Love in Bloom (12 page)

“Oooh, that's good,” Bobbi approved, and began to write.

“Two hearts feeling the same beat, moving as one.” Hope closed her eyes and got a sudden vision of herself in Jason's arms. She forced her eyelids back up.

“That's good. What next?”

“I don't know.” She was suddenly out of words, her brain stalled.

“ ‘I don't know'? That's not very poetic.”

“I didn't mean write that. I meant I don't know. I'm out of ideas.”

“Impossible. You're never out of ideas. Come on. Let's come up with something that says I want to see him again. Something about dancing, maybe?”

“Hmm. Okay, how about this? We're just learning the steps, we've barely begun.”

“Oh, yeah. It rhymes! That's great.”

“And maybe sign it, ‘Let's keep dancing.' ”

“Aw, that's nice,” Bobbi said with a sigh, and finished writing. She was just stuffing the card in the envelope when the door of the shop jangled and in walked Jason himself, wearing his standard sexy denim work clothes. Bobbi gave a start and hid the card behind her back.

“You look like a woman with a secret,” he teased her. “What are you ladies up to?”

Bobbi produced the card and handed it to him. “I was going to mail you this.”

“Yeah?” Now he was looking at her like he suspected she was about to give him the keys to a new Jaguar. He opened the envelope, pulled out the card, and read, a grin spreading across his face. “That's awesome.” He pointed a finger at Bobbi. “You've really got a gift. You know that?”

Her cheeks turned rose-petal pink. “Oh, not really,” she said with a little flick of her hand. “So, what brings you to the shop?”

He tapped his watch. “Lunchtime. I thought maybe you could take a break.” He smiled at Hope. “How about it?”

He was asking her to join them? Of course she'd be a good sister and turn down the offer. But her spirits lifted all the same.

“You wouldn't mind watching the shop for an hour, would you?” he continued. “I promise I'll bring her back by one.”

Of course he hadn't been inviting her along. What had she been thinking? Just as well. She didn't want to be rolling along as a third wheel. “No problem,” she said.

“Are you sure?” asked Bobbi.

“You've got to eat,” Jason urged.

Hope nodded and shooed them on their way. “Have fun.”

They barely heard her as they sailed out the door.

She plopped on the little stool she kept behind the counter, grabbed a floral card and began doodling on it, drawing a Patience Brewster–styled rose girl, all dolled up and ready for a ball. Hope loved to dance, too. The doodling turned to writing.
I teach the steps. She dances. I wish I could dance. With him
.

Pathetic.
You are such a hogweed. Get over yourself. You don't need a partner to dance
.

She brought out the old radio she kept in the workroom, set it on the counter, and plugged it in. Then she cranked it up full blast.

She walked over to where Audrey the Christmas cactus sat. “May I have this dance?”

Audrey seemed reluctant.

“What, you don't dance? You don't know what you're missing. Dancing is good therapy.”

Great therapy. Hope let the music wash away the little vines of self-pity trying to wrap around her heart and danced around the shop, watering her potted plants as she went. Halfway through the first song she was lost in the music. Life was good. She needed to always remember that.

 

“
SO, HOW ABOUT
going out with me this weekend?” Jason asked Bobbi as they sat in Sweet Somethings, digging into sandwiches made on freshly baked sourdough bread.

“How about Sunday?” Bobbi offered.

“Friday,” he countered. “I was thinking we could catch a movie.”

“I'm kind of booked Friday.” Now he'd try for Saturday. She inputted this information, along with the chances of getting Saturday night off.
No chance for Saturday, came the answer. Take Friday. If you turn him down for both days, he'll want to know why
. “But I think I can change my plans,” she added with a smile and a flip of her hair. She'd find someone to cover for her.

“Great,” he said.

“That new movie,
Bomb Squad
, is opening,” Bobbi suggested. There was also a chick flick opening, but she could see that with Hope. Jason would want to see the action movie.

She could tell by his expression that she'd hit it on the nose. “Works for me. Meanwhile, how about lunch tomorrow?”

