Perfectly Played: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (Love & Alliteration Book 1)

by Holly Kerr

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re fine. I wanted to make sure you’re okay, as a friend. That’s it. Only as a friend. And now I’m going to go.”

  “Dean…” It’s the tone that makes me pause. “I’m sorry. About everything.”

  I’ve been waiting for an apology or an explanation for so long, that when I finally hear one, it doesn’t mean anything.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  I don’t look back when she calls me. It’s not until I open the door of the Jeep that I see her standing in the doorway, her sharp features creased with irritation.

  She’s going to get wrinkles if she keeps frowning like that.

  My phone rings as I pull out of the drive.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Flora

  I grab my phone, thumbs furiously texting, hoping Dean can tell how pissed off I am from the few words.

  Give me back my dog

  I don’t know who I’m more angry with, Dean or Thomas. Or myself, for letting Dean walk away.

  I should have caught him.

  He never should have left.

  The bell tinkles, and my first thought is to rip it off the wall. But I have customers and right now they have to come first. I have a job to do, and there’s no way either Thomas or Dean are going to mess that up for me.

  I deal with the man wanting roses for his wife, even convincing him the yellow, tinted with orange at the tip, would be more unique than the red he wanted. And then I sell my last ficus tree, and then I take orders for two Thanksgiving containers.

  Work is good. Work helps push everything aside. The store is surprisingly busy for a Monday with at least six customers coming in during the half hour after Dean leaves.

  As soon as I have a break, I unhook the bell over the door. I can’t handle the tinkling because every time it rings, it reminds me of Dean.

  “You’re very good at that.”

  My head is in the flowers behind the counter and I look up with a start. I took off the bell over the door because I couldn’t stand thinking it’s Dean every time it rings.

  I look up to see my brothers.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Thankfully you save the pretense of politeness for the customers,” Oliver says with a raised eyebrow.

  “We’re not here for a fight,” Archie sighs. “It’s like the two of you never grew up.”

  “It’s not my fault he’s still an ass,” I mutter.

  “And you’re just as immature.”

  “Of course I’m immature! You’re twenty years older than me!”

  “Flora. Oliver.” Archie waves a hand between them. “Can we take a minute before the attack begins? Flora, we need to talk to you about something.”

  “Is Mom okay? Ruthie?”

  “Everyone’s fine,” Archie assures me. “Better than fine.”

  Oliver looks older, with more gray hair and frown lines. “What’s going on?” For Oliver to be here, it has to be business. But why would they include me?

  “You know we’re expanding the nursery business,” Oliver explains in his brusque voice.

  “Yes, Archie told me,” I say in the same cool voice. “Congratulations.”

  “We found a property in the city,” Oliver continues.

  “What city? Here?” What would happen to Fleur with Shaughnessy’s as competition? My irritation with my brother grows and I open my mouth to tell him what I think of his idea, almost ignoring his next words.

  Then I close my mouth with a surprised blink. “Pardon?”

  “We want you to run it,” Oliver repeats. His icy gaze has thawed and Archie beams beside him. “The new Shaughnessy’s. We want you back in.”

  ~

  A few minutes after my brothers’ head to Pain to bring me a celebratory coffee, Dean finally walks through the door.

  Cappie gallops past me straight to his food dish. “It’s about time you brought my dog back,” I say without meeting his eyes.

  I pushed past the tightness in my chest when my brothers were in front of me but now that Dean is here, I only hope I don’t cry.

  We’ve only known each other three months, and he’d run after Evelyn without a moment’s pause. Dean doesn’t deserve my tears.

  I wish my eyes would stop burning.

  “Didn’t even realize I had him in my hand until I got back to the house,” Dean says apologetically.

  “You were in a bit of a hurry.”

  I meet his gaze and see pain mixed with excitement. If I had any doubt that he’s gone back to her, it’s gone now. “Where’s Thomas?”

  I shrug. “What do I care?”

  “You didn’t take him back?” His question is almost a shout.

  “Of course not. You don’t plan a wedding, break it off at the last moment, and then get back together. At least I don’t. Some people maybe, but not me.”

  Why is he smiling like that, the smile breaking across his face like the sunrise? Why is he crossing the store so quickly? Why—?

  “You didn’t take him back?”

  “I said I didn’t.” He reaches me, tries to hug me. I need both arms to stop him. “But you did.”

  “I didn’t either. I mean, not Thomas, but Evelyn. She tried, but no dice.”

  “What? The way you ran out…” I’m melting, sinking into a pile of goo right here on the floor. Dean didn’t go back to Evelyn. He’s here, right in front of me.

  Dean shakes his head, his smile widening by the moment. “I needed to make sure she was okay. I know how it looked, but I didn’t go back to her because I love her.”

  “I thought…” I look everywhere but at Dean. I’ve never felt so stupid.

  “I know it looked like that, and I’m so sorry. I don’t want Evelyn. I don’t love her anymore. I love you. I told you that. Nothing has changed for me since last night, Flora.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Not for me.”

  He loves me. Me.

  I let him hug me this time, and he picks me up so that my legs twine around his waist. And then he kisses me, over and over.

