Love Blooms on Main Street (18 page)

“What do you have planned for the rest of the day?” she asked. See, this was nice. A week ago a question like that would make her worried she sounded suggestive or eager, but now that they were friends, it was totally normal. Yep, totally and completely normal. About as normal as gazing into your friend's eyes and wishing he would just lunge across the couch and slide his hands between your thighs.

“I might hit the gym. How about you?”

“I have to go to the flower market tonight, so I'll probably catch a nap beforehand.”

“At midnight.” Damn. He looked so cute when he cocked that eyebrow.

“Yep. Midnight.”

He leaned back into a cushion. “I'm curious about this market. It must be pretty special to drag yourself there at that hour.”

“I'd invite you along, but seeing as you hate flowers so much—”

“Maybe this market will change my mind.” He grinned.

She blinked. He wasn't… He couldn't be suggesting he join her? “You did hear me say midnight, right?”

“Honey, I'm an ER doctor. I'm used to operating at that hour.” He leaned over and set his mug on the tray. “Besides, I should probably tag along, give some input for the fundraiser. It's fast approaching.”

Ivy felt a little flicker of panic when she considered all the work she needed to do. “True.”

His lips curved into an easy smile that made her stomach roll over. “It's a date then.”

Ivy swallowed and pushed the swell of her heart back where it belonged. “It's a date.”

B
rett was downstairs waiting at half past eleven when Ivy slipped out the front door, holding two thermoses of coffee and wearing a grin that made him stand a little straighter.

“We're taking the wagon,” she informed him, jingling her car keys. Before he could protest, she added, “It's the only way to transport the flowers.”

“Just how many are you planning on buying?” he asked.

She grinned knowingly. “You'll see.”

“Something tells me I'm going to regret tagging along,” he joked.

Ivy stopped walking, her face serious in the glow of the sensor light behind the alley when she turned to him. “You don't need to come if you changed your mind.”

Like hell. Now that he was here, with her again, that familiar twinge was back. He didn't want to go. The few hours that had passed since he'd left her apartment had been long, and even a few hours in the gym with Mark and a homemade dinner with his mother had done little to dull the emotion that was building in his chest. It was one he recognized but one he seldom experienced outside of the hospital when he was waiting for an ambulance to arrive. Anticipation.

He jammed his hands into his pockets. “No, I think I should go. For the benefit and all…”

She didn't question the excuse, and he waited outside the passenger door while she slipped into the car and popped his lock. The engine started without much trouble, and he felt a flicker of pride, wondering if his dad would feel the same, if his dad would have even cared.

He didn't think of him when he was in Baltimore or when he was working. It was one of the perks of being away from here. There weren't any reminders. He could compartmentalize his life into nice, neat boxes. Most of the time. Here in Briar Creek… everything overlapped. There were too many ties. Too much history. It was messy. And he didn't like messy.

Which was exactly why he shouldn't be going for a midnight road trip with a girl he was wildly attracted to. A girl with health problems. A girl who could end up being an official patient one day if she didn't take proper care of herself.

His gut tightened at the thought.

“So,” Ivy said, once they were on the road that took them straight out of town, “you aren't going to cause a scene or anything, are you? Because I can promise you that everyone who is at the market will love flowers about as much as I do. You need a florist license to get in.”

“I promise I'll behave,” he said when she met his eye for a moment before skirting it back to the road. Only he wasn't so sure he wanted to behave when he trailed his gaze down over the curve of her breasts to linger on her endlessly long legs.

“So, let me get this straight. You don't like flowers because you see them around the hospital too much.”

“It's more complicated than that,” he said, shifting in the seat. It was hard and uncomfortable, and he doubted he'd ever get the hint of rose scent out of his clothing.

“I've got time,” Ivy said, flicking her turn signal, even though there wasn't another car in sight in any direction.

He hesitated. “I was in high school when my mom was diagnosed with cancer.” He didn't know why he was bothering with this, why he couldn't have just made up an excuse—he was good at that. But something about being here with Ivy in this dark car, the radio turned off, the road open, gave him a sense of peace and connection he hadn't felt in a long time.

“I remember,” Ivy said, and he could detect a hint of regret in her tone. Normally, that type of thing would make him slam on the brakes, but her gentle encouragement was different than overt pressing, and so he decided to go on.