Okay, now she was making it all too easy for him. She stuck out her lower lip. “Sorry. I've got plans.” She would have as soon as she got back to the shop. She and Hope hadn't been out to lunch in ages. “We'll have fun Friday,” she added, rewarding him with a dimpled smile.

He gave a fatalistic shrug and smiled in return. “I guess I'll have to wait till Friday then.”

Anticipation was a good thing. Men loved the thrill of the hunt, and she didn't want to deny him that.

Funny, she was so good at hooking men, but keeping them on the hook was another matter. Probably because she never seemed to find the perfect man.

This time you have, she reminded herself.

 

JASON WAS CERTAINLY
hooked Friday night. He had no desire to end their date with just a movie—a very good sign.

But his choice of how to continue the evening nearly gave her a heart attack. “How about going over to the Last Resort for a drink? I've been meaning to check the place out. I hear they have karaoke on Friday nights.”

All she needed was to come in there with Jason in tow and have the other waitresses greeting her and asking her how she was enjoying her night off. “I've got a better idea,” she said. “How about coming back to my place? I've got chocolate cake.” Thank God she'd made a bakery run earlier.

“That's even better,” he said with a smile.

She was feeling pretty smug about how she'd dodged that bullet, watching him devour the cake she'd picked up from the bakery, when he pointed to her
People
magazine and idly observed, “So, you like to read.”

She thought of the romance novel on her nightstand. “Oh, yeah.”

He looked around the apartment. “Where are your books?”

Books? As in a whole bunch? “I . . .”
Umm
. “They're still in boxes,” she improvised.

“Oh, you haven't been here that long?” He looked confused. Probably wondering how she could be new in town and own a flower shop at the same time.

“Not in this apartment. I was living someplace else.” That was no lie. This apartment had become available and the idea of being neighbors with her sister had sounded like fun. “I need to get a bookcase,” she added.

“I could make you one. I make all kinds of stuff.”

“Well, then, I'll take one. Thanks. That's so sweet.” What was she going to fill it with?

“I've got some nice cedar left over from a project I did last month.”

“Great,” she said.
Just Great. DON'T ANYBODY PANIC!

 

SATURDAY MORNING FOUND
Bobbi at the Heart Lake Library for the Friends of the Library book sale, frantically stocking up on books to supplement her meager supply. Brainy books. So far she'd found a money management one for dummies (she needed that), two fitness books, a Martha Stewart tome on decorating, and a
great cookbook that was nothing but chocolate recipes. She'd even picked up a Jane Austen novel—
Pride and Prejudice
.

“Hi there,” she said to the woman taking her money. “I'm Bobbi, your new best friend.”

“The library always needs new friends,” the woman said with a smile.

“So, friend to friend, what do you think of this book?” Bobbi held up her Jane Austen novel.

“It's the perfect introduction to Jane Austen,” the woman assured her. “That will be six dollars.”

“For all these?” Wow.

“A steal,” said a deep voice behind Bobbi.

She gave a guilty start and turned to see Jason Wells. He was wearing long, baggy shorts, a sweatshirt with the sleeves ripped off, and tennis shoes. He looked like he was getting ready to go running or work out at the gym—both preferable options to being here, catching her buying props for her apartment.

“Hi.” How long had he been standing there? What had he heard?

“I see you're taking advantage of the sale,” he said.

“Absolutely.” She nodded vigorously. “You, too?”

“Yep. I was on my way to the gym when I saw the sign outside. By the way, your bookcase should be done by next Saturday. Want me to come over and help you fill it?”

“Sure,” she said. What she had here was not going to fill a bookcase.

Then she remembered her sister's book-overflow problem. Hope had just filled a box to donate to the library. Maybe a few of those books could take a little detour to Bobbi's apartment.

 

BOBBI LEFT HOPE
'
S
apartment after lunch Sunday carrying a box of books and vowing to read every one.

“Do you really think you can sit still long enough?” Hope teased.

