by Olivia Miles
She suddenly realized what Jane meant when she said she liked Henry’s protective side.
“Am I in trouble?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper.
His dark eyes gave her the once-over before locking her gaze. She held her breath, wishing he didn’t have to look so good in that tight T-shirt. “You’re in trouble, all right,” he said, his voice hoarse and scratchy. He cleared his throat and broke her stare. Stepping around to the front of the car, he popped the hood. “Have you considered trading up for a newer model?” He reached inside and started inspecting whatever was in there… machinery, she supposed.
Of course she had, but unlike him, she wasn’t earning a doctor’s salary. “I like my car. Besides, I’d rather put my money toward other things.”
He looked up. “So safety isn’t your top priority.”
She stepped back, hurt at the accusation, but he just laughed again and turned his attention to the car. Anger surged, stirring up the feelings she’d tried to suppress, the guilt that crept up every now and again when she thought of how recklessly she had behaved and how much she’d caused people who cared about her to worry.
“I do care about my safety,” she ground out.
Brett looked up in surprise. “Okay,” he finally said. “Then let’s figure this out.”
She hated how much it thrilled her that he had somehow made her problem something they would solve together. It made them feel almost like a couple.
She suddenly realized that Brett was watching her from under the hood of the car. His dark eyes were intense and unwavering, and she shifted on her heels, feeling the intensity of his scrutiny.
“I don’t bite,” he said, giving her a slow grin. Ivy felt her heart lurch on his words. They both knew he did bite—certain body parts in the heat of the moment. Maybe he just didn’t remember that part. Unfortunately, she couldn’t forget.
She reached up and touched her neck, recalling the tender graze of his teeth, and then just as quickly dropped her arm.
“You’re not going to learn anything from all the way over there.” He rested on his elbows, watching her. God help her, a smudge of grease stained the underside of his forearm, and his fingers were already coated. She swallowed hard. If he looked as rugged and capable working on a patient as he did on a car, it was no wonder the nurses at the hospital could barely control themselves.
“You mean… you want me to help?” A solid five feet of space was a safe distance. Far enough that she could quell any sudden urges she had to reach out and stroke him. Far enough that she didn’t have to sense his body, just stare at it. Admire it, the way one might admire an actor on the stage.
Blowing out a breath, she slowly came closer, and this time it had nothing to do with her impractical shoes. Brett was back at work, elbows-deep under the hood, by the time she reached him. She tried to stand at the edge of the front bumper, but it seemed like such a halfhearted effort given how dirty he was getting with the work that she decided to move a little closer, until they were standing side by side. His eyes were trained on the car parts, but hers were trained on his man parts. And oh, they were lovely. His broad back pressed and strained against the thin cotton of his shirt, and she stared at it longingly, remembering how good it felt to press up against his torso, to feel the manly weight of it, so different from her own slender frame. She watched as his arms flexed and pulled, the cords of his muscles flexing as he tugged at something under the hood. Whatever it was, it wasn’t nearly as interesting as the way the soft waves of his hair caressed the back of his neck…
“Reach into my pocket and grab my wrench,” she thought she heard him say.
She blinked. “Ex—excuse me?”
“My wrench.” He turned and looked at her over his shoulder, one eyebrow cocked the same way it had the night of Grace’s wedding, when he’d suggested they get some air. And she’d known by the simple slip of his smile what he meant by air. “You do know what a wrench is, don’t you?”
“Of course I know what a wrench is!” She pinched her lips, but her heart was doing jumping jacks as she lowered her gaze to his backside, where sure enough, a metal wrench was poking out, along with a screwdriver and what was probably his phone.
Was she seriously about to touch the man’s butt? Not that she hadn’t possibly already done so. That part of her memory was still a bit foggy. But she seemed to recall that as he lifted her leg and pushed his hand down her thigh that she had in fact reached down and given him a good hard squeeze…
Reddening, she stared at the wrench, glinting in the sun. It seemed to wink at her, as if mocking this moment and her totally unacceptable feelings for a man she could not have but wanted nevertheless!
It was no different than being asked to pass the scalpel, she told herself. Brett was probably used to barking out orders like this. Just pretend you’re a nurse. That car is a patient, desperately in need of medical attention. Do not look at his perfect backside. Do not touch anything but the wrench.
With shaking fingers she used her thumb and pointer finger to grip the top of the tool and then precariously dislodge it from his rather tight pocket. She exhaled in relief. She hadn’t even realized she’d been holding her breath.
“Here you go,” she said, smiling as she handed it over.
Brett accepted it as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. As if he hadn’t just more or less insisted she caress one of his personal areas.
Then she noticed his hands again. Of course. They were coated in grease and—she couldn’t resist another glance—those jeans looked sort of expensive.
Heart sinking, she decided to make herself useful. “I’ll go get you a rag,” she offered.
