by Olivia Miles
“Well, I hadn’t heard from you in at least a week. Maybe more like eight days. I started wondering if you may have gotten sick, but then someone mentioned they saw you at the gym, so there went that theory.”
“I—”
“I know, I know. You’re twenty-eight years old and a grown woman. Whatever—or perhaps whomever—has you so busy that you can’t even call your own mother is your own private business.” Her eyebrows waggled as a slow smile formed at the corners of her ruby-red stained lips.
Kara felt her eyelids droop. Yes, Mother, I didn’t call you because I was having hot, passionate, mind-blowing sex and this is the first time I’ve been out of bed in a week.
She fought the urge to say just that, to quiet her mother once and for all, but instead shrugged and said, “I’ve been busy. I’m sorry.”
“Too busy for your mother?” The women exchanged disappointed looks.
Why was she always apologizing? She couldn’t stop, no matter how much she tried. And really, while she hadn’t called her mother in eight days, her mother hadn’t picked up the phone either, so how was this all her fault?
“Well, maybe we can have coffee this week,” she suggested.
Her mother patted her hand. Her lips gave a little curl of satisfaction. “I’d like that.”
Kara looked to the back of the room, happy to spot Anna’s unmistakable blond ponytail, and inched away. “Good. I’m looking forward to it,” she said. Even though she wasn’t sure she was doing any such thing.
Brett sidled up to the counter and turned over his mug, grinning at the Hastings logo stamped on its side. He had been coming here since he was a kid, before his mom took over, before she’d even started putting in shifts under the original ownership to cover the stack of bills their dad had left behind.
“What will it be?” his mother asked.
“Coffee,” he said, watching as she filled the mug to the rim. He took it black, always did, and his mother always used the best beans. Smooth and rich. He took a long smell of the brew before taking his first sip.
On the days he worked, he stayed away from the stuff. Didn’t need his hands shaking, even if it helped his mind stay sharp.
The best way to keep his mind clear was to stay present, in the moment, on the crisis at hand. Not one in the background, out of his control.
He eyed his mother. She was looking healthy. But still, the anxiety wouldn’t go away. He’d already lost one parent. He couldn’t lose two.
Mark came up from behind and thumped him on the shoulder before sliding onto the stool next to his. He turned over his mug and grinned at their mother.
“He doesn’t even need to ask.” Sharon grinned. “What a sight. My two boys. Sitting here together, having breakfast. It doesn’t happen often enough.”
Brett swallowed hard, but his pulse began to race. “Hey, Mark’s the one pulling crazy hours at the restaurant.” But it was no use. Mark had stuck around, stayed in Briar Creek, been there for breakfasts and dinners and… the hard times. He knew it. They knew it. Even if they’d chosen not to make him feel bad about it, he did. “Why don’t you join us?” Brett suggested, but their mother shook her head.
“Sunday mornings are the busiest time of the week. Now, let me guess. A Denver omelet for Mark and…” She paused slightly, and Brett shifted on his chair. It was subtle, and maybe he was reading too much into it, but her hesitation served as a reminder of how much he’d been away, how little his mother knew his present-day self.
“Chocolate chip pancakes for Brett.” She beamed, and Brett felt something in his chest crack open. Chocolate chip pancakes had been his favorite—once. But he was thirty years old now and his breakfasts usually consisted of some scrambled eggs on rye toast with a cup of coffee.
He picked up his mug and stared into the contents. She got the coffee right. As for the pancakes… He just couldn’t correct her.
“Chocolate chip pancakes sound perfect, Mom.” He smiled against the knot in his stomach and she slid the order ticket under the service window.
“So, to what do I owe the invitation?” Mark asked, leaning into his elbows.
Brett bristled. “What, I can’t invite my brother for breakfast?”
Mark looked at him like he was half crazy. “Relax, will you? It was a joke.”
“Sorry.” Brett rubbed a hand against his jaw and took another sip of his coffee. Good thing he wasn’t on call today. “I’m just… on edge.”
