Secrets of the Tulip Sisters

by Susan Mallery

  “So you’re saying I shouldn’t hate her but it’s okay not to trust her?”

  “Just my opinion.”

  “You’re very fond of your opinion.”

  One shoulder rose slightly. “I can’t help it. I’m a guy.”

  She laughed, then leaned forward and kissed him. “At the risk of stating the obvious, you’re a pretty impressive guy.”

  “Tell me about it.” His expression turned serious. “I want to talk about what happened the other night. With us.”

  What on earth was he—

  She jerked her hand free, straightened and thought longingly of bolting for the door. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m not. We have to talk.”

  “Why? It was great. You were great. Fantastic.”

  She tried to sound as enthused as possible because if she didn’t, he wouldn’t believe her and then they would have an excruciating conversation about what had and hadn’t worked and why she was the way she was and maybe he should just kill her now.

  “I’ve been doing some reading,” he began.

  “What?” The word came out loud and at a higher pitch than she’d planned. She cleared her throat. “What do you mean you’ve been reading?”

  “I’m not sure what’s confusing about the sentence. I’ve been trying to figure out why you weren’t able to climax. You never said that it was a first time thing, that after you relaxed, you’d be fine, which tells me that being with someone new isn’t the problem.”

  She folded her arms across her chest, closed her eyes and wished she could just up and die.

  “I don’t think there’s a physical problem,” he continued. “With your anatomy. You would have mentioned that. Which means it’s something else. Maybe you won’t relax enough to let go. Maybe you’re afraid of something. Maybe it’s your mother.”

  Her eyes snapped open. “My mother? Are you telling me you think I can’t have an orgasm because of my mother?”

  “I think it’s a possibility. You saw her behavior and you experienced the consequences. Maybe sex and devastation are linked in your head. I doubt it’s that simple. I suspect there are a lot of reasons you’re not willing to let go.”

  She once again glanced at the door, but it seemed incredibly far away and she had a bad feeling that Griffith wouldn’t let her run away. He seemed determined to have it out with her, regardless of what she wanted. Still, she had to try.

  “This isn’t a conversation I want to be having.”

  “I’m sure.”

  She waited. “That’s it?”

  He leaned toward her. “Kelly, this is important. We have to figure out the problem and how to solve it.”

  “No, we don’t. I’m fine. Completely happy.”

  “I want to believe that. Just to confirm what you said the other night, you’ve never climaxed, even by yourself?”

  She covered her face with her hands. “Stop, I beg you.”

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  They weren’t going to talk about this, she told herself as she straightened and glared at him. She was going to keep completely silent until he ran out of steam, then she was going to find a bar and start drinking. Even if it was barely noon.

  “Do you like the touching?” he asked.

  She pressed her lips together and refused to answer.

  “When I stroke your breasts? Is that nice?”

  She felt a whisper of sensation in the aforementioned body parts.

  “Yes,” she said grudgingly. “It’s nice.”

  “Like you’re aroused?”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “So maybe heat and tingles?”

  She crossed her arms again. “I’m starting to think going out with you was a bad idea.”

  “What about oral sex? Do you like that?”

  She felt herself blush. “Griffith!”

  “It’s a legitimate question. Do you like it?”

  “I guess.”

  “Did you and Sven do that a lot?”

  “Ask him,” she blurted, only to realize Griffith probably would, leading to more humiliation, which she didn’t need. “We did it a few times. It was nice.”

  “But not nice enough. Do you enjoy having your clitoris touched?”

  She stood. “We’re done.”

  He rose. “We can’t be. Kelly, sex is important. Not just because it feels good, but because it makes it easier for us to bond as a couple. There are chemicals released during orgasm. We need them to make this work.”

  “Holy crap, how much reading did you do?”

  “A lot. Is it the word? Clitoris? Is clit better?”

  She sank back on the chair and rested her arms on the desk, then put her head on her arms. “I hate you.”

  “You hate a lot of people. So it’s not the word?”

  “No. Call it what you want. Touching it is fine.” Sometimes it was better than fine. Sometimes she thought that maybe she was going to get there, but then something happened and she didn’t. “Oral sex is fine. All of it is totally fine.” She raised her head and looked at him. “Can we be done, please?”

  He pulled her to her feet and kissed her. “We can be done talking about it for today, but aren’t even close to finished with the subject.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  * * *

  Olivia had no idea what to expect with her meeting with Sally. The first time she and the quilt lady, as Olivia had come to think of her, had met, Olivia had gone over her booth space, explained what she thought the problem was, and had offered a couple of solutions. She’d been careful to talk about how wonderful the quilts were, how they weren’t getting the attention they deserved and that she thought Sally would be selling a lot more with a different layout. Then she’d waited.

  Sally had listened, thanked her and that had been that. Eight minutes of Olivia talking with virtually no response. She had no idea if Sally had been happy, offended or suffering from indigestion, so not actually listening.

