Love Blooms on Main Street (21 page)

“But I want to pay you back,” she protested. “I told you that all along.”

“I don't need the money, Ivy—”

And she knew that. And he knew that she knew it. “But I don't feel comfortable taking that kind of help.” She took a deep breath. Here went nothing. “Now, I know how you feel about my schedule—”

As expected, Henry opened his mouth to voice his opinion on the matter, but Ivy held a hand up firmly. “I'm doing well, Henry. I really am. I wanted you to hear this straight from me. I've decided to start offering those monthly flower arranging classes.”

“Ivy—”

“I know you worry about how hard I'm working, but nothing you can say will change my mind. I'm healthy, I'm taking care of myself, and I know my limits. Now, I'm not asking for your permission. I'm simply informing you.”

Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow. “And I'm not going to try to stop you.”

She blinked. “You're not?”

“No. Like you said, you're in a better place now. If you say you're taking your medication and following the diet plan the doctor gave you, then I believe you.”

Ivy chewed on her lip, recalling the incident at the Fourth of July festival. She forced herself not to indulge in it. It was one time, and she was human. A human with a condition that took management and care. She was doing her best. Unlike a year ago. That counted for something.

“I'm glad we had this talk.” She smiled.

Henry grinned. “Me too. Now, want me to run an ad for the class in tomorrow's paper? Free of charge.”

No matter what, Henry would always be the one man she could count on. Perhaps the only one.

F
or her first class, Ivy decided to dress for the occasion, in a floral-printed sundress. Eight people were registered, albeit most of them her friends, and she figured a few more walk-ins would make an appearance, too.

Ivy looked around the shop with a critical eye and went over her list one more time. She'd pushed most of the display stands to the front of the room to allow for a large folding table where everyone would gather. Tonight's project would be simple, and small glass vases were stacked on her workspace at the back of the room, ready to be handed out along with the mix of stems she'd selected.

Jane had offered to help out, but Ivy was using this class for extra money to pay Henry back, not that she would tell Jane that, and with the wedding fast approaching, she knew Jane could use some extra time to focus on last-minute details.

Grace was the first to arrive, with Anna following just behind.

“I've always wanted to learn how to do this,” Anna admitted. “Every time I buy flowers at the market, they end up looking all wrong when I put them in a vase.”

“Same here.” Grace winced.

It was true that the most basic principles of proportion and ratio could make even the most beautiful flowers look sad or stark when placed in the wrong-sized vase. Just hearing her friends' words confirmed her decision to offer the class, and she felt another bubble of excitement as she eyed the door, anxious for things to begin.

More people filtered through the open door, and soon the shop was filled with the sound of voices, all talking over one another, often interspersed with a peal of laughter. Ivy felt a warm tingle rush through her. This is what she loved about this town. This is why she did what she did. Even if she wasn't going to get rich running this shop, her life was completely full.

And she knew the same could be said for most of the people in this room.

Kara poked her head in, calling out a cheerful hello, but her smile seemed to slip a bit when she noticed her mother already positioned near the head of the table.

“Come on in!” Ivy called. Three walk-ins had already joined, but it was time to get things started. She motioned to the opposite end of the table from where Rosemary sat. “Why don't you sit here, next to Anna?”

Kara seemed to smile a little easier. “Perfect.”

Ivy watched as her friend gave her mother a warm but brief greeting and took her seat. She knew Rosemary could be difficult at times, but she still craved the connection Kara had with her mother, no matter the occasional strain. What she would have given to have a mother to take her shopping once in a while or meet for lunch. She and her mother had never had that type of bond—and now it was too late.

Henry couldn't understand why she'd stuck around, why she hadn't run when she could. It wasn't just for this town, though. It was also for her mother. She'd never given up hope that their relationship could be something it wasn't.

She shook her head. Denial was a powerful thing.

And one she should put in check, she thought, as Brett's image floated back to the surface.