“Forest Ridge’s ER is keeping you that busy?” Mark cocked an eyebrow in disbelief.
“Some days,” Brett said. But not enough days. He wasn’t used to having most weekends off for starters. Two days with nothing to do was two days too many. “But I do have a favor to ask you.”
“Ha-ha! I knew it.” Mark grinned triumphantly.
“They’ve put me on the planning committee for the hospital fundraiser,” Brett started to explain, but Mark’s guffaw silenced him.
“Wait,” Mark said when his laughter had died down. He covered his mouth, his eyes wide in wonder. “You’re actually serious. I thought you were some hotshot doctor, not a party planner.” He began to laugh again.
“Very funny.” Brett scowled. “They like to have a physician head the event, make the introductions, talk about the silent auction and where this year’s proceeds are going.”
“Sounds like an honor,” Mark admitted.
Brett hadn’t thought of it quite that way. Burden, yes. Pain in the ass, certainly. One more thing in his life he didn’t need? Absolutely. “I suppose it is an honor,” he said.
“Where’s the money going this year?” Mark asked.
Brett tensed. He knew his brother was just being conversational, but he didn’t want to get into the specifics of the event or the reasons behind his participation in it. He just wanted to ask Mark to cater. Scratch that item off the list.
“It’s going to the new cancer research wing,” he said casually.
Silence stretched as both men reached for their mugs. It was a sore subject, one he knew Mark wrestled with just as much as he did, and as close as they were, they never talked about that time in their life directly. Some things were just too painful. Some things didn’t need to be explained. But for Brett it ran deeper. He owed his brother. A lot. For being there when he couldn’t. For postponing culinary school and putting off his plans of opening his own restaurant. All so Brett could pursue his dreams.
It hadn’t been for nothing, he told himself. Not entirely.
“Well, I can see why you’d want to roll up your sleeves,” Mark said, and Brett thought he detected an edge of bitterness in his tone. Though he’d never come out and said it, Brett couldn’t help wondering if his brother resented staying back in town, sitting by their mother’s side and taking over Hastings for so many years.
“How about a refill?” Their mother’s smile was warm and generous as she finished up with another customer, and Brett felt the uneasy stir of guilt resurfacing.
You’re here now, he told himself. But for how long?
He couldn’t think about it. Not when he didn’t even know if he’d get the position in DC. Or anywhere else. For all he knew, his career was finished, over. His days as a trauma surgeon were gone; the path he’d so meticulously carved had reached its end. He’d spend the rest of his days treating sprained wrists and his weekends drinking coffee at the diner.
Was it really such a bad thought?
It was when he considered everything he’d given up to pursue something else.
“Did you hear that Brett’s heading up the hospital fundraiser?” Mark offered, and Sharon’s face immediately perked up.
“I was actually wondering if Rosemary and Thyme might cater the event.”
“Absolutely,” Mark agreed. “Shoot me the details and Anna and I will put together the menu.”
“I knew I could count on you,” Brett said. He always could. “I secured a table, so be sure to tell Rosemary,” he said to his mother. Even though they w
ere technically linked by the now departed Hastings brothers, the two women were as close as biological sisters, and as difficult as his aunt Rosemary could be at times, Brett would never overlook the generosity she’d showed his mother when they needed family the most.
“How about you?” Mark elbowed him. “Bringing a date?”
It was easy for Mark, now that he had Anna, but his brother sure hadn’t liked the attention he received back when he was still single, when every woman in town over a certain age was inquiring about the state of his love life.
“I’m working the event. Remember?”
Mark just shrugged. “So? I am, too, now that I’m catering.”
“Yes, but you work with your date. It’s a little different.”
“I’m sure there are plenty of women down at the hospital who would love to be invited,” their mother said.
And plenty of women who’d be looking for a second date. And a third. And maybe a proposal, and a white wedding, and two point five kids with a picket fence. He wasn’t having any of it.
“I’d rather not mix business with pleasure,” he said simply.
