by Amanda Tru
Brooke could tell this was just going to go from bad to worse. The best course of action was to not really give Kiffany any more answers or information, but to just leave.
“You know, I think I’ll just—”
“Dylan?” Kiffany’s voice sounded strangled.
Brooke turned around to see that Dylan had stepped out of the office and now looked like a deer caught in the headlights.
“What…?” Kiffany stammered. Then a light of fanatic hope dawned in her eyes, and she stepped forward. “Oh, Dylan! I didn’t know if you’d come find me after the sandwich shop, but it means so much that you did!”
Dylan stepped back and held up his hands before Kiffany could throw herself into his arms again. “Kiffany, I wasn’t here to see you. I came with Brooke to see Monica. One of the order mistakes yesterday at the florist shop involved her as well.”
When Dylan stepped to avoid Kiffany’s advances, the view of Monica standing behind him stopped Kiffany in her tracks.
“Oh,” Kiffany said, obviously thinking. Then her face clouded over, and she gritted out. “You mean she got a bouquet from you as well?”
Brooke stepped up, placing a calming hand on Kiffany’s shoulder. It was her mistake, she should be the one to explain. “Dr. Stevens was supposed to receive an order yesterday, but it wasn’t delivered. It was my mistake, so I came to make the apology, and Dylan accompanied me.”
With her hand at the back of Kiffany’s shoulder, Brooke felt the other woman’s sharp intake of breath. But her shoulder never sagged in the release of that breath. Instead, Kiffany held it in. Brooke watched as, with her eyes fixed on Dylan, the model-like face took on a shade that matched her lipstick.
“You mean, the flowers that I got from you were actually supposed to go to Dr. Stevens?” she finally burst out.
“No!” Brooke said quickly, letting her hand fall helplessly from Kiffany’s shoulder. Knowing she needed to explain everything before Kiffany developed any more misunderstandings, she flung out the truth, simply trying to make Kiffany understand. “Dylan ordered flowers for Dr. Stevens. But everything got screwed up, and all of his ex-girlfriends received flowers. But the original order, the one for Dr. Stevens, was never delivered.”
Kiffany glared at Brooke. “You mean that she isn’t your girlfriend?” She turned her glare Monica’s direction. “But she is?”
“I don’t know that we’ve made things official,” Dylan said hesitantly, glancing at Monica. “But, yes, we are dating.”
Kiffany let out a shriek and ran back to her desk.
Feeling like it was all her fault, Brooke stepped in between Kiffany and Dylan. Holding up her hands, she spoke in a soothing voice. “Please just take a deep breath, Kiffany.”
“So these flowers were supposed to go to her,” she raged. “Fine! You can have them!” Her hand swung down to grab the flowers out of the vase. But she misjudged the distance, and the force of the impact sent the vase crashing into a wall.
It shattered, sending shards of glass everywhere.
Brooke cried out and jumped back, covering her face with her arms.
Everything fell silent for the space of two solid seconds after the crash. Then Kiffany burst into tears. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to break it!” she moaned.
Brooke slowly took her arms from her face, seeing Kiffany collapse into her office chair in a sobbing mess.
“Brooke, are you okay?” Dylan said urgently, coming up quickly behind her.
“I think so,” she said, still feeling a little dazed as she turned to face him.
Dylan’s eyes flew wide. “Monica, she’s hurt!” he said. Before she realized what was happening, Dylan swung her into his arms and easily carried her down the hall, back to Monica’s office. He carefully laid her on the couch.
“Monica, get me something to clean her up with!” Dylan said, flinging the order over his shoulder.
Brooke reached her fingers up to her forehead. Dylan turned back around and snatched her hand away, but not before she saw the red smear of blood. With the sight, it was as if her body realized it was hurt, and Brooke suddenly felt pain.
“Here you go,” Monica said, bustling in with her hands full. “I have some washcloths, antiseptic wipes, antibiotic ointment, and bandages. Unloading the supplies beside Dylan, she then bent over Brooke for inspection. “It doesn’t look too bad. Not too deep, and I don’t think it will require glue or stitches. It’s really more of a scratch. But any kind of cut right there is going to bleed a lot. Do you want me to take over, Dylan? I can get her bandaged up pretty quick.”
Her words brought Brooke great comfort. She’d wondered if she was completely cut up from the glass, but maybe it wasn’t so bad. She really wished they’d give her a mirror.
“No, thanks,” Dylan said, already using one of the wash clothes to apply pressure to Brooke’s forehead. “I’ve got it. I think Kiffany probably needs your attention more right now.”
Monica sighed. “I think you’ve got the better job.”
She left, and Dylan silently kept the washcloth in position. Brooke looked up at him. He was so focused on her wound that it left her free to inspect him without him noticing. His gray eyes looked cloudy with concern, and his jaw flexed with tension. Some of his dark hair waved over his forehead as he bent over her, and she had the strange desire to reach up with her fingers and push it back.