“I can try,” Bobbi replied with a grin.

Hope shut her apartment door with a sigh and a shake of the head. This was nuts. Her sister was slipping from make-a-good-impression mode into romantic fraud, and she was becoming an accomplice. Bobbi needed to just be herself. If the man didn't like Bobbi for who she was (and how could he not?), then he wasn't the right one. It was silly to build up a false image.

Hope thought of her fake breast. That was different, she told herself. She wasn't trying to get a man. With the ugly scars and the Franken-boob, there was no chance of that. The second operation after the capsular contracture had gone better, but it wasn't hard to spot which boob was the patch job and which one was the original. Still, she wasn't out to do any false advertising. She was just trying to feel like herself again and get her life back.

And she was glad to be alive. Glad. To prove it, she got her gardening tools and drove to the community garden.

She arrived to find Millie Baldwin there, tending her patch. “Hello,” Millie greeted her. She pointed to Hope's pale green sweatshirt. “That's almost too pretty for the garden. And such a flattering color.”

Garden therapy was the best. Millie made it sound like Hope really looked special. That was stretching it. Even before the cancer she'd been just okay. She had nice eyes to make up for the snub nose she hated, an okay mouth. Good legs. But stand her next to Bobbi and she disappeared.

“Thanks,” she murmured. “Do you have all your flowers planted now?” She motioned to the little stakes capped with empty seed packets delineating tiny flower neighborhoods.

“Almost. I'd love to plant some lavender, but it's silly to plant a perennial in a community garden. Such a shame though. I have the best recipe for lavender cookies.”

“If it's any consolation, you can get lavender sugar at Kizzy's Kitchen,” Hope said.

“I'll remember that,” said Millie. “Although I'm not sure lavender cookies will go over that big with my grandchildren. Carrot cookies certainly didn't.”

Hope wasn't sure carrot cookies would go over that well with her, either, but she kept her mouth shut.

“Or maybe I'll give the recipe to Amber, our resident baker,” Millie added. “I'd love to be able to pass it on to someone.”

“Your daughter?” Hope suggested.

Millie got suddenly busy with her flowers. “Oh, Debra's much too busy to fuss with baking.”

“Well, I'm sure Amber would love the recipe, and so would I,” said Hope.

Millie looked at her and smiled. “Thank you.”

As they chatted, Hope felt her frustrations slipping away. The sun fought off the occasional chilly breeze and kept them warm. A couple of mothers had brought their children to the play area, and the sound of laughter danced on the air and lulled her.

And then the lull ended. “I imagine a pretty girl like you has got a boyfriend waiting for you to finish up here and go do something with him,” said Millie.

“No boyfriend,” said Hope, shaking her head. “I'm too busy with my shop.”

“Oh.” Millie appeared nonplussed.

Hope could feel Millie studying her. “I . . .” She had no idea how to finish her sentence.

“It's none of my business,” Millie said quickly.

Now Millie thought she was a loser. She didn't want that. “I'm still putting my life back together. I was sick.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Millie said, her voice filled with concern. She offered a gentle smile. “You look the picture of health now.”

Hope shrugged. “So far, so good.”

“I hope it's not something that can come back.”

“It could. Right now I'm in remission.” Hope regretted the
words the minute they slipped out. Such a dead giveaway. And what was she doing sharing so much personal stuff with someone she hardly knew? Except Millie didn't feel like a stranger. She felt more like a newly found grandmother.

Millie's face donned that oh-no expression all women wore when confronted with even a whiff of the
C
word. “What kind of cancer did you have, dear?”

Hope got suddenly very busy pressing earth down around her seeds. “Breast.”

“I'm so sorry you had to go through something so horrible at a young age.”

Suddenly, bitter words wanted to spill out of Hope's mouth. It wasn't fair. Who in her twenties got cancer? That happened to older women, women who'd had a chance for husbands and children and . . . Hope bit down on her lower lip.

“You've been very blessed,” Millie said. “You're still here. God must have important things for you to do in that little flower shop of yours.”