“Fair enough,” his mother commented, but he heard Mark snort. Brett slid his brother a glance. It was different for Mark. He and Anna wanted the same things. But no woman would want what he did. And no woman should have to settle for what he was offering.
“You should talk to Rosemary about donating some private dance lessons for the auction,” their mother suggested.
“Good idea.” Dr. Kessler had already secured the majority of the auction items, and tickets had been selling steadily long before he arrived back in Vermont. Now that the food and flowers were arranged, hopefully all he had to do was rent a tux and show up. And give a speech.
He dreaded that part. Public speaking had never been his strength. He preferred science and math and burying himself in a good book. Sure, he was happy to throw a ball, and he had been, as Ivy had mentioned, captain of the lacrosse team his senior year, but being on a team was different than taking the spotlight. It was one of the reasons he’d chosen emergency medicine. There was a sense of camaraderie there you didn’t find in other specialties. It was all hands on deck, sleeves rolled, everyone ready for action. No one was going it alone.
But that didn’t mean one person alone couldn’t be responsible for what happened.
The pancakes were up and his mother set them in front of him. She met his eye for a brief second, and he wrestled with the emotions that stirred inside him at their warmth and familiarity. It had been a long time since he’d looked someone square in the eye, dared to look deep. Most days, especially recently, he couldn’t even meet his own gaze in the mirror.
He realized she was waiting for him to take a bite, and he obliged. Sugary sweetness coated his mouth as he chewed, stirring up memories of sitting around the breakfast table, arguing with Mark over who got the comics section of the newspaper, the smell of coffee percolating, and his mother wearing her peach terrycloth bathrobe.
It felt like so long ago. But in so many ways, it felt like yesterday.
When was the last day they had gathered like that, first as a family of four and later as a family of three, not knowing that it was the last time? That the next week their mother would be given a devastating diagnosis and their world would be turned upside down? That their weekends would be spent in the hospital, not lounging around the old table in the kitchen overlooking the tree-filled backyard. That Brett would go off to college and that by the time he returned, Mark would have finally gone, too, and then… Then they were suddenly grown. Life had moved forward. And the casual comfort of their established routine was replaced with responsibility and ambition and a yearning for something different, something that didn’t involve lazy pancake breakfasts.
Was it worth it?
He thought of his training, the years of studying, the hours he’d spent on his feet in residency, soaking up everything he could, learning on the job. The desperate gleam in a loved one’s eyes as he rushed a patient into triage.
He forced another bite of pancakes into his mouth, even though his tongue felt dry and he’d lost his appetite.
Maybe it wasn’t worth it. But it would have to be.
CHAPTER
15
Ivy tapped her shoes together and grinned with satisfaction. The polka-dot kitten-heel sandals hadn’t seen the light of day in two years, and their discovery at the far back corner of her closet had been met with a grin of delight followed by a chain of sneezes. After she’d wiped away the dust, they were good as new, and judging from the blister that was starting to form on her big toe, they nearly were.
She slowed her pace so as not to hobble and began heading back to Petals on Main, where, after a bit of thumping and banging and spewing of a few choice curse words, she’d managed to move her beloved station wagon at six o’clock that morning, before most of Main Street had awoken.
A flutter of nerves rumbled through her stomach as she inched away from the bookstore. Brunch with her friends this morning had been her test—if they commented on her clothes in the wrong way, she’d have time to run home and change. Or, rather, limp home and change. But instead they’d simply commented on the cute tank top and skirt, leaving Ivy pleased to know that she was not overdressed for her… whatever it was… with Brett, but rather, simply appropriately attired for what promised to be a sunny Sunday afternoon.
The clock tower of the old church at the end of Second Avenue began to chime, and with a lurch, Ivy realized that there was a good chance Brett would make it to the shop before she did. She decided that was a good thing. Less time to flit around and get nervous. She ran her tongue over her teeth, happy that she’d opted for an herbal tea instead of coffee so she didn’t risk coffee breath.