After a couple minutes of silence, Brooke asked, “So are you a doctor, too, Dylan Masters?”
Dylan blinked and glanced down at her. “No, but my mother is a nurse, which really means I’m just as good.” He lifted the cloth and then reported. “It looks like the bleeding has stopped.” He moved to find a bandage.
“May I have a mirror before you bandage it up?” Brooke asked.
Brooke could tell he didn’t want to, but nonetheless, he stood and retrieved a small standing mirror that looked as if it belonged in the optical department.
He handed it to her then watched her worriedly as she sat up and brought the mirror to her face. A cut about an inch and a half in length ran along her hairline on the right side of her forehead.
“I’m sorry,” Dylan whispered. “Apparently every relationship I’ve ever had is quite dysfunctional, and that isn’t your fault or the fault of any accidental bouquets. I should have never tried to make you take care of my mess.”
Brooke nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate you saying that, but it was my mistake that caused all of the crazy to shine through.” She looked at the cut one more time and handed Dylan back the mirror. “It isn’t too bad,” she said, willing herself to believe the words. “It probably won’t even scar.” Her words caught in a little hiccup as she tried desperately to control the burning behind her eyes. She would not cry. She would not cry.
“Brooke,” Dylan said, squatting down to the couch so he faced her directly. When she still refused to look up at him, he reached out and gently tilted her chin up.
“Please don’t,” Brooke whispered. “If you look at me, or touch me, or say anything, I’ll start crying and won’t be able to stop.”
“Would that be so bad?” Dylan asked gently. “You’ve had a pretty rough day. I think you’re entitled to a few tears.”
Brooke shook her head and squeezed her eyes together so the tears wouldn’t escape. “I can’t,” she managed brokenly.
“And how is our patient?” Monica called cheerfully reentering her office.
Dylan’s hand dropped from where it had cradled her chin, and he reached for the bandages.
“Almost done,” Dylan answered. “Do you have any pain meds, Monica? I’m sure this cut is starting to cause some pain.”
Brooke was so grateful Monica had shown up when she did. With the doctor’s presence, Brooke was able to gain control and not melt into a full breakdown. Just make it to tonight, she told herself. As soon as every apology was made, she would shut the door to her apartment and let it all out where nobody could hear her cries.
Monica re
trieved some over-the-counter pills and a bottle of water from her desk. “Kiffany has the glass all cleaned up and is anxious to make an apology to Brooke.”
Seeming not to have heard Monica, Dylan looked Brooke in the eyes and said, “I’ll try not to hurt you.”
Maybe it was the sincerity in his eyes. Maybe it was the slight fear, as if he really was scared that he would do exactly what he intended not to. But Brooke got the feeling that, whether intentional or not, his words covered a lot more than a bandage.
Gentle fingers applied the ointment, and then the bandage. After pressing the adhesive down firmly, his fingers left her face. “All done,” he announced.
Brooke immediately moved to stand. She really wanted to be out of this office. The sooner she completed all of her tasks, the sooner she got to go home and sob the whole day out.
“Careful,” Dylan warned, moving quickly to wrap his arm around her waist. “You might be dizzy.”
“I’m fine,” Brooke assured.
But Dylan remained at her side, his hand protectively at her back when they went out the door and down the hall. Monica followed.
As if finely tuned to Dylan’s touch, Brooke keenly felt every time his body even slightly brushed hers and every second his hand rested at her back. She also felt its sudden absence when, just as they exited the hall, Kiffany looked up from her desk, immediately rushing forward, and threw her arms around Brooke in a fierce hug, thereby dislodging Dylan’s hold.
“I’m so sorry,” she sniffled, pulling back slightly.
Kiffany’s eyes, as well as her puffy nose and the rest of her face, were all red from crying, and it wasn’t a very good look for her. Her makeup was smeared all over, and she had the look of a child who had been caught in a transgression.
Trying to be subtle, Brooke stepped back to gain a little distance between them and decrease the risk of a repeat hug.
“I didn’t mean for the vase to break,” Kiffany explained, her eyes tearing up again. “I just got so upset that I wasn’t thinking or being careful. You know, maybe you really shouldn’t use glass vases at the florist shop. You know, for safety reasons. Plastic vases can be just as pretty. And it would just take one person who broke a vase to be upset enough to file a lawsuit against you.” Kiffany shrugged. “It’s just a suggestion to think about.”
Brooke felt Dylan stiffen beside her. The angry growl was soon to follow. “Kiffany, I don’t think—”
Brooke reached down and grabbed Dylan’s hand beside her. The instant her hand touched his, she felt his jolt of shock, and he stopped talking. She gave his hand a quick squeeze, hopefully further cementing his silence.
“Apology accepted,” Brooke told Kiffany simply.
Kiffany smiled, the lines on her forehead relaxing in relief. “I really hope you weren’t hurt too bad. Dr. Stevens told me it should heal just fine. