Love Blooms on Main Street

by Olivia Miles

  “Considering I live and work on Main Street, I’m easy to find.” She stiffened, hoping he didn’t take that as an invitation, which it most certainly was not.

  “Good. Don’t be surprised if I call on you then.” His eyes roamed over her, as a slow grin curved his lips, and he held out his hand.

  Ivy eyed it steadily, dreading the thought of his touch as much as she craved it, and set her fingers in his palm, fighting against the warm current that traveled straight to her stomach and rolled down deeper, lower and lower, until—

  She snatched it back. “Excellent.” Ivy forced one of the smiles she gave to her most tiresome customers and excused herself before her emotions got the better of her. Her heart pounded with each step she took back to the parking garage. It would have been so easy to hand the job over to someone else, let some other florist take over the party, let some other woman interact with the hospital’s newest heartthrob.

  But she had a loan to pay off and a business to think about, and if Brett was going to be living in Briar Creek again, she’d just have to learn to live with him. And without him.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Kara took her time walking down Main Street on Tuesday afternoon, slowing her pace as Rosemary and Thyme grew closer. She knew there was nothing to be nervous about, really. After all, people gave their notice all the time, especially in the restaurant business. No one really expected you to stay in one place forever, did they?

  Well, maybe they did, came the nagging thought. Especially when, by all accounts, she was working for a family business.

  But no, no, there were many businesses in town connected to her family. The bookstore, for example, now that Grace was her sister-in-law, and of course the dance studio her mother ran. She pursed her lips at the thought. Luckily her mother had Jane Madison to help with that, otherwise she’d be on Kara’s back about more than her nonexistent love life.

  She wanted to say to her mother, Who has time for a love life when their actual life is a complete mess? In addition to there being pretty much no interesting prospects in the entire town, she had far too much else on her mind to worry about than landing a man. She needed to feel good about herself for once, do something just for herself, and see what would come of it.

  And it started with giving her notice. Letting down the people she cared most about. Putting her own needs first. But was it selfish? She didn’t think so. Not really.

  Oh God. Rosemary and Thyme was only a block away now. She eyed a shady bench greedily, wondering if she could just drop onto it and bide her time for a bit, but obviously that wouldn’t change anything. She was giving her notice today. Whether it was in five minutes or twenty, it was happening.

  She hurried the last block while she still had her nerve and walked around to the back door, as the front door didn’t open until she officially turned the lock at five sharp, just in time for happy hour. The front of house might be dark at this time of day, but the kitchen was loud and alive, with smells filling the warm air, music blaring, and pots banging.

  Kara stared longingly at the pastry station, where Anna and her sous chef were rolling out dough. Not so long ago, that used to be her alongside Anna, making chocolate croissants and their famous scones for the café. Now the offerings were a little more refined: French tarts with a smooth pastry cream and fresh berries, rich chocolate pot de crème, and a flight of petit fours that were almost too pretty to eat. And too intricate for her limited experience.

  A little pang reminded Kara of what she needed to do. There was no room for her. Not in this kitchen. Not with what she had to offer. She couldn’t pipe a perfect rose. She was hardly able to spin sugar.

  But she could bake cookies. She had suspected it, and Grace and Ivy had confirmed it.

  Anna brightened when she noticed Kara across the room and called her over. Shoulders sinking, Kara walked over to the pastry area. “Is now a good time?” Please say yes, she begged.

  Anna wiped her hands on her apron and untied the strings. “Absolutely. Let’s go into the office,” she said, grinning.

  Kara waited until the door was closed behind them to take a seat across from the desk covered with papers, recipes torn from magazines, and a stack of invoices marked with a yellow highlighter.

  “This paperwork!” Anna frowned as she rifled through the top of the stack and set it to the side of the desk. “There are many things I love about having my own restaurant, but the business side of things has never been at the top of my list.”

  Kara managed a benign smile, but her heart was doing jumping jacks and she was already forgetting her well-rehearsed speech. Just spit it out already!