“My dad had been gone for years by then, and it was just me and Mark. He stayed back from going to culinary school initially to help.” He shook his head, squinting at the unfairness of it. The horrible position they had all been put in—boys forced to grow up too quickly, his mother left with no one else to depend on. “I just remember wishing, more than anything, that there was something I could do to make it stop. To make her better. And wishing there was another adult, since my dad wasn't around to step in and take control of the situation.”

“And instead they sent flowers,” Ivy finished.

“Yep. Flowers and balloons, and more flowers. And every time the nurse knocked on the door holding a new bouquet, it was a fresh reminder that there was nothing anyone could do to help. Not the way we needed to be helped.”

“They did what they could to show they cared. That they were thinking of you.”

Brett narrowed his eyes at the road. “Deep down I knew that, but I felt so helpless at the time. I swore I would never feel that helpless again.”

“Is that why you became a doctor?”

“I hated hospitals. Never wanted to step foot in one again. But I never wanted to feel that way again, either.”

Ivy turned onto the highway and stepped on the accelerator. The engine revved and clanked, and Brett eyed her for a reaction, but from the casual way she merged into the empty lane, he could only surmise she was used to it.

He chuckled under his breath. She was a scrapper. Got by on what she had. Made the most of her situation. He admired that about her. Understood it all too well.

“So, can I ask why you didn't choose to become an oncologist then?”

It was an obvious question, and one Mark, his aunt Rosemary, and his cousins had voiced at some point, too. Only his mother had never questioned his decision, most likely refusing to think his career path should be about her and what she'd been through. He'd always been good at science; medicine was a natural choice.

But it was more than that, and deep down, everyone knew it.

“I like the pace of emergency medicine,” he said. “Not just the sense of urgency but the fact that most people are in and out, moved into surgery or transferred to a department, then another case rolls through.”

“But you don't have a chance to connect with a patient, then,” Ivy observed.

Exactly
, he thought. “You don't need to connect with a patient to know how to treat them.”

He glanced over at her, noticing the way her profile creased at this. “Yes, but most people want a doctor who cares. Who's vested.” She caught his eye. “Are you trying to tell me you don't have any bedside manner? I find that hard to believe.”

He'd been accused of it, more than once, but it had been overlooked by the precision of his skill, his ability to quickly assess a situation, make a plan of action, and implement it. No one could fault him for a job well done.

But they could fault him for messing up.

“People die in the emergency room, especially in a big hospital like I came from. It's better not to let emotions interfere,” he said simply.

“Yes, but you're a doctor. You obviously care what happens to the patient.”

“Of course,” he said tersely. “In the ER, it's all action; no one is lingering. There's no time. It suits me better, that's all. I want to go to work, help where I can, and leave it at that.”

Only sometimes that was easier said than done, wasn't it?

Brett leaned against a table and watched Ivy carefully study a bucket of pink flowers. They had a name, one she had pronounced with great enthusiasm, but it was lost on him, lost on the way his heart felt a little lighter at the glimpse of her smile and the way he didn't want to peel his eyes from her as she eagerly sought out the best of the bunch.

She looked up, catching him watching her, and blushed a little. “I get a little swept away when it comes to peonies.”

He couldn't hide his amusement. “So I've noticed.”

“They're my favorite,” she said, glancing down to admire the bouquet in her hand.

“Now that doesn't seem very professional,” he joked. “Shouldn't you be a little less biased?”

“Not when it comes to these,” she said. “But of course, I do love all flowers, and sometimes it is hard to choose… Except, I don't really like daisies.” She leaned into him as they turned into the next aisle. “But don't tell anyone. That stays between us.”

He winked down at her. “Your secret is safe with me.”

He caught a flicker in her gaze, something that reminded him of another secret he was holding, another inner part of Ivy she kept closed off from the rest of the world, even if there was nothing to hide. Still, he understood her reasons for keeping things to herself, and the knowledge he harbored both frightened him and connected him to her. She could take care of herself—hell, she'd been doing it for a long time already—but she'd trusted him enough to tell him something private. He couldn't take that lightly.

Ivy stopped and held up some large white flowers he recalled seeing before. “What do you think of these for the fundraiser?”