Happy to be away from him for a bit, she let herself into the back door of the store and leaned against the wall, waiting for her heart to stop pounding. The storeroom was dark, but she didn’t bother turning on a light. Instead, she grabbed a towel from the stack she kept on hand to clean up dirt and water spills and pulled her blood glucose monitor out of her bag. She had made a habit of checking it throughout the day, regardless of how she was feeling. Every time she did it, she eased the guilt, reconfirmed that she was on the right path, taking care of herself, being responsible.
The meter registered 110. Smiling to herself, Ivy tucked the monitor into her bag.
Brett was bent at the waist over her hood when she came back outside.
“How’s it looking?” she asked, hoping he had some good news for her. She knew the car was old—it was old when she’d bought it six years ago—but she was hoping to get a few more years out of it, at least. The thought of coming up with a down payment, much less securing financing, for something new made her stomach clench with anxiety. She’d find the money, but it just meant paying back Henry would be further delayed.
Her plan was to write a check in full as a wedding gift. Then he couldn’t refuse it.
And if he tried… then she’d just start a college savings fund for Sophie. She had it all planned out. That is, if other things didn’t derail her effort.
Brett tossed her the keys. “Give it a try and we’ll find out.”
Ivy walked over to the car and slid into the driver’s seat. She clicked the key into place and, saying a silent prayer, turned it. The engine revved and then settled to a gentle purr.
Grinning, she turned it off and climbed out of the car. “You did it!” she exclaimed, running over to the front where Brett stood grinning.
Normally, she’d probably hug a friend for this kind of thing, but Brett wasn’t exactly a friend, and the last thing she needed was for him to go thinking she was trying to hit on him or something.
Brett wiped his hands on the towel until they were almost clean. “You still want to see the mechanic about this, but it should work for a while at least. When’s the last time you changed your oil?”
Ivy felt herself blanch. She’d been so preoccupied with everything these past few months that she hadn’t even thought about things like c
ar maintenance.
“I guess I… forgot.”
Brett slammed the hood shut and shrugged his shoulders good-naturedly. “You might want to do that. Soon.” He winked.
Aw, now why’d he have to do that? A wink and a smile? Damn him.
“You can clean up inside if you’d like,” she suggested. “I have a wash sink in the back room. And there’s water in the fridge.”
“Great.” Brett grabbed the dirty towel and headed for the back door, returning moments later with two bottles of water, his bronzed arms now clean. “I grabbed you a water, but it seems like you might prefer juice.”
She took the cold plastic bottle from his hand. “Oh, those are for Sophie,” she said, waving a hand through the air. “Jane works a few shifts a week for me, and Sophie comes with her sometimes.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, per se. Once, she had offered Sophie a juice box when the little girl had stopped in with Jane to pick up an arrangement for the dance studio.
Still, she was eager to change the course of this conversation.
“So, where’d you learn so much about cars?” she asked.
“My dad collected old cars,” Brett said, hopping onto the hood of the car. He squinted into the sunlight, his gaze somewhere faraway.
Ivy joined him, landing within an inch of his thighs. She stopped herself from scooting over, deciding there was no reason to flinch every time she thought she was sending the wrong signal. The guy had just fixed her car—clearly, she hadn’t scared him off—and the more time they were spending together, the easier it was to just enjoy his company and accept the fact that, sad as it may be, they weren’t looking for the same things.
“He liked to work on them in his spare time,” Brett continued, pausing to take a sip of the water. “And I liked watching. Some of my fondest memories are those of watching him work on an engine.”
“That’s sweet,” Ivy said. “I never knew my dad.”
“I barely knew my dad, either,” Brett said, his jaw tensing. “He spent all his time in that restaurant, working, and when he was home… Well, we just got the leftovers, no pun intended.” His smile was grim. “He didn’t have much time for us.”
“My mom didn’t either,” Ivy said. She hesitated—she didn’t talk about her mother much, not even with Henry. It felt like a distant part of her past now, and one she didn’t want to relive.
Her mother’s condition was known around town. No one could overlook the way she behaved at public events, the way she got loud and sometimes disorderly, the way neighbors would have to step in and gently urge her to go home and have a rest. Few people said anything directly, but they whispered, and the pitying looks they gave to Ivy and Henry confirmed it.
She’d hated that kind of attention, almost as much as Henry did. She’d vowed not to let it define her. And she’d almost gone and done just that last summer by letting her diabetes get out of control.
“I always thought that if my mom really cared, like if she genuinely, truly loved us, she would have stopped drinking.” Her voice broke a little on the end, and she took a sip of her water. It was the most emotional she’d gotten on the subject with anyone in a while, but she oddly wasn’t embarrassed. Brett was easy to talk to. Always had been.
“It’s not that easy,” Brett said simply. “Addiction is a powerful thing.”
She liked his matter-of-fact approach almost as much as she liked how unfazed he was by her admission.
“My dad didn’t have any excuse. He was just selfish.”
