McCormick's Creek Sweet Romance

by Jen Peters

  Mitch nodded, his eyes very green instead of gray, warm and … a little bit sad. Ree thought about what her mother had said, how Mitch seemed honest and caring. Did a man’s job always define him? This man kept a solid privacy fence around him, so it was hard to tell. His body language invited her to say yes, but she wasn’t sure about giving in to her feelings.

  She took a breath. “Business?”

  “We can talk business,” he said. “Or we can go over business stuff now and just enjoy ourselves.”

  Enjoy themselves, right. Ree didn’t even know if she trusted him. Or herself.

  Mitch hadn’t moved any closer to her, but she was suddenly very aware of his physical presence, that he was leaning against the window frame, watching her, waiting for her.

  A breeze rustled in the trees. The scent of the freshly-painted trim was sharp and tangy. And suddenly she didn’t care about being cautious. It was worth setting aside her worries to find out who this man really was.

  “Dinner would be great,” she finally said. “But first let me show you what’s been happening here.”

  They skipped the tiny manager’s office and headed for the dining room where Ree had papers spread out on the antique table.

  Ree explained about Mrs. Markov’s last-minute wedding needs and pointed to her layout of the tables and seating area. Mitch looked over her shoulder. She could feel the warmth of his body and the scent of soap and soft cologne washed over her. Business, she reminded herself. This was about business and discovery, not letting her heart melt.

  They went through possibilities for lighting, back-up plans for bad weather, and the menu choices without a chef signed on.

  “I think that’s all,” Ree finally said.

  “This is great—I’m glad you’re excited.” Mitch looked at his watch. “Seven o’clock? I’ll pick you up, and we’ll go to…would you prefer Nora’s Place or Ling’s?”

  “Chinese, please, if that’s okay." Not that she wouldn’t run into people she knew, and not that it made a difference anyway, but she’d like to be able to relax without knowing everyone in the place.

  “Chinese it is. I’ll see you in a couple hours.”

  Ree watched him drive off in the Porsche, although she had no idea where he could go in McCormick’s Creek. She shrugged, locked the inn up, and went home to get ready.

  When Ree opened the door exactly at seven, Mitch grinned and offered her a cellophane-wrapped bundle of rainbow daisies. From the supermarket.

  “Couldn’t very well ask you to arrange your own flowers,” he said, eyes twinkling.

  Ree placed a splayed hand on her chest. “Why thank you, sir,” she teased, batting her eyes. “You’re ever so kind.”

  He bowed and reached his hand out.

  “Is this entirely proper, Mr. Blake?” Ree asked, resting her fingers lightly in his warm palm. Her heart fluttered just as lightly, and her mother’s words echoed in her head. Honest…caring…more to him than his job description.

  “Oh, entirely so, Ms. Swanson,” he said. He twirled her under his arm and tucked her against his side. “It’s my project so I get to set the rules.”

  Her pulse changed from a flutter to a race. “Ah, as long as it’s in the rules. Then, Sir, if you would be so kind as to give me the particulars?"

  He laughed. “You’ve been reading too much Jane Austen.”

  “Actually, I was trying to channel Scarlett O’Hara,” she giggled.

  He bowed. “Rhett Butler at your service. And I do give a damn."

  Their eyes met, and something sizzled between them. Ree took his arm and let him escort her to his car, feeling much warmer than the evening air would account for.

  When they finally arrived at Ling’s Lucky 8, Ree was famished and ordered a Number 12 Kung Pao Chicken with fried rice and a side of egg rolls.

  “You really are like Scarlett,” Mitch said. “Don’t like picking at salads just to make an impression?”

  “Nope,” Ree said gaily. “If I’m hungry, I eat. What you see is what you get.”

  “Admirable,” he replied.

  She didn’t necessarily consider it admirable, but she sure wasn’t going to pretend to be something she wasn’t, especially just to impress a guy. “You’re used to dating the salad types of girls?”

  “Sometimes. Too often, probably.” His smile reached his eyes. “It’s nice to be with someone real.”