He stared at her blankly, almost forgetting that he had suggested tagging along under the guise of giving some input on flowers of all things. Her blue-green eyes were wide and questioning as she waited for him to respond, but it was her lips he was focused on. So pink, so full…

“Brett?” She slipped him a little smile. “Remember, you promised not to let on about your true feelings about these things, so… be nice.”

Be nice. He wanted to be nice with Ivy… maybe even a little naughty. And the last thing he wanted to discuss was flowers. “Those will do.”

She shook her head and gave him a long look. “I'm going to give you some options,” she warned. “And I'm eager for your input.”

“Trust me that much, do you?” He cocked an eyebrow, his pulse kicking.

“Well. When it comes to flowers, I am the expert, so while I will take your opinion into consideration, I will only be giving you a handful of options to consider.”

He laughed. “Good. I've never been good at making choices.”

She looked at him doubtfully. “I would think just the opposite. You're an ER physician. You think on your feet.”

“True, but rarely are there varying courses of action.”

“So you're talking about your personal life then,” she surmised. Her eyes raked over him and then held his gaze long enough to make his gut tighten. He rolled back on his heels, suddenly feeling like she could see straight through to the heart of him.

“I guess you could say that.”

“Interesting,” she murmured. “What makes it so difficult?”

He shrugged. “The fear of making the wrong choice, I suppose. The fear of letting someone down.”

Her eyes went sharply to his and then drifted back to a bunch of flowers as she set them on her cart. Brett stepped forward, surprised at the amount she was buying, and said, “Here. Let me.”

Her expression seemed pleased as she pulled back, her hip skimming his thigh as they switched places. Heat shot straight to his groin and he gripped the handle of the cart tight, pushing it along as Ivy added more.

Finally, they reached the counter. Brett had expected the transaction to be straightforward, for the flowers to be tallied and paid for, but it seemed that Ivy had other ideas.

“These here aren't worth what you're asking,” she said, motioning to some red flowers.

The graying man behind the counter gave her a long look. “You don't need to take them.”

“Well, no one will for this price. I'll give you seventy percent of asking,” she said steadily.

Brett felt his mouth begin to twitch as she held her ground, and his heart sped up when the man nodded. “Fine.”

Before he could reach for her credit card, Ivy quickly added, “Same goes for the irises.”

Brett stared at her, but she didn't meet his eye. She stood tall, patiently waiting for the man's response, unwavering in her stance.

“Fine,” the man eventually said.

She didn't show any reaction until they were out the door, and only then did her mouth curve into a slow smile. “I think that trip was a success.”

Brett grinned down at her, felt his desire mix with something a little deeper, a little closer to admiration, and swallowed hard. He hadn't known what would come of the night. What he even wanted to come of it, other than a few more minutes of her company. “I couldn't agree more,” he said.

Ivy finished loading the last of the flowers into the back of the station wagon, grinning at her loot. The wholesale flower market never got old, and she knew that a few times Brett had caught her looking around like a kid in a toy store. The colors, the textures of the petals, the shapes and sizes of each variety were still exciting and always reminded her why she was doing this and why she was willing to do anything to keep her shop going.

Unable to resist, she climbed in the car and said to Brett, “Now wasn't that wonderful?”

She was teasing him, sure, but she was surprised when he begrudgingly said, “Maybe a little.”

“Excuse me? I don't think I quite heard you.” She leaned forward, close enough to catch a hint of his musk over the fresh smell of flowers that filled every pocket of the station wagon. “What was that you said? I could have sworn you said it was wonderful.”

“It was better than I expected.”

Ivy pulled back, grinning in satisfaction as she started the car and pulled it out of the still-packed parking lot. Florists from all over came to this market—it was the best in the state, and she'd tried them all—but by daybreak it would be cleared out, the best flowers gone.

“So what do we do now, then?”

“Well, I drop these off in the shop, and then I try to catch a few hours of sleep. The store doesn't open until ten, so I try to be down there by eight to get everything ready for the week. It's not so bad now that I close the store on Sundays. It helps to have a day off.”

She hadn't admitted that to anyone before. She must be more tired than she thought.

A good night's sleep would help her to think straight again. But something told her that after spending so much time with Brett, sleep wouldn't come easily. If at all.