by Olivia Miles
From an early age, she had brought the outside world in. Even if it was just a buttercup or a dandelion or—before she knew better—an armful of tulips from the neighbor’s flower bed, it was a reminder that there was a life beyond those four walls. And a hope for something happier.
When she’d finished inspecting her flower supply and making sure each bloom had enough water, she checked her messages for any orders and jotted down a list for her next twice weekly trip to the wholesale market. June was wedding month, and she had her fill of orders between showers and receptions, but she’d need to get started on the decorations for the annual Fourth of July festival, which was only two weeks away. The garland and swag would be easy—she could just recycle the same ones from previous years—but she wanted to add something fresh to the mix, too, just to keep people on their toes. After all, as Kara had pointed out, very little changed in Briar Creek year after year. Well, except for this summer’s arrival of Brett Hastings.
The door jingled as she was halfway through her to-do list, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw Brett standing in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame, his smile slightly hesitant. His eyes looked a bit lost as they took in their surroundings.
Not quite the entrance she’d dreamed about, but it would just have to do.
“Hello there,” she said, tensing at the way her voice practically echoed in the empty space. Normally Mrs. Griffin or Rosemary Hastings popped in first thing, sometimes waiting outside before she’d even turned the sign, tapping their feet and watch simultaneously, claiming she was a minute or two late and that they needed to get a start to their day. But this morning, there was no sign of them, and from a swift sweep of Main Street through the big windows, no one else was on their way in any time soon, either.
It was just her and Brett. Alone.
She could think of nothing worse, even if, up until recently, it was all she had hoped for.
Brett studied the room with a furrowed brow as he took his time approaching the workbench. She stood firmly behind it, grateful for the two and a half feet of solid wood that would separate her body from his, hoping it would be enough to keep the warm musk from filling her senses and making her go all light-headed and start thinking things she shouldn’t.
“This is a pretty nice shop you have here.” He stopped at the wrought iron baker’s rack where she stored the colorful selection of artisan soaps and candles.
“You sound surprised,” she pointed out. She wasn’t surprised by his reaction, though. It was a nice shop. She’d made sure of that. She had a vision, one she clung to and refined over the years, but one that never lost focus. She’d carefully selected this location, just down from the town square, with the big windows, exposed brick walls, and wide floor planks. Every single item in this room, from each stem to each pot, was carefully weighed against other options. Even her business cards were hand-stamped from a hand-carved stamp, and she only ever addressed each greeting card with the shade of ink that best matched the bouquet in question.
Let Brett be surprised. Let him even be impressed.
He slid his eyes to her, his mouth pulled into a lopsided smile that made her stomach roll over. “I think I underestimated you.”
Yep. He had. She thrust the pastry box at him. “Here. These are the cookies I mentioned. Kara and I had some the other day at the bookstore and they’re delicious. Grace said that several customers complimented them.”
Brett made a face that told her this wasn’t going to be as easy as she had hoped. “Do you really think cookies are a good idea for this kind of thing? It’s a black-tie event and… I really can’t afford to screw this up.”
“Want to impress the new boss, huh?”
His lips thinned. “Something like that.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have suggested them if I hadn’t thought they’d be a hit. But if you think they’re too casual for the dessert buffet, then maybe they’d be better as a party favor. The guests can take them home to their kids. But really, I’ve never met an adult who doesn’t like cookies.”
Brett grinned. “Point made.” He popped the lid and took a cookie from the stack. Without bothering to really look at it, he crammed it into his mouth. Ivy resisted the urge to roll her eyes by gritting her teeth instead. How many times had she seen men do the same thing when they stopped into the shop? Just take a handful of whatever was closest, instead of stopping to pay attention to the details and aesthetics.
It suddenly occurred to her that Brett might need a little more help with this fundraiser than he thought.
She stopped herself right there. She might oversee the decorations for the town’s three annual festivals, as well as the Valentine’s Day dance, but unless Brett asked for her help directly, she wasn’t offering up her services. Something had shifted between them since his return—the same easy conversation they’d once had was gone, replaced by an unspoken tension.
Brett swallowed the cookie and reached for another one. “These might just be the best damn cookies I’ve ever had.”
Ivy felt her shoulders relax. “Really?”
“Really.” His dark eyes glimmered. “Did you make these? Is that what all this is about?”
Immediately, Ivy felt her smile droop. She stared at him and that cocky grin that curled his full lips as his eyebrow lifted. “I told you, I tried them at the bookstore—”
He tipped his head, giving her a knowing smile.
“If you must know, your cousin made them.” Ivy set her hands on her hips with a sigh of exasperation. She hadn’t intended to tell him that part until after he had officially agreed to let them be some part of the fundraiser, just as Kara had asked her, but he liked them, and she didn’t see any harm in being up front now.
“My cousin? Which one?” He tipped his head, curious.
“Kara.” Did he honestly think Luke was a possibility? And everyone knew Molly was still in Boston.
