“We need to find you a woman, young Prox,” Doink thundered. “Time you experienced a bit of the world, what?”
“I have a girlfriend.”
“Didn’t say nuthin’ about a girlfriend, young pup! Now did I? I said we outta find you a woman!” Doink slapped his knee and dust flew off his clothes like a frightened shadow.
Hudson cringed, knowing where the conversation was going and not wanting to be a willing participant.
“I dropped in to let you know the paperwork is moving forward.” He changed the subject. “I’ve done all the contract procedurals and sorted the—”
“That’s all right, Prox.” Doink grabbed him by the shoulder with a hand the size of baseball glove. “Yer dad already called and went through all that with the boss.” He nodded his head toward the sign emblazoned with “Thompson Construction” on the chain link fence surrounding the building site. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about them contracts and codes and what-the-fuck else you lawyer types dream up to earn your wages. I just wanna get my work done, go find my woman and some rum and say fuck y’all.”
Hudson’s mouth tightened as he nodded. That’s right, fuck y’all.
Scooped by Papa Proxly, yet again.
Hudson walked back to his car, fuming. Since turning thirty he had been waiting for his father to loosen the apron strings, to acknowledge that he was ready to run with his own clients and his own independent work, but nothing had changed. He was still firmly the son in Proxly and Son, and being the son meant living under the guiding protection of an overbearing father. It had been that way since the accident.
His father had been so much more open and encouraging when he was young, pushing his son to always reach ahead of himself to grab what life offered without waiting for permission. He had encouraged him to pursue every sport he showed interest in, to take chances with events and opportunities that had stretched his comfort zone and prepared him for a life of confidence and bold decision-making.
And then his mother died.
He was twenty when he drove his mother home from the airport where her flight had been cancelled due to a storm that whipped snow across the highway, blinding them from seeing the yellow line until headlights appeared out of nowhere and they spun off the road and into a tree. Evelyn Proxly died instantly, and Hudson was left with a damaged leg and the weight of guilt that never left his shoulders. He knew his father loved him too much to blame him, but he had no such restrictions for himself.
He had been driving and his mother died.
Bernard had changed that day, becoming protective and cautious of his only son. His father was afraid of losing him, but Hudson also knew he didn’t trust him. For a man whose entire life had centered around diligence and precision and compulsive order, there was an unacknowledged core to Bernard Proxly that saw his son as a failure. A risk-taker who made bad decisions, with crippling consequences.
He drove back down the main drag of town, lost in his memories. Every time his passions rose as his father thwarted his ambitions, they plunged back down into the dark hole where he knew his father was right. He shouldn’t have driven in the storm. He shouldn’t have taken the risk. His mother’s life was on his shoulders.
He pulled to a stop at the intersection in the middle of town. He watched a long-legged brunette cross the road with a curly-haired little girl skipping beside her. It was the woman from the parking lot, with her mane of chestnut hair and the determined set of her shoulders. She swung the little girl up into her arms and kissed her as they stepped onto the curb. He smiled. He had always wanted children. He had a dream of a home and a wife and the kind of relationship his parents had, even at the risk of losing it. Instead, he had Delia.
Delia didn’t like children.
The fantasy fled as quickly as it had appeared as he pulled through the intersection, watching the lovely pair entering the Two-if-by-Tulips florist on the corner of the street.
Delia had insisted he buy her a pocket dog. A smelly, terrified little creature with bulging eyes and a hypoallergenic mutation that Delia said made it perfect for her delicate sensibilities. She had shown him puppies on the internet, from some nutcase breeder who insisted on interviews and references and practically a genetic history before being willing to discuss ownership of her incredibly over-priced mutts.
He had called the creature a mutt and been soundly chastised for his lack of refinement.
Pocket dogs, apparently, conferred refinement on their owners.
As did the diamond studded alligator leather purse the dog required so it could go with Delia wherever she went.
Hudson craned his neck to try to catch a glimpse of the brunette again, but she was gone. He sighed, gripping the steering wheel as he headed home, late, to face Delia’s wrath.