Except… Oh, no. No. This couldn't be happening. Brett was here. In the doorway. Standing sheepishly, with his hands in his pockets, that boyish grin making her heart flip over.

“Room for one more?” he asked, and Ivy was aware that her jaw had slacked.

She set the glass vase she was holding down on the table before she broke it and managed a casual “Of course.” Because of course it made sense that Brett, the man who hated flowers, would want to take this class. Because of course it didn't matter that the last time they had seen each other, she'd been running away from him. Because of course it was just fine that he was here, in her shop, pretending like none of that had even happened.

And because of course it was fine that as he slipped into a seat next to Rosemary, he—God help her—winked.

Brett tore off a piece of cellophane tape and extended it over the rim of the vase, imitating the crisscross pattern Ivy so expertly—and neatly, he marveled—demonstrated for the group. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, waiting to see if she would look up, catch his stare, but she seemed determined to avoid him as she went through her instructions in that flustered little way of hers, her cheeks flushing every time she reached a new point on her list.

God, she was cute. Her auburn hair was swept off her face in a low ponytail, revealing her long, graceful neck and highlighting her delicate jawbone. But it wasn't just her sexy appearance that caught his interest. Ivy was in her element, and he loved seeing the way her eyes shone as she walked the group through the steps.

A knock at the closed door jarred his attention, and he glanced over his shoulder to see a tall, well-dressed man standing behind the paned glass door, grimacing in apology as he hesitantly waved. Turning back to Ivy, Brett watched with a growing frown as her face broke out in an ear-to-ear grin and she stood to cross the room just as the man entered.

“I'm not too late, am I?” he asked.

“Never!” she exclaimed, and, to Brett's horror, flung her arms around the man's neck.

Brett glowered at his glass vase and the stubby strips of tape that zigzagged over the opening. It had been a stupid idea to come here. When he'd seen the ad at the gym, he'd seen more than a flower arranging class, which, obviously, he had no interest in. What did interest him was the woman running it. She interested him a lot. More than she should, judging from her reaction to the preppy guy who was cozily pulling a chair over near hers.

He listened with a growing heaviness in his chest as she talked about greenery versus flowers and something called fillers, which was when he stopped listening and started focusing on the man across from him. The man who had no trouble casually setting his hands on Ivy's wrist when he had a question and whose endless stream of whispered comments sent a peal of Ivy's laughter sailing across the room.

He gritted his teeth and shoved some leaves into one of the square spaces between his tape strips.

Yep, a big, big mistake. He should have stayed at the hospital, asked for another shift, or joined Mark for that beer he suggested. Instead he was here, with half the women in Briar Creek, watching the woman he had just kissed flirt shamelessly with another man.

Maybe she was trying to tell him something. As if running off the other day hadn't said everything. He'd crossed a line. Told her things he hadn't dared to admit to anyone. But that wasn't the worst of it.

No, the worst of it was that he didn't want it to stop there. He wanted to keep going. To kiss her. Tell her everything. To get… close.

She'd given him an out. If he was thinking clearly, he would have taken it.

But he wasn't thinking clearly. He was in a flower arranging class discussing the merits of baby's breath, for God's sake.

“Making that for your mother?” his aunt Rosemary crooned.

“What?” He scowled as Ivy's special friend cracked a joke that sent the entire table into a roar of laughter. He was so angry, so mad at himself, so… jealous, he realized with a start, that he hadn't even heard what was said.

“I asked if you were making the bouquet for your mother. I told her to join me tonight, but she had to work at the diner.”

Brett frowned. It bothered him that his mother was choosing to stand on her feet rather than sitting here chatting with friends and… that preppy guy with the perfectly straight teeth and fresh haircut. He knew it wasn't for money. She'd bounced back years ago from the strain his father had left her in, even with all the medical bills. He told himself that if she was happy at Hastings, then she should do it, but he still wished she would cut back.

