Love Blooms on Main Street

by Olivia Miles

  Ivy clucked her tongue. “You leave my brother to me. He’ll love it when he sees it. And really, does he have a better suggestion?”

  “Are you talking about this pink wedding again?” Henry came into the room, Sophie clinging to his back.

  “Hey, I like pink!” Sophie cried.

  “I think brown would be better,” Henry said, and Sophie’s face crumpled in confusion, as if trying to process whether he was joking or not. From the skittish glance she threw her mother, it was clear the jury was still out. “Tell me, what’s so pretty about pink?”

  “Well…” Sophie put a finger to her lips in thought and then smiled triumphantly. “It’s the color of cotton candy!”

  “Okay. You sold me.” Henry tossed Ivy a wink and jogged into the dining room, Sophie squealing in delight.

  Ivy watched them wistfully, imagining what it might be like to have her own little family unit like this someday. Growing up, she and Henry only had each other, and they’d done the best they could without a proper role model. Their father was gone before they’d been born, and even when their mother was home, she couldn’t be counted on to be sober. They were usually happier when she stayed away, knowing she’d gladly keep her seat warm at the local pub until the owner stopped refilling her glass. It was the Madisons who had shown Ivy how a real home should be. Full of laughter, and even tears, of people who were happy to see you, and lively dinner conversations over hot, home-cooked meals.

  She was happy that her brother had found his way into the Madison family, that after years of drifting, he’d finally found a real home, the one they hadn’t been able to make for themselves despite their efforts. It gave her hope that in time, she might be able to do the same.

  “Should I cut up another tomato?” she asked Jane.

  “Better make it two. Mark was able to cut his shift early tonight and he’s picking up Brett.”

  Ivy had the good sense to set down the knife. “Brett?” Her voice was so small, she wasn’t even sure Jane caught the question.

  But Jane just nodded and reached for a tomato. “Yeah, he moved back to town. Didn’t you hear?”

  Of course Ivy hadn’t heard the news. And all she could hear now was the rushing of blood in her ears, and she had the sickening, horrifying realization that in a matter of minutes he would be walking through that door and that there was nowhere to hide. She couldn’t even have a glass of wine to take the edge off. She eyed the patio doors greedily. The fence really wasn’t so high… The walk back to town would do her good.

  “Wait.” She paused to think about what Jane had said. It wasn’t just tonight. It was… Oh, no, no, no. “You said he… moved back?”

  “That’s right.” Jane gathered the tomato slices onto a plate and started peeling a red onion. “Sharon must be so excited.”

  The doorbell rang, and Ivy jumped. Her eyes darted for a place to run, anywhere she wasn’t so… exposed. Anywhere she wouldn’t be forced to make direct eye contact with the man who had kissed her and carried on, without so much as a glance back, much less a phone call in all these months to keep the spark alive.

  That should have been your first clue, Ivy.

  She watched helplessly as Jane walked to the front door, her ponytail swinging, and as her friend’s hand reached for the handle, Ivy dashed around the counter and into the powder room, which she quickly locked with a firm click. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the door, straining her ear for the sound of his voice. That rich, smooth, sweet-talking voice.

  Jane was laughing, and Sophie was talking incessantly, and Ivy held her breath, not wanting to miss a sound. But ah, there was Luke’s voice—unmistakable—and Grace, who was already asking Jane about the wedding plans.

  Ivy leaned into the mirror and gave herself a stern, silent scolding. Look at her. Hiding in the bathroom while her closest friends were out there enjoying themselves. Well, at least now that the house was filling up, her presence wouldn’t be so obvious. She’d talk to Grace, help out a lot with Jane. She’d make an early departure. And tomorrow she would start an online dating profile. Or she’d ask Sam Logan out for coffee—wouldn’t Kara be relieved! Yes, she’d do just that, because one thing was certain. She was not going to look like some gobsmacked schoolgirl who still had a crush on Brett and was still going to bed every night waiting for him to kiss her.

  He had kissed her. So she could cross that dream off her bucket list.

  And really, he hadn’t been that good of a kisser.

  She closed her eyes. Her body tingled. Oh, stop it!