  “Oh, I’m real all right,” she laughed. “Real stubborn, real broke, real hungry. Once in a while even real funny.”

  Mitch just grinned and shook his head. Dinner came, and she enjoyed watching his usual competence fade away as he fumbled with the chopsticks. It was nice to see a different side of him, but she reminded herself to look for the sleaze bag part.

  They chatted about her growing up in McCormick’s Creek and about the direction they’d be going with the inn.

  “What does old Mr. McCormick think?” Ree asked. “Does he like the way it’s turning out?”

  Mitch stared out the window in silence for a moment, then said, “He likes it. Thinks the color is a little garish—his memories are of faded paint—but he approves of it all.”

  “Did he grow up in the mansion?" Ree had never thought to ask that before.

  “No, in a house a few blocks away. But he spent a lot of time there before his grandparents had to sell it during the Depression. And then the whole family moved to Portland." He maneuvered a piece of sweet and sour pork to his mouth. “This is pretty good,” he said a moment later.

  “It’s another family restaurant. I went to school with the owner’s daughter, Lian, but she’s not here tonight. Anyway, her dad was born in China, came over when he was a teenager and has been cooking ever since. McCormick’s Creek would be even more boring if we only had Nora’s Place."

  “And you don’t like boring, do you?” Mitch asked.

  Ree laughed. “No way! I can’t wait to leave!" She reddened as she realized how that sounded. “I mean, I love the inn and I’d regret leaving that, of course, but the town just doesn’t hold much for me."

  Mitch concentrated on his chopsticks, and she wondered what he would say if he wasn’t being polite. Time for a change of subject. “So what do you do in your free time?” she asked.

  He grimaced. “Free time? What’s that?”

  Ree realized he hadn’t talked about any of the lawyer shark stuff that left him with no free time, but she wasn’t sure he would even be truthful if she asked. Besides, it would ruin a perfectly delightful evening. No, she was here to see what his personal self was like. “I’m sorry, I …” she began.

  “No, that’s okay. Before work took over my life, I used to go sailing on my grandfather’s boat. A 26-foot sloop that was relaxing and exciting at the same time. And even later, I’d head out just to escape the pressure.”

  They talked about sailing, about college life, about Ree’s childhood in McCormick’s Creek. Mitch seemed as honest and genuine as Ree had originally thought, but occasionally he would look away with sad eyes.

  She had to ask. “You don’t seem yourself today. What’s wrong?”

  He hesitated, glancing over at the waitress and then at the couple at the corner table. He set his jaw and said, “My grandfather died last Saturday.”

  “Oh no, I’m so sorry. That’s why you left in such a hurry." She didn’t know whether to apologize for asking or put her hand on his clenched one to comfort. Finally she spoke softly. “Tell me about him.”

  He shrugged, his jacket rising and falling smoothly with his movement. “He was old. I knew it was getting close.”

  That wasn’t quite what she meant. “He lived in Portland?”

  Mitch nodded. “He had a penthouse apartment in the firm’s building. Marcus will be getting it all cleared up. His nurse.”

  Ree swirled her drink, but he didn’t say anything else. He didn’t change the subject, either.

  “Were you close?”

  “He basically raised me. My parents trave
led, still travel. They couldn’t get back for the funeral.”

  “Oh Mitch, I’m so sorry,” Ree repeated. She was sorry for more than his grandfather, but she wasn’t going to touch his relationship with his parents with a ten-foot pole. “What was your grandfather like?”

  Mitch sat back, thought for a moment, then finally smiled. “Gruff. Tough on the outside but he loved me. Taught me to play chess, taught me to see life like a chessboard.”

  “Good for being an attorney, right?”

  “Good for anything, actually. Making business decisions, seeing people for who they really are.”

  Ree groaned inwardly—getting answers out of Mitch was like pulling splinters out one at a time. “Was he a businessman?”

  “No, an attorney. Started his own firm.”

  Ree thought of her mother’s business. “What will happen to it now? Will you go back and run it?”

