by Olivia Miles
He chuckled under his breath. She was a scrapper. Got by on what she had. Made the most of her situation. He admired that about her. Understood it all too well.
“So, can I ask why you didn’t choose to become an oncologist then?”
It was an obvious question, and one Mark, his aunt Rosemary, and his cousins had voiced at some point, too. Only his mother had never questioned his decision, most likely refusing to think his career path should be about her and what she’d been through. He’d always been good at science; medicine was a natural choice.
But it was more than that, and deep down, everyone knew it.
“I like the pace of emergency medicine,” he said. “Not just the sense of urgency but the fact that most people are in and out, moved into surgery or transferred to a department, then another case rolls through.”
“But you don’t have a chance to connect with a patient, then,” Ivy observed.
Exactly, he thought. “You don’t need to connect with a patient to know how to treat them.”
He glanced over at her, noticing the way her profile creased at this. “Yes, but most people want a doctor who cares. Who’s vested.” She caught his eye. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t have any bedside manner? I find that hard to believe.”
He’d been accused of it, more than once, but it had been overlooked by the precision of his skill, his ability to quickly assess a situation, make a plan of action, and implement it. No one could fault him for a job well done.
But they could fault him for messing up.
“People die in the emergency room, especially in a big hospital like I came from. It’s better not to let emotions interfere,” he said simply.
“Yes, but you’re a doctor. You obviously care what happens to the patient.”
“Of course,” he said tersely. “In the ER, it’s all action; no one is lingering. There’s no time. It suits me better, that’s all. I want to go to work, help where I can, and leave it at that.”
Only sometimes that was easier said than done, wasn’t it?
Brett leaned against a table and watched Ivy carefully study a bucket of pink flowers. They had a name, one she had pronounced with great enthusiasm, but it was lost on him, lost on the way his heart felt a little lighter at the glimpse of her smile and the way he didn’t want to peel his eyes from her as she eagerly sought out the best of the bunch.
She looked up, catching him watching her, and blushed a little. “I get a little swept away when it comes to peonies.”
He couldn’t hide his amusement. “So I’ve noticed.”
“They’re my favorite,” she said, glancing down to admire the bouquet in her hand.
“Now that doesn’t seem very professional,” he joked. “Shouldn’t you be a little less biased?”
“Not when it comes to these,” she said. “But of course, I do love all flowers, and sometimes it is hard to choose… Except, I don’t really like daisies.” She leaned into him as they turned into the next aisle. “But don’t tell anyone. That stays between us.”
He winked down at her. “Your secret is safe with me.”
He caught a flicker in her gaze, something that reminded him of another secret he was holding, another inner part of Ivy she kept closed off from the rest of the world, even if there was nothing to hide. Still, he understood her reasons for keeping things to herself, and the knowledge he harbored both frightened him and connected him to her. She could take care of herself—hell, she’d been doing it for a long time already—but she’d trusted him enough to tell him something private. He couldn’t take that lightly.
Ivy stopped and held up some large white flowers he recalled seeing before. “What do you think of these for the fundraiser?”
He stared at her blankly, almost forgetting that he had suggested tagging along under the guise of giving some input on flowers of all things. Her blue-green eyes were wide and questioning as she waited for him to respond, but it was her lips he was focused on. So pink, so full…
“Brett?” She slipped him a little smile. “Remember, you promised not to let on about your true feelings about these things, so… be nice.”
Be nice. He wanted to be nice with Ivy… maybe even a little naughty. And the last thing he wanted to discuss was flowers. “Those will do.”
She shook her head and gave him a long look. “I’m going to give you some options,” she warned. “And I’m eager for your input.”
“Trust me that much, do you?” He cocked an eyebrow, his pulse kicking.
“Well. When it comes to flowers, I am the expert, so while I will take your opinion into consideration, I will only be giving you a handful of options to consider.”
He laughed. “Good. I’ve never been good at making choices.”
She looked at him doubtfully. “I would think just the opposite. You’re an ER physician. You think on your feet.”
“True, but rarely are there varying courses of action.”
“So you’re talking about your personal life then,” she surmised. Her eyes raked over him and then held his gaze long enough to make his gut tighten. He rolled back on his heels, suddenly feeling like she could see straight through to the heart of him.
“I guess you could say that.”
“Interesting,” she murmured. “What makes it so difficult?”
He shrugged. “The fear of making the wrong choice, I suppose. The fear of letting someone down.”
Her eyes went sharply to his and then drifted back to a bunch of flowers as she set them on her cart. Brett stepped forward, surprised at the amount she was buying, and said, “Here. Let me.”
Her expression seemed pleased as she pulled back, her hip skimming his thigh as they switched places. Heat shot straight to his groin and he gripped the handle of the cart tight, pushing it along as Ivy added more.
Finally, they reached the counter. Brett had expected the transaction to be straightforward, for the flowers to be tallied and paid for, but it seemed that Ivy had other ideas.
“These here aren’t worth what you’re asking,” she said, motioning to some red flowers.