The bitterness in his tone stung, and Ivy frowned at the hurt in his voice. She wanted to reach out, hold his hand. Instead, she slid it under her thigh and put some weight on it. Now wasn’t the time to be doing anything crazy.
“Maybe he just didn’t know how to balance his life,” she offered. “Running your own business can be daunting, and I know from Anna that the restaurant business is particularly high pressure.”
Brett looked at her flatly. “He was running a restaurant, not saving lives.” He shook his head. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I just think that you have to pick and choose what it is most important, and if you can’t find a way to balance everything, then you don’t try to have everything. It’s simple.”
She eyed him thoughtfully. “You sound a lot like my brother. He found a way to balance everything, though.” She thought of how happy he was, working a steady job, still pursuing what he loved, and coming home to the family he’d always wanted but never knew how to have.
“Well, he’s an exception to the rule,” Brett remarked. He popped the top back on his water bottle and hopped off the car. With one hand on his lower back, he stretched, pulling the cotton T-shirt taut across his broad chest and revealing an inch of smooth skin just above his belt loops. “And he ultimately sacrificed something.”
If Brett was implying that Henry had given up his lonely travel writing days, then yes, technically he had sacrificed that job, but Ivy knew he was happier with his decision. It didn’t seem like there was any sense trying to convince Brett of this, though.
“You going to the Fourth of July festival?” she asked as she hopped off the hood. She was standing close to him, close enough to feel the heat from his body, warmer than the summer breeze.
Brett shrugged and gave her another one of those stomach-turning slow smiles. “I was sort of hoping to skip it, but I don’t really see how I can.”
Ivy looked at him quizzically. “But it’s fun.”
“So you’ll be there?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Ivy said.
Brett shoved his hands in his pockets thoughtfully. His eyes were steady on hers, betraying nothing, even though she felt like there was something he was eager to say. Finally, he just said, “Well, maybe I’ll see you there then.”
Hope deflated as quickly as a popped balloon. Maybe he would see her there? He couldn’t have been less committed in his word choice if he’d tried, and she had an inkling he had some practice in stringing together sentences like that. And she’d had her share of practice hearing those types of lines.
“Yeah, maybe,” she replied, taking a step back from his tall form, those wide shoulders, and that grin that made her stop thinking clearly. It didn’t matter that they’d shared a moment or even that he’d stopped by to help. Whatever his motives were, only one thing was clear, and that was that Brett wasn’t looking for a girlfriend.
And she wasn’t looking for a fling.
CHAPTER
16
Briar Creek’s annual Fourth of July festival was a time-honored tradition and one Ivy was especially thrilled to be a part of for the fourth consecutive year. With the exception of the diner and the pub, shops along Main Street closed down for the day, and everyone in town gathered on the square. It was Ivy’s chance to showcase what she did best—not just with the oversized floral arrangements she used to anchor various stations, but to really transform what was otherwise a blank canvas.
“The decorations look even better this year than last,” Grace admired as she stared up at the gazebo Ivy had trimmed in patriotic swag.
“That’s what I was hoping for,” Ivy said, feeling a twinge of pride. She brushed a strand of hair from her forehead and swept her eyes over the green, where people were gathered at round tables covered in red, white, and blue cloths, eating corn on the cob and eagerly waiting for the pie-eating contest to commence. This year, she’d tried to convince Henry to join, but he just shook his head. He may have embraced their small town again, but he had to draw the line somewhere.
“It’s a hot one today,” Grace said, fanning herself. Even the shade of the giant maple did little to offset the humidity that seemed to cling to their skin and made Ivy’s twenty minutes with the hair straightener feel like an official waste of time.
She’d been up since five and hard at work since six, and even though the volunteer committee did the majority of the heavy lifting, Ivy had climbed on a ladder more times than she’d wished to, in a sundress no less.
At least she had work to keep her busy, she thought as a little boy began jumping up to tug at the flags she had trimmed the gazebo with. Heaving a sigh, Ivy turned to Grace. “I’ll be back in a minute. Duty calls.”
By the time she had finished repairing the swag and giving the young man in question a no-nonsense glance that sent him running to his mother, Grace was back on the picnic blanket with Luke and her sisters… and their significant others. And Brett was still nowhere to be seen.
She should be relieved, not disappointed. After all, there was nothing healthy about the little tingle she felt when he was around. That tingle represented hope, and she was done holding out any for that man.
“Where is everybody?”
Ivy jumped, and even before she turned, she knew Brett had come up behind her. His voice was deep and low and just close enough to her ear to stir up all those wrong feelings she had tried to deny.
She forced a casual grin as she turned to face him, but her traitorous heart pinged on impact with those deep-set eyes.
“Oh. Hey. You mean Mark and Luke? They’re over there, under the tree.” She relished the opportunity to look across the square, to focus on something other than Brett.
He was wearing a green shirt, she couldn’t help but notice. Not exactly getting into the spirit of things.
By contrast, she wore a red cotton sundress. Standing next to each other, they looked like they were ready for Christmas, not the Fourth of July.