  Mitch frowned. “I’m just finding out what goes on behind the scenes. Granddad kept a hand in, but he turned the day-to-day business over to the other partners more than a decade ago.”

  “I hope he enjoyed his retirement.”

  “Not really. He always wished he was back doing something useful. He was 88.”

  Ree shuddered at the thought of her mother working into her seventies. Dessert arrived and she took a bite of cheesecake, not sure what to say next. Mitch was silent too, but it wasn’t awkward this time.

  Then he spoke suddenly. “I want to do a memorial for him. In a garden area at the inn.”

  Ree perked up. “That’s a wonderful idea. What do you have in mind?”

  “Maybe a sundial. Or some sort of metal sculpture, birds or something. He was big into education and always said it let a person soar.”

  “Will you have an artist do it for you?”

  “A commission? No, probably not. But I’ll call some people next week and see what they have.”

  The evening had turned solemn for both of them. They finished dessert and paid the check, and Mitch dropped Ree at home with a soft, pensive kiss on her cheek.

  Pumpkin jumped into Ree’s lap as soon as she sat in her favorite thinking chair. “So Mom brought you home tonight, huh?" She petted him absent-mindedly, her heart wrapped up in Mitch’s sorrow. It sounded like his grandfather was the anchor in his life. What would it be like to lose that suddenly? Or if not suddenly, then completely?

  For once, she’d had a chance to peek over the walls he had up, to see him for who he was. She still didn’t know how to reconcile the man inside with the job he did. Could her mother be right—Mitchell Blake was not a total jerk? But then how could he do what he did, day in and day out?

  She tried to work it out, but her mind shied away from the conundrum and slid to another idea. She loved the idea of a memorial for his grandfather and wanted to add to it. What kind of a garden could she design to enhance its setting? She could find shrubs and flowering plants to showcase a sculpture of birds. And if her mother helped, it would provide a distraction for her, too.

  Chapter 18

  Mitch woke to sunlight streaming in the second floor window of the McCormick Inn’s largest guest room. How satisfying to be able to stay in a comfortable, well-appointed room now. The first time he’d spent the night in McCormick’s Creek, he’d subjected himself to the Sleepy Time Motel, a strip of six individual A-Frames that had seen better days. It had been clean, he’d give it that, but not much else.

  Thank goodness that Cat, Justin and Harriet moved quickly. The construction was done now, and the inn’s bedrooms were largely furnished, with Harriet looking for only a few particular items more. That meant his mattress was good, the decor was delightful, and the showers had plenty of hot water.

  And long hot showers were perfect for thinking time. Usually his thinking time dealt with legal matters, but this time… this time the water streamed over him while Ree filled his thoughts.

  Dinner last night had been perfect. Lots of banter and easy conversation, laughter in her voice and a sparkle in her eyes. Until grief had washed over him again. He’d carried on, but it had put a damper on the evening, and he didn’t know how Ree felt about it.

  Did it make a lousy first date for her? Did she think he was a wimp? The fact that he’d known Granddad’s days were numbered didn’t make it any easier, but somehow telling her stories about him felt right. And she was sympathetic without being over-the-top.

  She was so different from the women he knew. She was beautiful, yes, but also the girl next door. She wasn’t afraid to let out a belly laugh or eat exactly what she wanted rather than what someone would expect her to have. Every woman he had known had been obsessed with looking model-thin and being just what someone like him wanted.

  He wasn’t sure what that said about him, but he could let his guard down with Ree. Or at least last evening had proven that he could, even if he hadn’t planned on it.

  So what could he do for her? Granddad had cautioned him not to make over the town without their consent, but he could start at least one person off today.

  An hour later, he entered the flower shop. No one was in the front, but remembering his first visit, he called out, “Anybody home?”

  Ree came out from the back, wiping her hands on a towel. “Mitch, good morning." She actually blushed again. It had been a long time since he’d seen a woman blush, and he loved that she didn’t control her reactions.

  He took in her disheveled ponytail and lack of makeup, and grinned. Yup, this was one girl who was strong enough to be herself. But that was for later. “Is your mother around?”