  She’d meant to sweat the problem for several days, only Marilee had blown into town and dropped the “why yes, Olivia and I do spend a lot of time together” bombshell, and all other issues had been forgotten. Until Olivia had received an email from Sally requesting a second meeting. That was it—just a date and time with no hint as to what the meeting was about.

  Olivia dressed carefully in a sleeveless print dress that wasn’t too short or low-cut. She added a short-sleeved shrug and low heels, then grabbed her briefcase and left the house.

  It took her less than ten minutes to get to the craft mall. She was early so decided to walk around the booths. She took notes as she went, on the off chance that Sally had liked her advice and would give her name to other vendors. At five minutes to two, she went back to the mall entrance and found Sally waiting for her, along with another, slightly younger woman.

  “This is Hannah,” Sally told her. “She has two antiques booths in the mall. What do you think of the name Garden Variety?”

  Olivia shook hands with the pretty brunette, then turned back to Sally. “For the craft mall?”

  Sally nodded.

  “I like it. I think The Dutch Bunch is cute and catchy, but the range of items sold isn’t very specific. I’m concerned customers would expect a lot more Dutch and tulip-based inventory and be disappointed.”

  Sally and Hannah exchanged a look that Olivia couldn’t read.

  “I took your advice,” Sally told her. “I rearranged my booth, took out most of the quilts, displayed the ones left and used the book of photographs, along with another book of sample quilting techniques.” She grinned. “I’ve sold eight quilts in the past three days and I have five special orders that people want for the holidays. It’s more than I’ve sold in any single
month except December.”

  “Me, too,” Hannah added, then laughed. “You gave Sally suggestions for one of my booths. I did what you said and I’ve doubled my sales.”

  Olivia’s vague sense of apprehension faded. “I’m glad I could help.”

  “We appreciate your suggestions,” Sally said. “For most of us, the booths are a second business, but we still have to make money. A couple of them are run by stay-at-home moms and they need all the help they can get. Hannah and I think you should offer to consult with all the booth owners. They probably don’t have the money to pay you up front, but you could collect a percentage of the increased sales.”

  “A sliding percentage,” Hannah added. “Say forty percent the first month, thirty the second, twenty the third. That’s what I plan to pay you.”

  Olivia held up both hands. “I didn’t ask to be paid. I was trying to help.” To be useful and feel as if she belonged somewhere, she thought, careful not to say that. The nice women saying such lovely things about her didn’t want to know how needy she was.

  “Even so, it’s only right.” Hannah looked determined. “Can you draw up some kind of agreement? Nothing fancy—just a page spelling out the terms?”

  “Of course. I’ll do that tonight.”

  “Good.” Sally smiled. “We’ll speak with the other booth owners and get you their contact information. A few of them are old-fashioned and won’t want to listen, but some will. I think after a few months, everyone is going to want your advice.”

  Wouldn’t that be nice, Olivia thought. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

  Sally and Hannah exchanged another look. “There’s one other thing,” Sally told her. “A few of us on the tourism board think we need a manager for the craft mall. Someone to make sure the rules are followed and to help with the marketing. Tourists should know about us and they don’t. There’s not a lot of money in the budget, but we should be able to afford someone part-time. I doubt the job would be more than a few hours a week. If you’re interested, I’d like to take the idea to the committee.”

  Olivia did her best to keep from shrieking. “You’re offering me a job?” she confirmed.

  “Yes,” Hannah said. “Maybe with you in charge, we can stop changing the name every few months. I love Vista Print but I don’t need to be ordering new business cards every two months because we can’t decide on a name.”

  “I’d be interested,” Olivia told her. “Very much so.” Talk about motivation to make the auction even more successful. A few of the extra dollars could go toward her salary, which would be very exciting.

  She smiled at Sally. “I had no idea what you were thinking after our last meeting. I was afraid I’d insulted you and that you would be looking for someone else to run the fund-raiser.”

  Sally laughed. “I’ll admit I was shocked by what you told me,” she admitted. “I’ve had a booth here for years and I thought I was doing really well. At first I told myself you had no idea what you were talking about, but after a while I started to think about your suggestions. I gave it a weekend, just to prove you wrong. Then I found out it was me all along.”

  They made arrangements for Olivia to come to the city offices to fill out the required paperwork.

  “There’ll have to be a board vote,” Hannah said. “I’m sending out an email later today to all the members telling them we need a meeting. I’m sure everyone will agree.”

  “I’ll wait to hear from you.”

  On her way back to her car, Olivia did a little mental happy dance, only to stop when she realized she’d just made the decision to move back to Tulpen Crossing permanently. Who would have thought?

  She could do it, she told herself. All she had to do was find another part-time job and then she was set. Oh, and give notice to her mother—not that she had the slightest idea of what to say. “Hey, Mom, you’ve been a real bitch, so I’m leaving,” didn’t seem like the best opening line.

