise. “Okay,” he finally said. “Then let's figure this out.”

She hated how much it thrilled her that he had somehow made her problem something they would solve together. It made them feel almost like a couple.

She suddenly realized that Brett was watching her from under the hood of the car. His dark eyes were intense and unwavering, and she shifted on her heels, feeling the intensity of his scrutiny.

“I don't bite,” he said, giving her a slow grin. Ivy felt her heart lurch on his words. They both knew he did bite—certain body parts in the heat of the moment. Maybe he just didn't remember that part. Unfortunately, she couldn't forget.

She reached up and touched her neck, recalling the tender graze of his teeth, and then just as quickly dropped her arm.

“You're not going to learn anything from all the way over there.” He rested on his elbows, watching her. God help her, a smudge of grease stained the underside of his forearm, and his fingers were already coated. She swallowed hard. If he looked as rugged and capable working on a patient as he did on a car, it was no wonder the nurses at the hospital could barely control themselves.

“You mean… you want me to help?” A solid five feet of space was a safe distance. Far enough that she could quell any sudden urges she had to reach out and stroke him. Far enough that she didn't have to sense his body, just stare at it. Admire it, the way one might admire an actor on the stage.

Blowing out a breath, she slowly came closer, and this time it had nothing to do with her impractical shoes. Brett was back at work, elbows-deep under the hood, by the time she reached him. She tried to stand at the edge of the front bumper, but it seemed like such a halfhearted effort given how dirty he was getting with the work that she decided to move a little closer, until they were standing side by side. His eyes were trained on the car parts, but hers were trained on his man parts. And oh, they were lovely. His broad back pressed and strained against the thin cotton of his shirt, and she stared at it longingly, remembering how good it felt to press up against his torso, to feel the manly weight of it, so different from her own slender frame. She watched as his arms flexed and pulled, the cords of his muscles flexing as he tugged at something under the hood. Whatever it was, it wasn't nearly as interesting as the way the soft waves of his hair caressed the back of his neck…

“Reach into my pocket and grab my wrench,” she thought she heard him say.

She blinked. “Ex—excuse me?”

“My wrench.” He turned and looked at her over his shoulder, one eyebrow cocked the same way it had the night of Grace's wedding, when he'd suggested they get some air. And she'd known by the simple slip of his smile what he meant by
air
. “You do know what a wrench is, don't you?”

“Of course I know what a wrench is!” She pinched her lips, but her heart was doing jumping jacks as she lowered her gaze to his backside, where sure enough, a metal wrench was poking out, along with a screwdriver and what was probably his phone.

Was she seriously about to touch the man's butt? Not that she hadn't possibly already done so. That part of her memory was still a bit foggy. But she seemed to recall that as he lifted her leg and pushed his hand down her thigh that she had in fact reached down and given him a good hard squeeze…

Reddening, she stared at the wrench, glinting in the sun. It seemed to wink at her, as if mocking this moment and her totally unacceptable feelings for a man she could not have but wanted nevertheless!

It was no different than being asked to pass the scalpel, she told herself. Brett was probably used to barking out orders like this.
Just pretend you're a nurse. That car is a patient, desperately in need of medical attention. Do not look at his perfect backside. Do not touch anything but the wrench.

With shaking fingers she used her thumb and pointer finger to grip the top of the tool and then precariously dislodge it from his rather tight pocket. She exhaled in relief. She hadn't even realized she'd been holding her breath.

“Here you go,” she said, smiling as she handed it over.

Brett accepted it as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. As if he hadn't just more or less insisted she caress one of his personal areas.

Then she noticed his hands again. Of course. They were coated in grease and—she couldn't resist another glance—those jeans looked sort of expensive.

Heart sinking, she decided to make herself useful. “I'll go get you a rag,” she offered.

Happy to be away from him for a bit, she let herself into the back door of the store and leaned against the wall, waiting for her heart to stop pounding. The storeroom was dark, but she didn't bother turning on a light. Instead, she grabbed a towel from the stack she kept on hand to clean up dirt and water spills and pulled her blood glucose monitor out of her bag. She had made a habit of checking it throughout the day, regardless of how she was feeling. Every time she did it, she eased the guilt, reconfirmed that she was on the right path, taking care of herself, being responsible.

The meter registered 110. Smiling to herself, Ivy tucked the monitor into her bag.

Brett was bent at the waist over her hood when she came back outside.

“How's it looking?” she asked, hoping he had some good news for her. She knew the car was old—it was old when she'd bought it six years ago—but she was hoping to get a few more years out of it, at least. The thought of coming up with a down payment, much less securing financing, for something new made her stomach clench with anxiety. She'd find the money, but it just meant paying back Henry would be further delayed.

Her plan was to write a check in full as a wedding gift. Then he couldn't refuse it.

And if he tried… then she'd just start a college savings fund for Sophie. She had it all planned out. That is, if other things didn't derail her effort.

Brett tossed her the keys. “Give it a try and we'll find out.”

Ivy walked over to the car and slid into the driver's seat. She clicked the key into place and, saying a silent prayer, turned it. The engine revved and then settled to a gentle purr.

Grinning, she turned it off and climbed out of the car. “You did it!” she exclaimed, running over to the front where Brett stood grinning.

Normally, she'd probably hug a friend for this kind of thing, but Brett wasn't exactly a friend, and the last thing she needed was for him to go thinking she was trying to hit on him or something.