  “Mom? She’s back at the greenhouse, as usual,” Ree grumbled. “Why?”

  He just shrugged and said, “Thanks." A little mystery was good for the reputation.

  He found Mrs. Swanson rearranging plants on the wide tables. “Good morning. So these are your bat flowers?”

  Mrs. Swanson let out a laugh. “No, Mr. Blake, these are Asiatic lilies. The batwings are back here.”

  “Trust me to get it wrong.” He smiled sheepishly and followed her to the strangest looking flowers he had ever seen, if they could even be called flowers. They seemed hairy, somehow, even whiskery. The flower was almost black and looked a little like a bat’s outstretched wings. If a bat had fat wings.

  Mrs. Swanson told him all about them, who bought them, and how inattentive people would let freezes kill them and then come back for more.

  Mitch nodded, asking some questions and filing away a million more for later. He looked around the greenhouse. “Do you have a few minutes that we could sit down? I’d like to talk to you about something.”

  “You want to talk to me?” Mrs. Swanson stepped back.

  “Oh, nothing bad. In fact, I think you’ll like it.”

  She nodded. “Inside. Just let me wash up." She straightened a few plants, cleaned up at a cement sink, and Mitch followed her into the house.

  He wasn’t sure how to begin the conversation. He was used to clients asking him to take their case, or else telling another attorney the way things would be. Helping someone, being concerned about how they would react, was an entirely different thing.

  Mitch cleared his throat. “I know your hand surgery makes flower arranging impossible right now, and Ree tells me that the shop can’t afford to hire someone to help.”

  Mrs. Swanson pursed her lips. “Ree’s been telling tales out of school. That’s private." Her back was ramrod straight, and she clenched her hands in her lap.

  “Yes, but…”

  “My hand will heal, and we’ll work our family business out privately. But thank you.”

  Mitch sighed. “Mrs. Swanson, I’m not trying to butt in. I just—”

  “That’s exactly what you’re doing, Mr. Blake. And I won’t let you buy Ree’s affections.”

  “Ree’s affections?” Mitch sat back, appalled at the direction Mrs. Swanson’s thoughts had taken. “No, that’s not it at all. I would be here even if…” His voice trailed off. His feelings for Ree, no
matter how quickly they were growing, had nothing to do with this.

  “Let me start over. Mr. McCormick has an interest in seeing his hometown prosper, and the McCormick Foundation has set aside a certain amount of money for businesses that are struggling.”

  “We are not struggling!” Mrs. Swanson snapped.

  “No,” Mitch agreed, “you’re doing fine as long as you have Ree’s unpaid help. Until your hand heals completely, you can’t do without her or another full time assistant.”

  “I won’t take charity.”

  “It’s not charity,” he countered. “It would be a very low-interest loan with deferred payments." He put his hand up as she began to protest. “Also, you have some marketable products in the greenhouse, as well as a prospective plant breeding program.”

  Mrs. Swanson eyed him warily. “The batwings are just for fun. And the plant breeding won’t ever earn money.”

  He leaned forward. “Mrs. Swanson, Mr. McCormick is serious about this. I’d like to suggest a business advisor to see about selling the batwings online, perhaps adding a few other exotic plants. A horticulture advisor could help you focus your genetics with an eye to marketing the results. The Foundation is prepared to provide a grant for their consultations.”

  Mrs. Swanson looked rather dumbfounded. “I could earn real money from the greenhouse?”

  “I’m not an expert, but it’s possible. It’s at least worth looking into.”

  She was quiet for a few moments, then met his eyes. “Let me think about this for a while.”

  “Sure,” he said. “Call me if you have questions, which I’m sure you will.”

  He handed her his business card and she walked him to the door.

  “You…the Foundation would be helping other businesses, too?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Mitch said, feeling like he should be tipping his hat to her. Channeling his grandfather, he supposed, which was not a bad thing. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

  He walked back down the gravel drive feeling lighter than he had since his grandfather died. Lighter than he had for the last few years.