Chapter 5
“It’s been three days,” Robin said the moment she and Izzy entered Two-if-by-Tulips. Neil looked up from the counter, giving her the I-have-a-customer glare as he rang up a sale for a well-dressed woman standing at the till.
“Sorry,” she mouthed. Izzy skipped over to her favorite place in the flower shop, a sloping wall of blossoms in every color of the rainbow. She stood in front of the vivid display and threw open her arms to embrace every bloom at once.
The shop was redolent with flowers, their perfume soothing Robin’s mood immediately as she took in a deep breath. Two-if-by-Tulips was Neil’s baby, and Robin loved that her friend was doing so well with his business after only being open for a few months.
“I think you’ll be very pleased with these blossoms,” Neil said to the woman at the counter, smoothing a wayward curl toward the bun at the back of his head. “With proper care they should keep their bloom for at least a week.”
“I should hope so. The last bouquet I purchased wilted within hours.”
Robin cringed at the sharp tone. She didn’t know how Neil kept his cool, working with the public every day. Robin had clients as well, but nothing like the steady stream of customers making demands in the flower shop. Neil’s jaw tightened as he finished wrapping the flowers.
“Be sure to add the flower food packet to the water.” Neil’s voice was smooth and conciliatory. It didn’t seem to placate the angry flower buyer.
“I am not an idiot, thank you very much.” The woman snatched the bouquet from Neil. Robin winced as a petal fell onto the counter. The woman shook the flowers, losing another petal as she stuffed her wallet back into her purse. “You’re lucky you’re the only florist in town, or I would take my business elsewhere.”
Robin opened her mouth to tell the woman exactly where she could take her business, but Izzy chose that moment to climb the wall of flowers. She put one little foot on the edge of the shelving, dislodging a bucket of roses and spilling a wave of water and flowers over the floor.
“Oops,” Izzy whispered, her arms stiff by her sides as her chin began to quiver. “I sorry, Mumma.”
“Oh Izzy, I’ve told you and told you!” Robin rushed over and began carefully picking up the flowers. “You can’t climb everything you see!”
“You should be able to control your child when you bring it out in public,” the woman said, exaggeratedly tiptoeing around the puddle. Izzy stood stiffly in the middle of the water and began to wail, tipping her head back with her mouth open like a baby bird. “Disgraceful behavior.”
Robin rose to her feet, turning to the woman just as Neil darted between them. He grabbed Robin’s clenched fist and thrust a roll of paper towel into her hand. Izzy hiccupped between wails.
“No harm done,” he said. “Thank you for your business, Delia. It’s always a pleasure.”
The woman snorted as she left the shop.
“You should have let me at her.” Robin swallowed the tight knot in her throat. She put her hand on the top of Izzy’s head, wondering if she would ever be able to keep the child safely in one spot. “I’m so sorry, Neil. I should have been watching her.”
Neil picked Izzy up and she wrapped her arms
around his neck, wiping her wet face on his shoulder.
“You didn’t mean to, did you Izzy Iguana?” he said, bouncing her up and down as her cries turned to sniffles.
“I wanna climb the flower mountain,” she said wetly. Neil produced a tissue and wiped at her tears, setting her on the counter as Robin finished wiping up the spilled water. Most of the flowers survived, but she passed him several with broken stems.
“You can’t climb the flower mountain,” Robin said. “Because it isn’t a flower mountain. It’s a display case and it’s not for little girls to play on.”
Neil rolled his eyes at her. Here it comes. Another lecture about letting Izzy live in a fantasy world.
“It looks like a flower mountain, doesn’t it, Iguana?” he said. Izzy nodded vigorously. Robin could see the spark in her eye that said she would definitely be trying to climb the display again in the future. How did she end up with a child who challenged every rule, when Robin herself was a total pragmatist?