He looked thrown for a moment and stared down at the box with newfound interest. “Kara made these?”
Ivy felt suddenly defensive of her friend. “She has quite a talent.”
“I thought she was a hostess at Rosemary and Thyme,” Brett said, squinting at her.
Ivy licked her bottom lip. “Yes, well, she actually works in the office now, but she worked for Anna at the Fireside Café before it burned down, and she learned a lot. I think she has a real chance of making something out of this. She just needs an opportunity to get things off the ground.”
“And you think the fundraiser will help?”
Ivy grinned. “I was hoping so.”
Brett studied another cookie, then took a bite. “Why didn’t she just ask me herself?”
“I think she wanted to be judged on merit, not on her relation to you.”
“I get that.” He finished the cookie and closed the box.
“You?” Ivy managed not to snort. “But you’re Brett Hastings. You were valedictorian of our class, you had near perfect SAT scores, and you got a full ride to an Ivy League school. You won every science fair, you were captain of the lacrosse team, and—” And she’d just gone completely fangirl on him.
Her cheeks flamed with heat as she caught the devilish glint in his eye. His smile was wide, revealing that elusive dimple that used to make her heart swell at the slightest glimpse, and Ivy pinched her lips. She’d said enough for one day. She’d said enough for a lifetime.
“Let’s just say that I know all about being judged,” she finished.
His expression folded, and she hated the look of compassion she saw in his eyes. Hated that it felt good. Hated that it made him seem so approachable, so… nice. She didn’t want to think of him as nice. Nice was the guy she held a candle for all those years. Nice wasn’t the guy who inflated with every perceived compliment thrown his way.
“Believe it or not, I dealt with my share of rumors, too,” he said. “When your dad’s restaurant fails and then he disappears with one of his coworkers, people talk.”
&nbs
p; “I’m sorry,” Ivy said.
“Don’t be.” Brett shrugged. “You get it. Few do.”
Now, why’d he have to go and do that? She didn’t need him coming in here, pointing out things they had in common, bonding over crappy things in their youth. It didn’t matter if they had a connection in the past. What mattered was that they had no chance of a future.
He wasn’t interested in one. She barely was, either.
“So should I give Kara the good news, or do you want to?”
“I’ll stop by her place on my way to your brother’s. They live out that way, right?”
Ivy eyed him carefully. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. “Jane and Henry live out near the lake, yes. When are you going out there?”
“Tonight. They invited me for dinner.”
“Tonight,” Ivy repeated. The very same night she was having dinner with Jane and Henry. “I’ll be there, too.”
His smile faltered enough to make her wonder what exactly was spinning through that egotistical mind. He probably thought it was a setup, even though Jane would never do that. Henry either. She opened her mouth to set him straight, just so there wasn’t any misunderstanding, but the door opened and a voice trilled, “Oh, Ivy! Hellooooo!”
Ivy did her best to mask her impatience. Mrs. Griffin. About ten minutes too late.
“I should go attend to my customer,” she said, scooting out from behind the workstation. She reached for the cookie box at the same time Brett did and laughed nervously at the misstep, but when she looked up into Brett’s piercing gaze, she noticed he wasn’t laughing at all. The ease of the conversation had faded, and in its place was a heat and intensity she’d be best to avoid.
And she would. Tomorrow. But first she had to get through dinner tonight.
CHAPTER
12
Mark was in the kitchen, whisking a white sauce that Brett knew from his childhood to be a classic béchamel, when Brett stopped by the restaurant later that day. Normally his older brother put him in a good mood and made him focus on the lighter things in life, but he couldn’t shake the burden on his shoulders, the knowledge that he’d sent the résumé, updated to reflect his temporary position at Forest Ridge and his participation in the hospital’s fundraiser, and that now all he could do was wait and see what happened.
Every time he thought of it, his stomach rolled over. He knew rationally that there were other hospitals in other cities that would eventually have a position open, but that fact did little to reassure him. There was a strong chance he wouldn’t get the position in DC, maybe not even be brought in for an interview, and he had to brace himself for the worst-case scenario. The problem was, there were only so many setbacks he could pull himself back from, and his confidence wasn’t what it used to be. A new position in a department he was excited about might be just the fresh start he needed to get over this dark spot in his career for good.
And hopefully, his time in Briar Creek would help erase the ghosts from his past once and for all.
“You look tired,” was the first thing out of his brother’s mouth.
“Thanks for the compliment,” Brett shot back. “It was busy last night. Car accident.”
“Everyone okay?” Mark frowned.
Brett shrugged. “They were okay when I handed them off to surgery.”
“But now?” Mark tossed a rag over his shoulder, giving him his full attention.
