Love Blooms on Main Street (24 page)

E
ven though Ivy was technically off work, that didn't mean she always followed her own rules. People still had birthdays on Sundays, after all, and she couldn't control when a baby would be born. By the time she made it back to the shop after the shower, weary and tired, she had five bouquets to make and deliver.

She decided to start with the simplest: a dozen apricot roses, no frills. Working with her hands always eased her mind and gave her a sense of purpose. It was hard to let your mind trail to its troubles when you were focused on a task. And the outcome of her hard work, always beautiful, colorful, and original, brought a smile to her face each time and a feeling of satisfaction that could only come from within.

At least she loved her job, she always thought, and today she needed to remind herself of that more than ever. She hadn't mentioned it at the party, but it was the anniversary of her mother's death, and while she'd made peace with it and, perhaps, sadly, even had a touch of relief from it, there would always be a sense of regret that their relationship had never evolved into the one she had longed for. She'd never given up hope, and now that hope was lost.

Henry didn't want to talk about their mother, and Ivy respected that. He'd dealt with the brunt of it by trying to fill an absent father figure's role, trying to be the man of the house, trying to grow up faster than he needed to.

Sort of like Brett had, she supposed, and then shook her head. There was no use thinking about him like this, not when Kara had made such a valid point. Brett hadn't made Briar Creek his home since he left for college. Why start now? The only reason her brother had stayed was because he'd fallen in love with Jane. Judging from the way things were going with Brett, she didn't think she'd be so lucky.

She stopped for a snack, even though she wasn't hungry, and checked her levels just to be sure. Satisfied, she spent the next hour finishing the arrangements and then fetched her delivery list. Four she would drive, and the last was just at the edge of Main, about a quarter of a mile down Orchard. She'd take that one on foot. The fresh air would do her good.

She was just coming back from her last delivery when the skies opened up with a crackle of thunder that made her jump, and a steady downpour splashed down. Ivy cursed under her breath and began jogging back up Main Street to the shop as best she could in her rubber flip-flops, wishing she hadn't been so lax with her gym membership these past few weeks. But there were only so many hours in a day, and between her regular business and the hospital fundraiser quickly approaching, she needed every spare minute she had.

Head bowed to keep the rain from blurring her vision, she watched her feet splash and dodge puddles as she slowed to what she knew Rosemary referred to as a power walk. While the temptation to march her arms as she had seen the woman do was tempting, she resisted, instead feeling the burn in her calves as she counted down the blocks. She was halfway up Main when two feet darted from her left and blocked her path. All at once the rain stopped, and she looked up to see Brett grinning down on her under the shield of an umbrella.

He looked relaxed and happy and terribly sexy. And she probably looked like a half-drowned rat.

“What are you doing out in this?”

“It wasn't raining when I started.” Ivy gave a helpless shrug, but her heart skipped a beat when she met Brett's gaze—dark, mysterious, and entirely too sexy given he hadn't reached out to her in a week.

“You headed back to the shop?” The question was rhetorical as he turned on his heel to stand at her side. “I'll walk you.”

Part of her wanted to tell him not to, that she was already sopping to the bone and that it didn't matter now, that she really needed space from him if nothing was ever going to happen between them other than an occasional—and knee-bending—kiss. But then she felt the warm, smooth graze of his arm against hers, and her heart began to beat a little faster. His stride was quick and purposeful, and she had to take almost two steps for each of his, but she didn't complain. She was too busy enjoying the scent of musk that had filled the humid air they shared under the large golf umbrella.

“Do you always come so prepared?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“I was at the diner and I saw you coming up the street. I grabbed this umbrella from the back office.”

Her heart beat a little faster at the gesture. “Well, thank you, then. I suppose that makes you my hero.”

“I'm just doing what any other decent guy would do.” He elbowed her playfully and she laughed.