  “Thanks for taking the time to meet with me,” she began. She hesitated, knowing what part came next, and cleared her throat. “I know how busy things are around here.”

  “You know you never need to apologize to me! I’m the one who feels bad for not being able to break away the other day.” Anna’s smile turned mysterious as she wiggled her eyebrows. “I wanted to talk with you, too, actually.”

  “Oh?” Kara gritted her teeth together. Things were already getting derailed, and if she didn’t say what she’d come to say soon, she wasn’t sure she ever would.

  “I’ve been thinking lately that you might be better doing something else. Don’t get me wrong, you’re a great hostess, but it might be time to grow here, since you’re one of our most valued employees.”

  Kara stared at her friend with wide eyes, barely able to suppress the glee she felt bubble within her. So Anna had recognized it; she’d maybe tasted that cookie last week, come to her senses, realized that Kara should be helping in the kitchen, learning on the job instead of answering phones and walking people to their tables.

  “I… couldn’t agree more,” she gushed. “I mean, I like interacting with the customers and everything, but—”

  “But you’re ready for more,” Anna finished.

  Kara felt her shoulders relax. “Exactly.”

  Anna grinned. “How does the position of office assistant sound to you?”

  “Office assistant?” The words squeaked out of her.

  Anna nodded eagerly. “Mark and I need someone we can trust to handle the paperwork and bills, someone we can lean on to take care of the business side of things. You were the first person I thought of for the job.”

  Kara stared at her friend in bewilderment. Anna could barely mask her excitement and Kara could hardly match it. Her friend thought she was doing something wonderful. What could Kara say to that?

  Maybe Grace and Ivy had just been polite. Maybe she had overestimated her baking skills. Maybe she should face reality and take the new position. Even if it wasn’t what she wanted for herself.

  “So… what do you say?”

  Anna was looking at her expectantly, and Kara’s mind muddled with confusion, and all the confidence and energy she’d felt last week at the bookstore vanished. Who was she kidding? So she liked baking cookies and thought they tasted good. Lots of people could bake cookies. Cookies they provided for bake sales or tucked in their kids’ lunchboxes. It was one thing to be able to make a decent cookie. It was another to make one good enough to warrant commercial value.

  It was bad enough that at her age, she’d flitted from one job to another. But turning a hobby into a glorified business… What had she been thinking?

  Kara felt her heart begin to break a little. And because now her speech seemed moot—downright silly and immature, really—and the thought of announcing to Anna that she was instead going to start her own cookie company made her cheeks warm with embarrassment, she forced a smile she didn’t feel and, with a pain in her chest, muttered, “Sounds wonderful.”

  Kara was standing at the hostess stand when Ivy opened the door to Rosemary and Thyme, balancing a bundle of sunflowers in her arms.

  “Everything okay?” she asked, noticing the knit of Kara’s brow. “Let me guess, your mother is playing matchmaker again?”

  Kara’s sm
ile seemed a little forced. “I’ve managed to avoid her for a few days. She’s probably scheming something, though, just when she thinks I’m not on to her.”

  “Well, I’m sorry I’m late with these. The shop was buried with orders today. I’ll swap these out right away.”

  “Oh, I already emptied out the vases for you and added fresh water,” Kara said.

  Ivy looked at the two large vases anchoring each end of the bar. “So you did. No wonder Anna keeps you around.”

  Kara didn’t laugh at the joke, and Ivy hesitated for a moment. “You sure everything is okay?”

  “Of course. In fact, I got a promotion today.” Kara’s tone was bright, but Ivy swore her eyes were glistening with something other than pure joy.

  “Congratulations! What are you going to be doing?”

  “Office assistant.” Kara looked at her hands. “So, uh, once they find a new hostess you won’t be seeing me as much around here. I’ll be in the back office. Doing paperwork, that sort of thing.”