She stopped walking. Why? Why did it matter if she had coffee breath or not? In case he tried to kiss her?
He’s not going to kiss you again, Ivy. So just get over it and stop wishing he would.
Because she realized, after last night in the car, that a part of her did still yearn for the touch of his lips. For the excitement she’d felt all through those cold winter months, imagining what it would be like when she saw him again.
But now she knew. Now she knew exactly how it would be. And it would be anything but the grand romance she’d envisioned.
Petals on Main was just up ahead. Normally, Ivy cheered up at the sight of its awning, in a crisp grass green, and the cast iron planters bursting with colorful blooms that flanked the paned front door. Since she wasn’t open today, the racks of galvanized pots she usually propped outside the front windows were instead tucked in the storage room, and she spent the rest of the walk back to the shop thinking of what she’d look for at the wholesale market that night… and whether or not she spotted Brett anywhere in her periphery.
She was so busy darting her eyes that she didn’t even notice the figure parked on the bench outside the storefront until she was too close to hide her surprise.
“Brett!”
He looked at her quizzically. “You seem surprised to see me. Wasn’t this the time we agreed to meet?”
He was dressed casually, in jeans and a tight T-shirt that showed off the ripples of his chest and clung to the curves of his thick biceps. A day of stubble graced his square jaw, framing that slightly cocky grin, and his deep-set eyes danced with invitation, as if daring her to fall for him. And she wanted to. So badly.
She lifted her chin. “No, this was the time. Sorry, I just… I was in my own world,” she finished hurriedly, keeping her body a healthy four feet from the park bench, even though she could almost imagine what it would feel like to scoot next to him, relax in the shade of the oak tree that swayed in the breeze overhead, feel the heat of his body radiating next to her own.
Crazy talk.
“The car’s around the back,” she offered, allowing her eyes to lift as he stood.
“You mean to tell me you actually got that thing to move?” His eyebrow
arched in such an overly friendly way that she had to look away.
“I told you,” she said as she led the way to the small alley behind the building. “It does drive. I use it every day.”
He laughed under his breath, shaking his head as they approached the car. “Let’s put it to the test then.”
Ivy tightened her grip on the leather straps of her handbag. “No.”
Merriment twinkled in his eyes, and in the afternoon sunlight, flecks of copper sparked through the rich brown color. “I’m here to help. There’s only one way to know if this thing can run.”
He reached out for her handbag, and Ivy tensed, thinking of what she had in the bag. Her blood glucose monitor. Her insulin shots. The juice boxes and fruit snacks. Everything she didn’t want him to see.
She turned slowly as she slid her hand into the bag, feeling for the metal keys and the familiar rubber key chain in the shape of a tulip. She fumbled deeper, sensing Brett’s eyes from her periphery and noticing the amusement in his grin, the mock impatience he showed by rolling back on his heels, refusing to busy himself with something else, determined instead to make this difficult for her.
Finally, once her face was starting to burn with humiliation, her fingers touched something metal and cold.
“Here,” she said, triumphantly pulling the keys from her bag.
“Took you long enough,” he commented, turning out his palm. “What do you have in there anyway?”
“Girl stuff.” She glanced at his hand, so masculine and inviting, and dropped the keys into it before she did something stupid, like set her own in it.
Brett glanced down at the key chain, his brow furrowing a bit. “You don’t have an automatic lock, I see.”
“Well, it’s too old.”
“So no air bags, either.” He tsked under his breath as he manually unlocked the door and slid inside. Frowning in concentration, he tried the ignition. Ivy bit her lip, knowing what would happen. The engine revved and surged but never quite clicked. He tried again. And again.
Finally, he stepped out of the car. He set his hands on his hips as he towered above her, but Ivy refused to bristle. She was used to this kind of treatment from her brother; she could take it. But somehow, coming from Brett, it had a whole different meaning. A sort of warm and tingly meaning. A good meaning. Maybe even a sexy meaning.