Decent. He was a decent guy, she knew it deep down. He was still that same sweet, studious boy she'd crushed on all through high school… and beyond. Somehow it was easier to see him in this light than in the womanizing role she'd cast him in. It made it harder to not care—about him or a potential letdown.

“Besides, the last thing you need is to catch pneumonia.”

The words hit her sharper than he'd probably intended, bringing up every reason she'd had to keep her health issues to herself. “Because I'm a diabetic, you mean.”

“People with diabetes are considered to be at higher risk for developing pneumonia,” Brett said simply. Catching her frown, he nudged her again. This time she didn't laugh. “Hey.” He stopped walking and stared at her until she looked up. “I'm only saying it because I care.”

“As a doctor or a friend?”

“Maybe as something more,” he said quietly.

Her heart was pounding out of her chest now, but somehow she managed to keep from jumping up and down or whooping out loud. Instead, she slid him a smile and nudged him back. “In that case, I guess it's all right.” And it was, she realized. It felt good to let someone in, to take a risk, to share a part of herself she didn't usually open up about. But it was scary, too. It made her feel connected to him in a way she wasn't sure she should.

They crossed the street to Petals on Main, and Ivy reached in her handbag for her keys. Hoping to prolong the moment, she fished around for several moments after her fingers had grazed the cool metal.

“Well, thanks again,” she said with a smile, giving him one last long glance. His forearms were wet with rain, but it was the occasional splatter on his T-shirt that brought her gaze to his broad shoulders and the hard plane of his abs.

“Don't I at least get a cup of tea for the effort?” he replied, tossing her a lopsided grin.

Ivy blinked, barely managing to pull her attention from the cords of his muscles. “I think that can be arranged,” she said, pushing into the stairwell of her apartment. She smiled with each of the thirteen steps until she realized with a horrified jolt that she hadn't been expecting any visitors, and that she'd been in a real rush to get to Jane's shower on time, and that dirty breakfast dishes were still in the sink, that the bed had most definitely not been made, and that she had tried on close to ten outfits before settling on this one and the rejects were tossed randomly about.

She stared at her hand as she slid the key into the lock. How to get out of this one…

With a deep breath, she turned to him, her heart doing a little dance when she caught the curl of those full, smooth lips. Oh, those lips.

“I should warn you,” she said. Her chest was rising and falling with dread. “I had a busy morning, and I wasn't expecting anyone.”

Brett's brow grew to a point. It wasn't lost on her that he was standing close. Very close. So close that she could feel his heat, see the hint of a bump on his otherwise perfect nose, sense the pull of his lips, which she wouldn't mind exploring again. “And?”

She wrung her hands helplessly. “And, well…” She leaned back, eager to get away from that mouth, soft and pink and oh so close, and those eyes, so intense and penetrating and unrelenting, and felt the door push open under her weight.

“And, well…” But she didn't need to say anything more. It was all there, worse than she'd remembered, for him to see. Her dirty laundry, literally.

“Oh my.” Brett's eyes widened as he stepped into the small vestibule that separated the three rooms of the apartment, his gaze darting this way and that, to the dirty dishes that were not in the sink but actually on the counter, to the five or six dresses flung on the sofa, to the glimpse of a rumpled duvet through the partially open bedroom door. The self-help books were strewn about, their covers unforgiving, especially the one of the grown man in a silly green cap, under the glaring title
I Won't Grow Up! How to Detect Early Warning Signs of Peter Pan Syndrome
.

Brett slid his eyes to her, his mouth tugging into a wicked grin that made her feel like she was being silently scolded. “Just who are you, Ivy Birch?”

“I. Well.” She darted past him into the kitchen and all but shoved the plates and mugs into the sink with a loud clank. Brett was already in the living room, studying the dresses and—God help her—the assortment of corresponding bras that littered every surface. She'd forgotten those.

“I told you I was in a rush this morning.” She felt her face heat.