  It didn’t seem like the kind of position Kara would be especially interested in, but then Kara had never been very focused on one exact thing. She’d worked at the stationery store, the old café, of course, the diner, and a handful of other shops that Ivy couldn’t list offhand. “Well, an office assistant sounds like a big step up. A real… professional job.” And it was. It was the most stable job Kara had ever taken, Ivy considered. If not possibly the most boring.

  It was a reminder that they were all getting a little older. That it was time to buckle down, settle for the straight and narrow. So Kara wanted a nice stable job with decent pay. Good for her.

  “It was nice of Anna to think of me for the position. She said I was the first person she thought of. She mentioned that now she might be able to finally nail down a wedding date, thanks to my help with the business.” Kara frowned again, and her bottom lip seemed to wobble.

  Okay, now something was definitely wrong. Ivy reached out and set her hand on Kara’s wrist, but her friend jerked her head up at that moment, smiling at the customer who had just walked through the door.

  Ivy turned, annoyed at the interruption, and locked eyes with none other than Brett. His brown eyes sharpened on her, but a hint of a smile slowly curved his lips. Butterflies that had finally quieted a few hours ago burst to life once again and danced wildly through her stomach.

  Well, that sealed it. Tomorrow. An online profile. With her name on it.

  “I should finish these arrangements before things get too busy,” she said to Kara, and strolled over to the bar, hoping that her butt looked halfway decent in these jeans… just in case Brett was watching, which she was sure he was not. She could feel him behind her, hear the murmur of his deep voice as he said something to Kara that made her laugh, and somehow, just knowing he was in the room made her heart beat a little faster.

  This was not good. As her self-help books so clearly explained, if a man was interested in you, he would find a way to have you, and Brett had done no such thing, which meant that she really needed to stop her body from going all crazy on her every time she saw him.

  It’s just lust, she reminded herself firmly. Is That Your Body Talking, or Your Head? The Mindful Approach to Finding Lasting Love had detailed the warning signs, and they were all there: rapid pulse, stomachaches, an inability to stop staring, all while knowing, deep down, that he was no good or at the very least all wrong for her. She was attracted to him, that was all. It was a human, primal reaction. She just needed to find someone else to lust after. Someone who could top those deep-set eyes, that strong, straight nose, that squared jaw that framed those perfect lips…

  She might need to move to Hollywood.

  Ivy jammed the stems into the large ceramic vase, letting them fall whichever way nature decided, and then, because unlike some, she genuinely liked flowers, fluffed them out a bit to make sure they were symmetrical from every view.

  Gathering up the remaining half of her bundle, she turned to start on the next vase, when she slammed right into something rock hard. And warm. Sweet musk and spicy soap filled her senses, and she looked up into the twinkling eyes of Brett.

  “Hey.” His voice was hoarse and scratchy and oh so sinful, enough to conjure up images of fresh mornings and slow grins and—Pipe dreams!

  “Hey.” Cool on the outside but hot as fire on the inside, she flashed him a small smile and scooted past him to the other end of the bar, where she took her time filling the second vase, carefully placing one flower at a time. After she finished this arrangement, her hands would be empty; she’d have no more excuse to keep her back to him, and if he didn’t turn and leave first, she’d probably have to say something to him again. And she didn’t want to. She’d said all she needed to say to Brett. And he’d said more than enough to her, thank you very much.

  “Hey, Ivy.”

  Oh God, he was talking to her.

  She closed her eyes, reminded herself that he was, beneath that handsome façade, a pigheaded jerk, and turned to catch that lopsided grin from where he now sat at the bar. Damn. Yep, still cute all right.

  “Yes?” She tipped her head, reminding herself of the calls that never came, the conversation at Jane’s house, the cocky stride that made women swoon.

  But his smile broadened, and her heart turned over when he said, “Have time for a drink?”

  CHAPTER

  9

  What the hell was he doing? He’d told himself to stay away from her. To let her be. To stop noticing that little lift of her nose and the funny way she pinched her full, rosy lips when he was talking.