“What’s up with that horrible woman?” Robin asked, hoping to get away from the mountain conversation before Neil dug out the crampons and rappelling wires. As Robin’s best friend and Izzy’s god-father, Neil seemed determined to good-naturedly undermine her no-nonsense parenting at every turn.
“Delia Wentworth,” he said in a high-pitched falsetto that made Izzy giggle. He sat Izzy on the counter, her tears forgotten. “Only the most spoiled woman in all Heartswell Harbour, with her hair and her rings and her la-dee-dah ways. Engaged to Hudson Proxly, the poor guy.”
“No way?” Robin watched the woman totter across the street on her ridiculous high heels. She remembered how the handsome young Mr. Proxly had put his arm around her in the parking lot, how kind his smile had been, and how mortifying it was that he had seen her at her worst. “What kind of man would put up with a woman like that? It’s weird. A successful lawyer, good looking, rich, smart... and that’s the kind of woman he finds attractive?”
“How good looking?”
“Curly-blonde, blue-eyed, big-muscles good looking. Tall too.” She sighed. Then realized she was sighing. “But obviously an asshole if that’s his idea of the perfect woman.”
Neil popped Izzy off the counter and took her hands to do a little dance. Neil was so good with Izzy, Robin sometimes wished he wasn’t gay so they could just get married and raise her together.
“Still not willing to marry me, Neil?” Robin said. “Single mom, insurmountable pile of bills and I’m going to be unemployed soon. I think I’m a pretty hot ticket.”
“What do you mean, unemployed? You’re an entrepreneur. There is no unemployed,” he said.
“It’s been three days and Proxly hasn’t called,” she moaned. “And the son with the terrible taste in women saw my underwear and there was blood and bad language. I am definitely not the kind of woman he would be interested in seeing every day. I didn’t get the job.”
“This is a story I need to hear,” Neil grinned.
Robin filled him in on the details as Izzy played with the broken flowers on the floor. Neil laughed when Robin showed him the scab on her knee.
“And he left you his business card?” he giggled. “But he doesn’t know who you are, right? Did you tell him you were interviewing with Proxly?”
She paused. “No.”
“Then you’re golden,” he said. “Old Proxly will be impressed with your style and work samples, and the secretary likes you. The son probably doesn’t even bother with things like decorating. I bet he’s too involved with serious lawyer things to even care who’s hired to paint the walls.”
“You’re probably right,” she said uncertainly. “But it’s been three days.”
Her rent was due next week, and the car was making a mysterious noise that sounded like imminent death. She was about to launch into the many reasons why three days was too long when her cell phone chimed in her purse. She rolled her eyes, certain it was Auntie.
“If she’s calling to ask about my fabric softener, I swear I’ll—” She cut herself off when she saw the screen. “It’s Proxly!”
She held the phone like it was about to ignite.
“It’s Proxly, it’s Proxly!”
“Answer it, answer it, answer it!” Neil shrieked.
“Ans-er, Ans-er, Ans-er!” Izzy chanted.
Robin gasped and punched the button.
“Hello, Robin by Design. Robin speaking.”
She turned toward the window as Neil grinned at her. He often told her she had an excellent professional voice, like a combination of Vanna White and Marilyn Monroe.
“Yes, of course,” Robin said, gripping the edge of a stool by the window. “That will work perfectly. Tomorrow. Saturday. Yes. I will. Yes, thank you, Mrs. Davies.”
She hung up and stared blankly out the window.
“And...?” Neil asked.
“Aaaaand...?” Izzy echoed.
Robin turned around. “Did I sound too needy? I feel like I sounded too needy.”
“You sounded professional and excited,” Neil said. “A perfect combination.”
“I’m having lunch with Proxly tomorrow at The Lighthouse,” she said.
“Cool.”
“Lunch means a deal, right? That’s how they do things, like in the movies?” Robin knew only too well that her life was nothing like a movie. No handsome hero, no happily ever after. No choral ensemble bursting into song. “We have lunch, we sign papers, Robin pays her rent next month, right?”
“Wear something nice.”