The graying man behind the counter gave her a long look. “You don’t need to take them.”
“Well, no one will for this price. I’ll give you seventy percent of asking,” she said steadily.
Brett felt his mouth begin to twitch as she held her ground, and his heart sped up when the man nodded. “Fine.”
Before he could reach for her credit card, Ivy quickly added, “Same goes for the irises.”
Brett stared at her, but she didn’t meet his eye. She stood tall, patiently waiting for the man’s response, unwavering in her stance.
“Fine,” the man eventually said.
She didn’t show any reaction until they were out the door, and only then did her mouth curve into a slow smile. “I think that trip was a success.”
Brett grinned down at her, felt his desire mix with something a little deeper, a little closer to admiration, and swallowed hard. He hadn’t known what would come of the night. What he even wanted to come of it, other than a few more minutes of her company. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said.
Ivy finished loading the last of the flowers into the back of the station wagon, grinning at her loot. The wholesale flower market never got old, and she knew that a few times Brett had caught her looking around like a kid in a toy store. The colors, the textures of the petals, the shapes and sizes of each variety were still exciting and always reminded her why she was doing this and why she was willing to do anything to keep her shop going.
Unable to resist, she climbed in the car and said to Brett, “Now wasn’t that wonderful?”
She was teasing him, sure, but she was surprised when he begrudgingly said, “Maybe a little.”
“Excuse me? I don’t think I quite heard you.” She leaned forward, close enough to catch a hint of his musk over the fresh smell of flowers that filled every pocket of the station wagon. “What was that you said? I could have sworn
you said it was wonderful.”
“It was better than I expected.”
Ivy pulled back, grinning in satisfaction as she started the car and pulled it out of the still-packed parking lot. Florists from all over came to this market—it was the best in the state, and she’d tried them all—but by daybreak it would be cleared out, the best flowers gone.
“So what do we do now, then?”
“Well, I drop these off in the shop, and then I try to catch a few hours of sleep. The store doesn’t open until ten, so I try to be down there by eight to get everything ready for the week. It’s not so bad now that I close the store on Sundays. It helps to have a day off.”
She hadn’t admitted that to anyone before. She must be more tired than she thought.
A good night’s sleep would help her to think straight again. But something told her that after spending so much time with Brett, sleep wouldn’t come easily. If at all.
Still, she’d have to try. It was part of staying healthy.
She’d just have to count sheep and pray that Brett’s image would stay out of her mind for a few hours at least.
“Did anyone ever tell you that you’re working too many hours?”
“And you’re not?” she shot back, bristling.
“Hey, I’m not the one with—”
She flashed him a look and he stopped talking. She blinked at the road. She didn’t want this. Didn’t need this. They’d been having such a nice time; she hadn’t even remembered that he knew about her condition. So much for living in bliss.
“My brother tells me I’m working too many hours. He worries about me too much, though.”
“That’s what family is for,” Brett said.
“I suppose.” Ivy sighed. Her mother hadn’t worried about anything other than what time the pub opened and closed and whether or not there was enough wine in the house to get her through the night. “But if we’re going to be friends, you can’t treat me like a patient. Even if you are a doctor.”
Brett seemed to consider this. “Fair enough. But can you do me one favor?”
Dread pooled in her gut. She knew the sound of this. It was the same way Jane worriedly asked if she needed a snack or if she needed to sit down because she looked pale.
“Can you check your levels at the next light?”
She had half a mind to stop the car right there and tell him to find his own way back to Briar Creek. And good luck with that, because cabs weren’t common in these parts. But then she thought of what Jane had said about Henry. How much it meant to her that he cared enough to make her business his own business, and she felt a little part of her stubbornness begin to chip away.
For a moment, she even dared to wonder if he cared as more than a friend. Until she remembered that he was a doctor, a doctor who had helped her in a time of need, and that he was probably just covering his bases.
“Fine,” she ground out, but only because she knew she should check the monitor. It was late, her routine was always off on market nights, and she always checked before she went to sleep anyway. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he’d asked. In fact, she’d have loved nothing more than to have had the satisfaction of informing him that she’d already checked and everything was fine.
At the next four-way intersection, with no cars around for seemingly miles in any direction, she flicked on the interior light and pulled her monitor from her bag. It read eighty—not great but not a problem, either. Yet.
“I’ll eat a snack,” she sighed, reaching into her bag for some crackers. She wasn’t even hungry.
They fell into silence for most of the ride, and soon they were turning onto Main Street.
Brett met Ivy at the back of the car. She hated the tug in her chest, the disappointment that this evening had come to an end. It was dark in the alley, and quiet, making her more aware than ever that they were completely alone.
She glanced up at him, surprised to see him looking down at her. The light from the moon shone down, casting shadows over his face and drawing attention to the strong line of his jaw. Her heart began to beat a little faster as their gazes locked, and her breath caught as his eyes roamed her face. A chill ran down her arms as crickets chirped somewhere in the distance, the only sound she could hear above the pounding of her heart.