  But then she had to be here… in his brother’s restaurant. In jeans that showed off those smooth, long legs and that sleeveless shirt that dipped low enough in the front for him to make out a hint of cleavage and crave a better view. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight. Not yet. And thanks to the fundraiser, he didn’t have to.

  “Come on,” he said, tossing her a grin and pulling out the bar stool next to his. “First round’s on me. I’m gonna owe you one by the end of tonight anyway.”

  Her gaze narrowed in suspicion. “Why’s that?”

  He gave the seat a pat. “Saddle up and I’ll explain.”

  She hesitated, but only briefly, and then slid onto the chair next to his. God, she smelled as sweet as she looked. Honey and vanilla and something deeper, something fresher. The kind of perfume that didn’t come in a bottle but no doubt came from the very air she breathed. He swore he hated the smell of flowers. The cold, visual reminder that things were dire, that people were helpless, and since there was nothing they could do, they did the one thing they could. Sent a bunch of brightly colored petals in place of a real solution.

  He wanted to pull away, but something about her warmth, her nearness, and the little flick of her rich auburn hair over her shoulder made it impossible.

  The bartender came over to them and cocked an eyebrow. Brett turned to Ivy. “What’ll it be?”

  “A club soda,” she told the man behind the counter. She was doing her finest not to look his way, and the more she resisted, the more he was determined to get her attention.

  “Aw, come on. I offered you a drink; don’t be shy.”

  Her cheeks flushed, spreading a rash of pink down her neck. All at once Brett remembered and felt like the ass she clearly thought him to be. Of course. Her mother.

  “A club soda for the lady, and I’ll have whatever beer you have on tap.” He waited until the bartender had moved away to turn to Ivy. “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t like to drink much.”

  Brett nodded. He knew that Ivy’s mother had passed away last summer—and that not long afterward Henry had returned to town. He could still remember the passing comments Ivy’s twin made back in high school, how he couldn’t wait to get out of Briar Creek, couldn’t wait to put this life behind him. That made two of them, Brett thought. But then Henry had gone and moved back to town, settled down with Jane Madison, and
was now living in that cute little house and hosting barbeques for his friends. The American dream, Brett supposed.

  And what was Brett doing? Saving lives, he’d once thought.

  Or maybe losing them.

  The bartender brought them their drinks, and Brett felt happy not to be on call. He needed something to take the edge off, something to banish the dark images that were fast encroaching. It would be another sleepless night—he’d learned to spot them. Another night plagued with guilt that bounced around, never leaving him. Guilt about his mother. His patient. The family who had lost a husband, father, brother… because of him.

  He needed to distract himself. Have a few drinks. Have a few laughs.

  He eyed Ivy, letting his gaze drift to the swell of her breasts and back up to the curves of her profile, his gut tightening.

  Normally he’d say have a good time. There were plenty of women up for that sort of thing, happy to go out, enjoy a nice dinner, some light conversation, and spend the night. They knew where he stood, and even if they were disappointed that things didn’t lead to more—and, admittedly, they usually were—he made no promises.

  But Ivy wasn’t one of those girls. And he didn’t want her to be. He took a long slow sip of his beer, letting the foam roll back on his throat.

  “That’s a local draft, you know.” Ivy was looking at him pointedly, that cute little pinch on her lips again.

  He held up the glass, perplexed. “I’m surprised you know that since—”

  “Since I don’t drink?” She shrugged. “I learned more than I should about these things growing up.”

  Brett nodded. He’d always been closer to Henry growing up—they were both on the quiet side, both spent more time in the library than some of the other guys their age. Both seemed to be hiding out, seeking something in the peace and solitude of their studies or a good book. It helped, even then, for Brett to fill his mind with science, innovations, new concepts, than to think about his dad leaving, or later, his mom getting sick. Everyone, it seemed, was leaving him. Nothing was certain. But proven theories, facts… those were things he could count on, things he could build his life on.