“That’s exactly what Mrs. Davies just said,” Robin giggled. The Lighthouse was a cosy little bistro in a renovated lighthouse by the wharf. The main floor was the café, with a yoga studio on the second floor. It seemed an odd choice for a business lunch with the refined Mr. Proxly, since it definitely had a hipster vibe. She couldn’t quite picture Mr. Proxly, with his suit jacket and spectacles, feeling comfortable amid the man buns and tight pants, but at that moment, she would have met him on the moon if that was his request.
“This is a good sign,” she said. “I’ve got this.”
“You’se gots dis,” Izzy chirped with one foot balanced on the flower mountain. Robin swooped her off before any more flowers met their doom at the hands of the intrepid mountaineer, Isabella.
Chapter 6
Hudson sipped his latte hoping he had chosen a comfortable venue to meet the designer his father had foisted on him. Despite his resentment that he was delegated to confirm an office decorator instead of pursuing real clients, his own standards wouldn’t allow him to simply talk to the woman over the phone and have Mrs. Davies fax her the paperwork. He valued a personal touch in everything he did, and it wasn’t the designer’s fault that his father had him relegated to the gutter.
“I assume she’s an older woman,” he had said to Mrs. Davies as he asked her to arrange the meeting with Robin By Design. “But she’s artsy-fartsy, so I don’t want to take her somewhere too stiff. You know what I mean?”
Mrs. Davies had smiled at him oddly. “You young people operate under such interesting assumptions,” she said. “Where would you take ‘an older woman’, if we were on a business luncheon?”
“Mrs. Davies, are you flirting with me?” He winked at her.
“No.”
“I would take you to the classiest restaurant in town. The Heartswell Inn.” He sat on the edge of her desk, studiously avoiding her raised eyebrow. “Lobster, wine, and red roses.”
“Incorrigible,” she muttered.
“You love it,” he teased.
“I think this particular artsy-fartsy older woman would be more comfortable in a casual venue. Perhaps something with nice coffee and interesting artwork on the walls?” She cradled her chin in her folded hands and he had the distinct impression she was toying with him.
“The Lighthouse?” he asked, squinting at her to see behind her obvious enjoyment of the situation. What was he was getting himself into? Was this woman a real off-the-wall crazy artist? He co
uldn’t imagine his father signing on to engage someone who might turn his office into some kind of avante garde art house.
Mrs. Davies had merely smiled and made the arrangements.
He glanced around the interior of The Lighthouse, enjoying the framed landscapes and unique sculptures made of driftwood and old lobster pots. The latte was perfect, and the music in the background was an eclectic mix of indie-folk.
Satisfyingly artsy-fartsy.
He smiled as the door to the café opened.
Now, there’s a nice surprise.
The brunette from the parking lot walked in and scanned the small crowd until her eyes settled on him. She stared at him, looking puzzled, then raised her hand in an awkward little wave. He nodded, ridiculously pleased that she recognized him. He wished he wasn’t expecting the designer any moment. He would love to have a coffee with this lovely woman, even though he assumed she was probably meeting her husband for lunch.
He looked back at his coffee, sighing as Delia flitted through his mind.
“Hello.”
She was standing beside his chair with her hand stuck out, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
He leapt to his feet, almost upending his chair.
“Uh, hi!” He shook her hand. She gripped his hand as a hint of red colored her cheeks.
“You are the young Proxly,” she said, like an oracle reciting a questionable fate.
“And you are the woman in the trunk.” He grinned, remembering her long legs and the warmth of her body when she had leaned into him. Not to mention the way her skirt had ridden up her thighs.
“I’m Robin,” she said.
He still held her hand, and she tugged gently to have it back. He let her go, fighting the urge to laugh. She obviously didn’t find the trunk moment to be a shared joke.
“Of Robin By Design,” she added.
“Mrs. Davies, you saucy minx, you.” He shook his head.
“I beg your pardon?” She frowned, revealing a charming dimple that appeared at the corner of her mouth.
Love by Design: A Heartswell Harbour Romance Page 3