She stepped back, laughing under her breath to release the tension. “Thanks again for coming along. This is the first time I’ve had an escort.”
His mouth curved, but his gaze remained steady and intense. Her breath felt shallow.
“I find it hard to believe a beautiful girl struggles that much with men.” He cocked an eyebrow, his mouth turning mischievous.
Ivy set a hand on her stomach, trying to calm the flutter. “Perhaps my standards are just too high.”
“Keep ’em that way,” Brett said firmly, and Ivy narrowed her gaze, wondering where he fit into that.
She glanced at the back of the station wagon, unable to make out any of the flowers through the window in the moonlight. It was time to steer this conversation back to more neutral ground. “Well, I’m glad I have your seal of approval on the arrangements for the fundraiser.”
“I would have been fine with whatever you’d chosen, actually,” he replied, his voice low and smooth.
“I figured as much.” She grinned.
“About that, though.” He chewed on his lip, studied her as he rolled back on his heels, letting his eyes drift all the way down to her toes and then back up to her eyes.
Damn it if her heart didn’t skip a beat. “Yes?”
“Would you mind extending your services to decorating the place? I don’t know a thing about that, and I wouldn’t know who else to call.”
“Well, since you asked so nicely…” She gave him a rueful look.
He set a hand on her bare shoulder. It felt warm and sturdy and entirely too comfortable. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re talented, Ivy. The way you transformed the town square for the festival was really amazing, and I’m not just saying that. I don’t know anything about making things pretty, and I don’t want this event to be ruined on account of that.”
She held back a smile just long enough to make him sweat a bit, long enough to see if he’d drop his arm. But he didn’t. Instead, he kept it there, cupping her shoulder, his thumb grazing the curve, tracing the edge of her collarbone. “Of course I’ll help. Why don’t I check out the venue next week? That way I’ll have plenty of time to brainstorm some ideas for you.”
“I’ll go with you,” he said instead, dropping his arm and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Next Sunday. Neither of us work, right?”
Her mouth went dry, and she nodded dumbly. “Sunday. That should work.”
His smile broadened into something way too sexy for this time of night. Quickly, she pulled open the trunk door and filled her arms with irises. “Well, good night then.”
He frowned at her and reached into the car for a bucket. “You didn’t think I was going to leave you here to do this on your own, did you? It’s the middle of the night.”
Like that wasn’t painfully obvious. Everyone in town had been asleep for hours… everyone but her and Brett. “Well, I…”
“I’m not that kind of guy.” He grabbed another bucket—twice what she could have carried in one trip—and began heading to the back door to the store, his muscles straining against his tight T-shirt, conjuring up all sorts of images she shouldn’t be thinking about, until he dipped into the shadow, out of sight.
Just what kind of guy are you? But she didn’t know if she was ready for the answer. Because everything in her head was telling her he was a smooth talker, a charmer with good looks who knew how to get what he wanted with a simple flash of those perfect white teeth. But everything in her heart said otherwise.
And she wasn’t sure which one to listen to anymore.
CHAPTER
19
The oven timer dinged just as Kara was finishing dusting her coffee table and bookshelves.
She tossed the rag over her shoulder and ran into the kitchen to turn off the heat before sliding on an oven mitt.
A sweet aroma filled the air as she gingerly placed each cookie on the cooling rack. She checked the clock on the oven—just a few minutes to spare before her guest arrived, and knowing her mother, she was never late.
She set the rag in the laundry basket in the hall closet and went into the bathroom to clean herself up a bit, resenting every brush stroke of her hair. Finally, deciding the heat of the apartment outweighed any potential criticism, she pulled it back into a ponytail. Her eyes were bright, her makeup light, and she was just deciding whether or not to give in and put on some lipstick or take a stand and refuse when the knock at the door came.
She knew it was wrong to feel angry at a knock. After all, she had invited her mother over, hadn’t she? Because she was guilted into it.
A dozen potential arguments and hypothetical comebacks raced through her mind as she flicked off the bathroom light and made her way to the front door. Her mother was smiling, her hair pulled back in a headband, her earrings jingling as she pulled Kara in for a hug.
“This is so nice. We don’t do this often enough!” She smiled again. Warmly. And Kara felt like the biggest jerk on earth.
This was her mother! Her mother! Sure, she had her quirks, but there was no reason to be avoiding her like this. It was all in her head. She had built it all up to be so much more than it was.
“Come on in,” Kara said, deciding then and there that this was nice and that she’d make a regular habit of it from now on. Once a week. At least.
“When did you get home from work?” her mother inquired as she slipped off her shoes.
“Oh, about an hour and a half ago,” Kara said. She’d had just enough time to race home to bake the cookies and make sure her apartment would pass inspection. Because there was always an inspection.
She pushed that thought back and focused on how happy her mother looked in that moment and vowed to be a better daughter going forward.
“Did you go to work dressed like that?” Her mother’s expression betrayed nothing as she tipped her head and waited for the response.