“Don’t know. I was already on to the next patient,” Brett replied, ignoring the pinch of his brother’s brow. He looked around the busy kitchen, eager to change the subject. “I thought the restaurant didn’t open for another hour,” Brett commented, even though he knew as well as his brother what restaurant hours entailed. Their father was barely home when they were kids, and when he was, he was too tired—or stressed—to do much of anything, except fight with their mother. Brett couldn’t remember a time they weren’t fighting—the good times must have been before he’d been born or could form clear memories. Brett tried not to dwell on the disappointment he’d felt growing up, when the other kids had fathers helping out at scout meetings or volunteering to coach the after-school baseball team, and he and Mark only had each other or, technically, their mom. But he didn’t want his mom coming to the scout meetings, even when she offered. He saw that hurt that passed through her eyes when he turned her down, and he felt bad about it, too, but it didn’t change the cold hard fact that she was his mother and other kids… they had fathers. Fathers who didn’t spend 365 days a year running a business. Fathers who didn’t skip out on holidays and birthdays. Fathers who didn’t run out of town and never return or be heard from again.
He’d told himself he was different, that he loved his family, thought of them often, that he was just doing his job. But the sorry truth was he’d stayed away, put his career before all else. Before his mother.
And she’d always put him first.
He wouldn’t be letting another woman down like that. Not if he could help it.
“You and I know a restaurant is always open. Unofficially speaking.” Mark gave a few instructions to another chef at the station and nudged his head toward the door leading to the dining room. “You have time for a drink?”
“I was hoping to see Kara, actually,” Brett said, not wanting to lose sight of his reason for stopping by. He’d hoped to tell her in person how much he loved her cookies and see how she felt about Ivy’s suggestion to use them as a take-home gift. From everything he’d seen with Kara off and on over the years, she was always waffling between jobs that didn’t seem to rely on any specific set of experience. But then, his visits had become less frequent, especially when he was finishing up his residency, so perhaps he’d misjudged her.
“She doesn’t work weekends anymore,” Mark explained. “Anna promoted her to help out in the office, so she’s coming in during the day shift.”
Brett wondered if he should mention the cookies and decided against it. He wanted to tell Kara the good news first. She deserved to hear it before anyone else.
“That drink sounds good then.” And it did. He hadn’t expected to be having dinner with Ivy again tonight… not that he wasn’t looking forward to a meal with a pretty girl. But there was something between them, something that was evolving, that made him wary. He liked being around her, even though he couldn’t be so sure she felt the same. But he needed to leave it as friends, keep the attraction at bay.
Mark poured them each a beer from the tap and came around the bar to sit on a stool. “I’m whipped.”
“Working tonight then?”
Mark took a sip of his drink. “I was supposed to have it off, but one of my sous chefs called in, so here I am.” He shrugged. “It’s not so bad, though. We’re closed on Mondays, and Anna and I usually take another night off each week now that we have a good team in place. Besides, I can hardly complain about long hours when I’m talking to you.”
“True.” Brett sighed heavily, looking around the room, trying to remember the way it was before, back when it was their dad’s place. He hadn’t stopped to do that the last time he came in. Maybe because he wasn’t ready. Maybe because it all looked so different. Or maybe because it had been so many years he didn’t give a damn anymore.
He swallowed back the bitter taste that filled his mouth. That was a lie and he knew it. He did care. He’d always care.
He eyed his brother over the rim of his glass. “Can I ask you a question?”
Mark nodded. “Shoot.”
“Does it ever bother you that you followed in Dad’s footsteps?” Brett watched as Mark’s jaw squared in defense. “I mean, this restaurant, this location… It used to be Tavern on Main.”
“That was years ago,” Mark said tensely. “It switched hands many times over the years before Anna and I decided to open Rosemary and Thyme. But to answer your question, I think about it sometimes. It bothered me at first, but now… Now I see it as a chance to rewrite history. I’m not Dad. I never will be.”
&nbs
p; Brett wondered if he could say the same for himself.
He’d hated that his dad was a workaholic, that he’d put his business before his family, before his kids. But now… Brett rubbed a hand over his jaw and reached for his beer. Now he couldn’t help wondering if he was doing the same thing. Putting career before all else.
Patients before all else. He shook the cobwebs from his mind. It wasn’t the same. His dad wasn’t saving lives. People weren’t depending on him the way they were with Brett. The only people depending on his dad were his family. And he’d failed them.
But Brett had, too.
“I had planned to leave town, you know,” Mark continued.
Brett slanted a glance at his brother. “I didn’t know. When was this?”
“About a year ago. I was stuck at Hastings, hating it, and a fresh start sounded nice.”
Brett understood. “What made you change your mind?”
“Anna,” Mark said with a wink. “And Mom. All that time I thought I was running that diner to help her out. It turned out she was letting me run it because she thought it made me happy.”
“She always did like that place. I didn’t realize it at first. I always thought it was sad when she started working there, doing everything she could to keep a roof over our heads.” Brett swallowed hard, hating the thought of those nights he’d wake up to use the bathroom or get a drink of water and see the glow of a lamplight from the base of the stairs, and the sinking feeling he had knowing his mother was probably sitting at the dining room table, with a pile of bills spread out in front of her, trying to figure her way out of the mess their father had left when he’d skipped town.