  “Not something I have to deal with today,” she told herself as she got in her car. She started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. Eventually she would head back to her dad’s place, but first she had a stop to make. She was already on a roll—this was the time to take advantage of her momentum.

  24

  Griffith had an orgasm problem. Technically, the problem was Kelly’s but he was involved. The thing was, he didn’t know what to do first. Okay, yes, he had to get her back into bed, but then what? He could write a paper on a clitoral orgasm versus a vaginal one, including quoting scientists who said they were one and the same. He understood about stimulation (speed and pressure) along with the advantage of using a rest cycle. He could talk G-spot, anal stimulation, different angles of penetration and the advantages and disadvantages of using a vibrator. What he didn’t know was which technique was going to work on Kelly, especially considering there was also an emotional component. He was both enthused and apprehensive. He felt like the kid who had overstudied for his final.

  His mental hopscotch was interrupted when Olivia walked into his office.

  “Hi, Griffith, do you have a few minutes?”

  All thoughts of Kelly retreated, leaving him feeling vaguely guilty about thinking about Olivia’s sister in that way, which made him smile.

  “Sure,” he told her. “What’s up?”

  A second too late, he braced himself to hear something about Ryan. His brother had been showing up more regularly, albeit grudgingly. He was also getting more work done, although today he’d called in sick.

  She settled across from his desk. “I’ve been doing some research on tiny homes. The industry is growing quickly. The combination of the costs of construction, the rising price of land and a cultural shift toward owning less causes many economists to believe that micro housing has an excellent long-term future.”

  Griffith mentally shifted gears. So, not Ryan. “That’s my understanding, as well.”

  “Good.” She pulled out her tablet. “I stopped by a few weeks ago and Leo took me on a tour of the facility. I like what you’re doing here. The quality work is impressive. You have six houses in various stages of completion for customers to see, and the cross section, but you don’t have an actual display area.”

  “I’ve thought about it, but I’m not sure it’s worth the money. Most people have a clear idea of what they want.”

  “What percentage?” she asked as she pulled out a pad of paper and a pen.

  “About half.”

  “Do they change their minds as they go through the process?”

  “Yeah. A lot. And when we get into picking out the materials to finish the house, there can be issues. A few know exactly how things should be but a lot of them are overwhelmed by the choices. I can give them direction on some things. There are some materials you want to stay away from.”

  “That’s what I learned from my reading.” She tapped on her tablet, then turned it so he could see the screen. “This is the basic floor plan of a twelve-by-twenty-four tiny home. It’s something you’d have for a mother-in-law house or on undeveloped land.”

  “I’m familiar with the design,” he said drily. “It’s one of mine.”

  She flashed him a grin. “I’m so pleased you recognized it.” She swiped to the next picture, an interior shot. Not a photograph, but a to-scale color rendering that was nearly as good.

  The finishes were rustic, the furniture mostly fabric and wood. The floor was covered with wide planks. She showed him shots of the two lofts—one with a queen bed and one with two twins. There was another shot of the kitchen. Olivia had put in appliances, along with a few small touches, such as a built-in wine rack and two computer stations. She showed him where she’d found extra storage and finished with a big deck off the back.

  “It’s nice,” he said, not sure where they were going.

  She fli
pped to the next rendering. “A twelve-by-twenty-four tiny house with a loft,” she said, then waited.

  He stared at the interior. He knew the design front to back, knew he’d just seen it. Yet nothing he was looking at was the same. Oh, sure, there were the obvious placements. The kitchen, the bathroom. But this home was sleek and modern. The finishes were all chrome and glass. The windows were different, as was the furniture. Where the previous house would have fit in next to a lake or in the mountains, this one belonged in San Francisco, or Paris.

  She flipped through to the kitchen. Again, the differences stunned him. These cabinets had a frosted glass finish with doors lifted up instead of to the side. The deck was on the roof, with gleaming stainless steel railings and a built-in fire pit.

  “Holy shit,” he murmured.

  She smiled. “Thank you. Leo mentioned that there are customers who know what they want, but a lot of their ideas aren’t practical for the space. There are other clients who want a tiny home but have no idea how to finish it. My suggestion is you expand your display area considerably.”

  She flipped to another rendering, this one of a showroom. There was a completed tiny house, his existing cross section, along with a wall of cabinets, appliances, fixtures and fabric swatches.

  “I like it, but I don’t have room for it.”

  “The storefront next to your warehouse is going to be available to lease at the end of the month. There’s a huge parking lot out front for customers and in back for employees. You could rent that and have a permanent showroom. With the employee parking no longer taking up space, you could expand the second warehouse.”

  She slipped her tablet back in her bag. “Your company is privately held, so it’s difficult to get hard numbers. From what I’ve been able to find out, you’re doubling your sales every three years. I’m guessing you’re turning business away. Why not expand, instead?”

  He was doubling his business every 2.7 years, but her guess was a good one. As were her ideas.