  Ivy smoothed her hair and checked her teeth for lipstick, and then, with forced confidence, opened the door, already smiling at the thought of seeing Grace. Only the face she was smiling at wasn’t her best friend’s. It was Brett’s. And he wasn’t smiling back.

  He stepped back, his jaw squared. “Sorry, didn’t know it was occupied.”

  Her cheeks flared. “I was just… brushing my hair.”

  She gave an internal eye roll. Couldn’t she have thought of something a little more casual? A little less obvious than primping in the bathroom?

  She scooted to the side with a tight-lipped smile, stiffening as their bodies skimmed each other, and she wondered if he could feel the pounding of her heart as he drew close. Every nerve ending went on high alert, and a rush of warmth pooled deep inside her.

  The bathroom door closed, followed by an abrupt click of the lock, and Ivy gritted her teeth against the sinking of her heart as she walked over to Grace and started commenting on the food trays, certain that her friend would notice the wild look in her eyes, the way her voice was unnaturally high even to her own ears, or that she wasn’t retaining anything Grace was saying to her.

  Somehow she made it to the backyard, even opened a can of diet soda, and was soon fully immersed in a conversation with all three Madison sisters, who were poking fun at Grace’s rather impressive cheese platter. She kept her back firmly to the house, refusing to give in to temptation, even to steal a look.

  So Brett wanted to pretend they hadn’t spent hours laughing and talking, that he hadn’t slid his hand over her hip, and down, around, and under the hem of her dress and up her bare thigh, until she’d gasped from pleasure as his mouth nibbled her earlobe?

  She could, too. And she would. Because it was time to put this crush to rest for good.

  Brett eyed the bucket of ice cold beer and, begrudgingly, reached for a soda instead. If he was a gambling man, he’d pin every dime to his name that he wouldn’t be getting a call from the hospital tonight, but he wasn’t a betting man. Or a risk-taking one. He played it safe. Always had. With his head. And his heart.

  “Not drinking tonight?” Mark chided.

  “On call.”

  “Has that ever stopped you before?” Mark cracked the top on his own bottle.

  “I never drink when I’m on call,” Brett said, his temper rising.

  The amusement vanished from his brother’s dark eyes. “Whoa. I was just joking. Lighten up.”

  “Sorry.” Brett shook his head. He was still tense. Still jumpy. Still mentally back in Baltimore, even if physically he was here in sleepy Briar Creek. “I have a lot on my mind.”

  “Care to talk about it?” Mark tipped his head.

  Brett tried to push back the unease he felt, but knew he couldn’t. “Do you think Mom’s working too hard?”

  Mark pulled the bottle from his mouth, his expression turning quizzical. “At the diner? She loves that place.”

  “Yes, but she’s on her feet for all those hours…”

  “So?” Mark shrugged, but a flicker of worry soon replaced his earlier attitude. He stared at Brett closely, looking for any hint of reaction. “Why? Do you think something is wrong?”

  Brett felt like an ass for worrying his brother, who had no idea about their mother’s health scare earlier in the year. He told himself to calm down, to stop looking for problems where none existed. The test results had come back negative. Why co
uldn’t he focus on that, celebrate it even? “I just worry. That’s all.”

  “It’s probably because you haven’t seen her in a while,” Mark said.

  Brett nodded away the guilt and sipped his soda. “Yeah, probably.” He was back now. He’d make up the time, if such a thing were possible.

  Mark grinned at him, then slapped him on the back. “Relax, Brett. She’s fine. If she wasn’t, I’d know. And I’d have told you.”

  It was true, all true, but the anxiety continued to gnaw at him. Normally, he had the high-stress pace of his job to distract his mind from traveling down these worried roads, but tonight, there was nothing to take his mind off his troubles. Not even a drink.

  Brett glanced around the backyard, noticing he wasn’t the only one taking it easy tonight. Ivy Birch sat at a picnic table near the edge of the deck, her back firmly to him, as it had been all evening, holding a half-empty bottle of water while her friends sipped white wine.

  He remembered teasing her over dessert at the wedding, when she passed up a slice of cake, slipping in a chance to compliment her figure, which had very nicely filled out that red bridesmaid dress. She’d blushed and set her hand on his wrist. That touch… It had been all he needed to crave more, and he’d fought the urge all night, telling himself that words were one thing, that a little flirtation at a wedding helped pass the time, that he deserved a little fun. Only he couldn’t stop there. Not when her smile sent a fire to his groin and her quick wit kept him eager, wanting more, needing more.