Brett just laughed good-naturedly and carefully moved the dresses from the sofa to the armchair. “Or perhaps I should have flung them across the room instead?” Noting the horror in her expression, he laughed loudly. “I'm joking. Come sit.” He dropped onto the sofa and patted the seat beside him. “Do you honestly think I care if your apartment is a mess?”

Ivy roved her eyes over the living room, landing on the heap of clothing that now covered the chair. Cringing, she said, “I'm not sure.”

“I'm fascinated,” Brett declared. His eyes twinkled, and Ivy felt her color return to normal.

“It's not an everyday thing,” she explained hastily. Not every day. Maybe just… five or six days a week. At least once a week Grace or Kara stopped by…

Not that Kara cared. The only time Kara properly cleaned was when her mother was dropping by.

“Here I thought I had you all figured out, and then.” He opened his palm and, like a game show host, swept it over the room.

“You don't know me that well,” she said tersely. Maybe he knew her mouth, and the shape of her body, and the fact that she had diabetes, and that her mother had drunk herself to death… Okay, maybe he did know her pretty well. She wasn't so sure how she felt about that.

She suddenly felt at a disadvantage. Most of what she knew of Brett was the little he had told her, and he was a man of few words. He was guarded; he preferred to keep things to his chest. But there was a lot in there. He'd revealed some of it. To her. Just to her.

“I guess I know you, too,” she observed, coming to sit down next to him. “You don't like to get close.”

The laughter in his eyes disappeared, and for a moment Ivy wished she hadn't steered the conversation in this direction, but then she thought of the last time they'd seen each other, and that kiss, and she settled against a toss pillow, waiting for his answer.

“You're right. I don't.” Other than a blink, his expression was blank.

“So that's it then. That simple?”

He shrugged. “If you don't get close, you don't get hurt.”

Ivy considered his words, knowing the source of his feelings. “True. But what an empty way to live.”

“There are some things in life that change you,” Brett said. “My dad leaving was the first. My mom getting sick was the second.”

“It doesn't feel good to stand back and know there is nothing you can do to change things.” Ivy nodded, thinking of her mother. How many times had they hidden the bottles, tried to distract her, and when they were older, downright begged her to stop drinking? Henry had even paid for her to go to some expensive rehab clinic in California, and after two days she'd checked herself out. She knew Henry had never forgiven himself for not finding a way to make her go back, but he was too hard on himself. Just like Brett.

“Everything was going wrong back then. First my dad left, then there were money troubles, then, just when it felt like everything was getting better… it only got worse.”

“But it's all worked out,” Ivy pointed out. “Your mom is healthy and happy.”

“But for how long?” He gave her a long look.

“We can't control those things,” Ivy said gently.

“See, I don't like to believe that,” Brett said, his jaw pulsing. He shifted his body until he was a bit closer to her and propped his head in his hand, looking her square in the eye. “I told myself I would never feel that out of control again. Never sit back, in a position to do nothing, knowing nothing, while someone I cared about suffered.”

“But even doctors can't save everyone,” Ivy said. She knew. They hadn't saved her mother, after all.

Brett pulled back, the look in his eyes suddenly distant. “No. They can't.”

She touched his arm. It felt warm, soft. He didn't move away. “I didn't mean it like that.”

“I know,” he said softly. Brett was quiet for a few minutes. “You said you were in the hospital last year. What happened?”

Ivy stiffened. “It's what I told you. I… wasn't taking care of myself properly. I'm not proud.” Ashamed. Humiliated. Not proud. “I got behind on my medication. Thought I could get by with less than I was supposed to be taking. At first it was to cut back on spending, and then it became something more. It's like I could almost convince myself that I was normal.”

He looked at her sharply. “What do you mean, cut back on spending?”

“Well, the shop doesn't pay for itself, and I don't have a partner. Between overhead and my rent here, the medical bills could be steep. Cutting back on my dosage helped. I knew it was a risk, but I guess I thought I might be able to get away with it.”

“That's terrible.” Brett shook his head, his expression pained.