“Yes,” he said decisively, “these are for my mother.” Because really, who else should they be for? A week ago he might have said Ivy, but that was crazy talk.

About as crazy as the unopened email from the hospital in DC.

Ivy smiled with encouragement at the finished arrangements scattered around the table, resisting the urge to fix half of them. It was a fine first effort, she told herself, and really, it justified why people paid her to do what she did. Anna's had turned out nicely, which didn't come as a surprise given her creative eye and touch of perfectionism. Rosemary, Grace, and Kara all followed instructions well, and Mrs. Griffin took things to a bigger scale, resulting in quite a dramatic piece.

And then there was the rather sad, lopsided, and half-dead-looking thing that belonged all to Brett.

And damn it if that didn't endear him to her even more.

“Nice effort,” she said, almost managing to look him in the eye. Hoping to keep the tone light, she motioned to a broken tulip head and said with a grin, “I hope you're a little more precise with your scalpel, Doctor.”

He grunted something of a response as he shifted into his coat, and Ivy opened her mouth, compelled to say something, but her mind went blank. What was there to say? To bring up the kiss would be awkward at best, and chances were he was probably just here to make sure she hadn't yet again taken any notions from it.

Instead, she turned to Darren, who, though he'd arrived late, had succeeded in making the most exquisite arrangement of the group.

She eyed the perfect symmetry of the flowers and joked, “I hope you don't have any plans to open a flower shop anytime soon, or I'll be out of business.”

He swatted her arm playfully. “Nonsense. No one can compete with you, darling.”

From across the table, Ivy thought she caught Brett scowl.

“Well, I'm just glad you could join us,” she continued to Darren, trying to focus on her friend and not on her sort-of friend who was looking less than happy at the moment. “Hopefully Robby can make it next week.”

“Let's just hope this arrangement makes up for me ditching him to come here.” Darren gave a conspiratorial grin. “He's the only person I know who manages to catch a summer cold every year, and tonight of all nights. I said, honey, I'm sorry you're sick, but here's a stack of tabloids and a bowl of chicken soup. I have important business to attend to!”

Ivy laughed and caught Brett's gaze as he stood a few feet away, seeming very interested in her conversation. For lack of anything better to say in the moment, Ivy was grateful to have an opportunity to play hostess.

“Oh, I don't think you've met. Darren, this is Brett Hastings. Dr. Brett Hastings,” she corrected herself. “This is Darren. He and his partner moved to town last year. He sold my mother's house.”

Darren held out a card and pressed it into Brett's palm. “Have you found a place yet?”

Brett stared at the card and then glanced at Ivy. “I'm in temporary housing for the moment.”

“Perfect.” Darren tapped his card. “I'm the best Realtor in town. Well”—he slid Ivy a glance—“the only Realtor in town. When you're ready for something more permanent, call me.” With that, Darren gave Ivy a fleeting peck on the cheek and, clutching his arrangement, caught up with Rosemary at the door. He paused only briefly to turn back and mouth “Cute!” before pushing out into the summer night.

Ivy managed not to roll her eyes. Did everyone have to point out the obvious? Of course Brett was cute. She wasn't blind! He was too cute. And that was just the problem.

She felt his eyes still on hers. There was a glint to them and a grin she might go so far as to call mischievous. “What?” she asked warily.

“I just thought…” He shrugged, barely able to suppress his grin, and that's when it hit her. He'd thought that Darren was flirting with her. And she with him. Maybe even that there was something between them.

“Oh, you thought… Darren. We're just friends.” She laughed in realization, happy to find a release for the nerves that were bubbling inside her, but her amusement was cut short by an emotion far more powerful.

It was something in his grin, in the steady depth of his gaze, and the way he lingered in the shop long after everyone else had already said their goodbyes and gone home for the night. The laugh, while genuine, wasn't one of amusement as it had been with her. No, it was, if she dared say so, almost one of… relief.

And if she didn't know better, she just might think that Brett had been… jealous.

If she didn't know better.