  He’d been reckless. Selfish, really.

  But he wouldn’t take it back. Still, he wouldn’t repeat it, either.

  From across the lawn he watched as Ivy tossed her head, laughing at something one of the other girls had said. His skin prickled with awareness at the sound and he suddenly had the urge to cross the lawn, to settle himself down at the knotty pine table at the edge of the deck, to immerse himself in that laughter, that banter, and forget about his troubles for a while.

  Ivy glanced at him, for the second time that night, and Brett had the uneasy feeling that she was looking for something, no doubt more than he could give.

  He excused himself from the guys, leaving them to hash out the latest baseball scores, and began the long, slow walk across the grass. If life had taught him one thing, it was that taking control of a situation was always best. And he was going to take control of this awkwardness right now, before it got worse.

  As he approached, he watched as Sophie spilled her hot dog on the ground. Her face crumpled with tears, and Jane and Grace both sprung to their feet.

  “I’ll make you a new one, honey. There’s plenty more.” Jane bent to pick up the mess.

  “But my dress!” the child said, wiping her eyes with her fists. “It’s my favorite.”

  Grace took her hand. “Come inside with me. We’ll get you a fresh one while your mommy gets you a new hot dog.”

  The little girl sniffled, as if considering the offerings. “Okay,” she said hesitantly.

  Brett smiled as he watched Grace lead Sophie into the house, but his shoulders immediately tensed when he noticed that Ivy now sat alone at the table, her auburn hair glistening with gold in the warmth of the setting sun.

  No use dwelling on that, he told himself. Now was as good a time as any. Pulling in a breath, Brett circled the table and slid onto the bench. Her eyes slowly narrowed on him.

  “Nice party,” he tried, feeling her out. God, he could use a drink right about now. Something to take the edge off. Something to temper the inconvenient urge he had to lean across the table and wipe that surprise off her lips. He hadn’t dared to properly look at her the other day in the hospital. Hadn’t wanted to. He’d been so shocked to see her, and even more so to be reminded of how damn pretty she was, how his body still reacted all on its own to that face… that body. Now, sitting here, with the evening shadows softening her already delicate features and bringing out the green flecks in those clear blue eyes, he struggled to stay firm.

  Then he thought of his father—a man who had promised more than he could give—and the three bystanders who had paid for it dearly. Ivy didn’t deserve the same fate.

  No one did.

  “I heard you moved back to town,” she said after a brief hesitation. Her tone was pleasant enough, but he detected a slightly defensive edge.

  Damn, word traveled fast in this town. And from the steely glint in Ivy’s eyes, she’d taken the news personally. “For now,” he commented, and immediately wished he could take back the words. No doubt that would get around, too, and everyone would wonder what was meant by it, where he was going, why he would leave again.

  He studied Ivy, relaxing a bit. Ivy kept things to herself. She clearly hadn’t told anyone about their kiss. God knew he would have heard about it if she had. Mark would have never let that one pass without a comment or jab, especially now that he’d traded in his bachelor days for domestic comfort.

  “I’m filling in at Forest Ridge. One of the emergency room doctors is on maternity leave, so I’m the replacement. I was late for my interview when I ran into you on Monday.”

  Her smile seemed a little easier. “No wonder you seemed a little harried.”

  Brett eyed her warily. He knew that look, the sweet way her plump lips curled at the corner, the way she tucked her hair ever so carefully behind her ear and then fiddled with the lobe. She probably didn’t even know she was doing it, but the effect it had on him was as intense as it had been the first time. He gritted his teeth. He had to remember the plan. Stick to his rules. Keep focused. Get back on track.

  “Yeah, I…” Just say it, man. Let her down gently. You know what to do. “I felt bad I had to run off.”

  “Oh?” She tipped her head, unimpressed.

  Brett swept his eyes over the party, making sure they wouldn’t be overheard, before leaning into his elbows on the table. This close he noticed the flecks of turquoise around her pupils. The faint dusting of freckles on her nose. And those lips… His groin stirred. Had they always been so pink, so… soft looking?