  From a distance, I hear Cappie bark.

  “Quiet, dog,” Dean mutters, his lips still against mine. “I give you everything and you still bark at me.”

  “Customers?” I pull away enough to peak around his shoulder. The shop is still empty, save Cappie at Dean’s feet, barking at us. “I think he’s happy.”

  “I know I am. Nothing changed for me,” Dean promises.

  “Some things have changed,” I say, wriggling to get free. “My brothers were here.”

  Dean cocks his head. “Is that a good thing?”

  “I think so.” Quickly, becoming more excited, I tell him the plan Archie outlined for me, to look after the new Toronto-based franchise of Shaughnessy Nursery, and incorporate my landscaping business with it.

  “What about Fleur?”

  “I’ll have it, too. By the time Shaughnessy’s is up and running, Imogene will be back from maternity leave. If she wants to manage it for me, that is. They want me back in the company,” I finish with a tremulous smile. “They want me back.”

  “Of course they do. I guess I should tell you about my phone call then,” Dean says with a nervous smile. “I was going to try to process it a little more before I said anything…my old coach called me. From the Triple-A team.”

  “Oh, Dean!” I clutch his arm. “And?”

  “They want me to come throw with them. I texted him the other night and he called back just as I left Evelyn’s. Left for good,” he adds.

  “I’m so happy for you!” Then my face falls. “What does this mean?”

  Dean shrugs. “We’ll figure it out. We haven’t come this far to mess up getting what we want.”

  If this were a romantic comedy, this would be the part in the movie where the heroine goes off by herself to reflect, to grow and change. But I can grow and change perfectly well with Dean.

  Even better than without him.

  I hook my arms around his neck.
If I stretch, the top of my head reaches the edge of his beard. The backs of my legs cramp from being on my tiptoes.

  This is what I going to have to deal with for kissing a tall man.

  “We can figure it out. As long as you let me know when you’re only checking in with someone and not leaving.”

  “I drove really fast back to you,” he points out. “After the phone call. I actually got a ticket.”

  “You got a ticket for me?”

  “I got a ticket for a girl who won’t even put me out of my misery and tell me that she loves me. Now, who’s the silly one?”

  Instead of telling him, I kiss him first. “I love you, too.”

  “You better. Hey, I brought you something. I left it in the car. I’m just going to the car,” he says, enunciating the words.

  “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

  Dean grins. “Not for a long, long time.”

  A long time to love him.

  When he comes back into the shop, he has a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

  “I know I didn’t buy them from your place but I wanted to—”

  I interrupt him with a kiss.

  The End

  Thanks for reading Perfectly Played!

  I’d love it if you would leave a review so other readers (and me) can see what you think.

  Here’s the link to Amazon

  Review here please!

  Thank you!

  Holly xo

  Now, keep reading for a sneak peek of

  Beautifully Baked

  M.K. and Clay’s story!

  Ruthie’s story is coming soon

  Pleasantly Popped

  Acknowledgments

  At the heart of Perfectly Played is baseball, and so because of that, the first person I have to thank is my dad, who instilled a love of the game in me, both watching and playing. He was my favourite coach, he let me pitch when I didn’t know what I was doing, and who I still go to when, as a coach myself, I have to deal with those parents. Thanks, Dad!!

  Thanks also to Team Kerrazy and Bruno Fine Foods and all the other teams that I got to help out with; for B.R who took me to his baseball game for our first date; and my grandpa, who loved the game.

  Thanks to Kelly Gruber, Pat Borders, Todd Stottlemyre, Jesse Barfield and Kevin Pillar. You’re my favorite players, past and present. Except my kids of course—Kaitie, Sam and Sarah. I’ll always be your biggest fan!!

  Perfectly Played was written because all of you.

  But it was whipped into shape by Nita, Glyn and Estee, and Paula, and my readers, some of which can pick of a typo from ninety feet away!

  Beautifully Baked

  Chapter One

  M.K.

  Even though I’m not much for marriage, I like weddings.

  They’re sweet, pretty, and usually, they involve good food. Even though I’m not one to get weepy at declarations of love, it’s nice to see people willing to stand up and tell the world how much they care about each other. It’s…hopeful. The flowers are beautiful, men in tuxedoes are always nice to look at, and did I mention the food?

  I like food even more than I like weddings.

  The meal itself is nice, with the chicken or fish choice and seasonal vegetables arranged just so on the plate. The wedding cake is always a treat, a tower of artful confection that has taken someone days to bake and decorate. But it’s those weddings with a sweet table that I get excited about.

  Finger pastries. Tiny cubes of cheesecake. Petit fours and macarons, pastries, cakes and fruit-filled delicacies. I love it all.

  I love to bake it all.

  But this wedding isn’t going to have a sweet table. I don’t think there’ll be a table at all. Or a meal. Maybe not any flowers unless Thomas steps up, and definitely not any cute groomsmen.

  Flora decided to elope to Las Vegas instead of the big wedding her brothers wanted. Actually, Flora’s brothers don’t want her to marry Thomas at all, made clear by them forcing her out of the family business. Up until three days ago, I—Flora’s best friend—had no idea Flora wanted to marry Thomas. They’d been together nearly eight years, happy with their weekly Friday night date and occasional sleepover.

  I hesitate to use the word happy. Content may be better. At ease with how their relationship worked.

  I really don’t think the relationship works at all, but I’m not saying anything. Long ago, Flora and I made a promise not to bad-mouth boyfriends, and I’ve stuck with it even though sometimes it feels that blood is running down my chin from how much I’ve bitten my tongue.

  I glance in the mirror in the hotel room and pull my dark hair into place over my scar. Ray’s been begging me to try a pixie cut for years, but the gentle graduating bob works for the structure of my face. And there’s no point changing something that works for you.

  “You look beautiful.” Flora smiles at my reflection and steps out of her shoes, leaving her only a few inches taller than me. “You always do.”

  I smile but can’t quite meet her gaze in the mirror. “I’m supposed to be telling you that.”

  As much as it’s the truth, the sight of Flora in her wedding dress produces an oily puddle of disappointment that sits heavy in the depths of my stomach.

  She does look beautiful, but she doesn’t look like Flora. Thanks to Pinterest and Youtube videos, Ruthie and I managed to wrangle Flora’s mass of hair into an innocently elegant updo. It’s been a long time since the days of me practising my French braid technique on her, and since Flora’s usual style is a straight-back ponytail to keep it out of her face when she kneels over her plants, I forgot she has so much hair. With a critical smile, I tuck a wayward strand back into place, wondering if she needs another spray. There’ll be a protest about that—Flora hates most hair products because she claims the chemicals and fragrances suffocate her plants. I had made a special stop at the health food store to find her the most non-toxic, less hazardous spray before we left for Las Vegas.

  Flora tugs at the sleeve of her dress. “Is it okay?”

  The dress is pretty, but again, it’s not Flora’s style. Cream coloured with a lace overlay and a mid-calf hemline, the dress is too conservative, too ladylike, too restrictive—not Flora at all.

  Just like this wedding.

  “You look beautiful,” I say dutifully. “The perfect bride.”

  Flora’s wide mouth creases into a grimace. “I’m trying,” she mutters.

  And that’s why I don’t say anything about the dress or even the shoes because I know how hard she’s trying.

  But she shouldn’t be getting married.

  When we were seventeen, Flora and I made a pact that we would remain unmarried for our entire life, save when we were old and forty and needed someone to look after us. We would be strong, independent women. We’d travel, focusing on our careers, and especially our friendship. We would laugh in the face of commitment, and if we did find love, he’d have to be pretty amazing to make us believe in a future together.

  It was an easy thing to promise since, at the time, I had still been recovering from the bicycle accident that left the scar running down my face, and Flora had been badly dumped by Scottie Davis.

  Things shifted over the years as things do. Ben convinced me that marriage wasn’t all so bad, enough that I accepted his ring.

  Unfortunately, he also convinced me he believed in monogamy. Since then, I’ve jumped back on the anti-marriage train. But Flora never left. It might have because of Thomas and the way their relationship only moved in fits and starts, rather than the gradual onwards and upwards of planning a life together.

  But I’m still in shock that somehow between margaritas with me on Monday night and today (Friday), Thomas somehow convinced Flora to change her mind.

  And now we are here in Las Vegas for her wedding.

  “Where’s Ruthie?” Flora asks, stepping back into the nude heels that go so well with the dress but turns her into a knock-kneed little girl playing dress-up.

&nbs
p; “She went down to the front desk to see if Thomas had the flowers sent over.” Guilt hangs over me about the lack of flowers, like I’m the one who forgot them. But it’s the maid of honour’s duty to ensure everything runs smoothly and Flora always says I am the queen of organization. You make a plan and stick to it and things always run perfectly.

  There is no plan in place for this wedding.

  Yet another reason that the little voice inside me is screaming to delay. Stop. Get Flora out of this mess.

  I’m doing my best to ignore the little voice but it’s becoming more and more difficult.

  “He’ll bring them to the chapel,” Flora says with her usual confidence. Nothing ever seems to faze her, except Thomas.

  Shouldn’t that tell her something?

  Flora checks her hair one last time. “We should go.” She gives a sigh that sounds a lot like resignation. I doubt she even realizes she made the noise.

  “I’ll text Ruthie.” I pick up my cell to summon Ruthie, only to be rewarded by the sound of “Trouble,” by Pink, blaring out of a cell phone somewhere in the ball of sheets on the bed. “She needs to keep her phone on her, today of all days.”

  “Everything’ll be fine,” Flora says as she stares at her reflection in the mirror. My heart breaks a little at the wistful expression on her face.

  “Of course it will. But…this is what you want?” I take a deep breath, fighting to come up with the right words. “Such a small wedding? None of your family?”

  “You’re here.” Flora’s smile doesn’t meet her eyes. “And Ruthie, unless she’s found a better option.”

  “Ruthie wouldn’t miss it. Do your brothers even know you’re here?” I ask in a gentle voice.

  Flora shakes her head, her expression, for once, unreadable. The words bubble up, begging to burst free. If I’m going to say anything, now is the time, because once Flora takes a step down that aisle, everything is over. Everything will change.