  He inched back. He wasn’t offering anything. Not to her. Not to anyone. “That kiss. I feel bad about it.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Bad about it…” She seemed to mull over the words.

  “My life is really complicated right now. I’m not looking for a relationship at this time.”

  She now hadn’t blinked in an alarming amount of time. Finally, she said with a strange little smile, “Neither am I.”

  He frowned. He hadn’t seen that coming. Normally when he got to a point of having to be direct with a girl, he had to sit through a half hour of listening to her list all her qualities, try to convince him she was flexible, that she didn’t mind a doctor’s hours, that really, they could make this work. He’d watch as her eyes become all watery, and he’d patiently hand her a napkin or tissue or, once, even his sleeve. He’d kindly tell her she’d find someone better suited, someone to give her the attention she deserved, that she was a great girl, that it was him, not her, and reluctantly agree that maybe someday he’d find a way to balance his life. He’d give her a hug, put her in a cab, and then shake off the guilt he felt, reminding himself it was a necessary evil, that he hadn’t promised her a damn thing and that it was better for her that he hadn’t. Just like he’d never promised Ivy anything. But from the curious tilt of her head, it seemed that this was one situation he may have read all wrong.

  “Oh. I just assumed—”

  “What? That one kiss had me planning our wedding flowers?” Ivy laughed. “Please, Brett. It was a wedding. Alcohol was involved. It was just a kiss.”

  Now here he disagreed. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a flurry of mouths and hands and heat. And no alcohol had been involved. She’d kissed him with a clear head. Not that he could say the same for himself. He’d been stupid, and it wasn’t on account of a glass of wine. He’d wanted her.

  “Besides, that was months ago,” she pointed out. She gave him a pitying lo
ok as she cocked an eyebrow.

  “It was. I just…” He frowned, at a loss. He wasn’t used to the conversation going this way. Wasn’t prepared for it. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t… let down.”

  “Let down?” A wrinkle of confusion appeared between her eyebrows.

  He gave her a kind smile. “You know, that you didn’t have any… expectations.”

  She laughed. “My goodness, someone’s full of himself.”

  Brett felt his brow flinch. “I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t any misunderstanding. I’m glad we cleared the air.”

  “Me too.” Her tone was sharp, and she was already unraveling one long leg from the bench, using the surface to steady herself. “But it was good seeing you, Brett. And now that you’re back in town, I’m sure this won’t be the last time.”

  She smiled as she turned and walked away toward the Madison sisters, who were gathered at the edge of the lawn, and he watched her hips move and sway as she strode across the grass, her long auburn hair bouncing against her back. Brett frowned, wondering what exactly he had accomplished in that conversation. He and Ivy had never been close, but they saw each other a lot when he was in town—she was always at some party or event he was invited to—and he liked her. Liked her smile. Liked her laugh. Liked her face.

  He liked her a lot, actually.

  “Someone sitting here?” Shea O’Riley, who had been a couple of years behind him in school, hovered next to the table, holding a glass of white wine and smiling at him.

  Brett hesitated, his mind still on Ivy, his head still spinning over the conversation they had just had. He waved a hand over the table, smiling politely. “It’s all yours.”

  “Perfect,” she said, and then startled him by scooting onto the seat next to him rather than across from him, where Ivy had sat.

  He laughed under his breath, surprised, but not entirely, and started thinking of an exit plan. He was used to girls making moves on him. Maybe it was because he made so few of his own; they had no choice but to take the lead. In high school, it was out of shyness, but later… He didn’t want to give the wrong impression. Sure, there were girls he was interested in, but he was always careful with that first move. He usually waited for a lead, however subtle. He wouldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it, especially when a girl was as attractive as Shea, with her long legs, jean shorts just barely skimming the space between her thighs, and a dimple in her left cheek that revealed itself when she smiled. If he’d been back in Baltimore tonight, he might have stuck around, had a few drinks, and enjoyed a pretty girl’s company. But he wasn’t in Baltimore right now. He was in Briar Creek. A town where everyone knew everyone and everyone talked, and if he got to talking to Shea for too long, all of Main Street would be talking about it tomorrow.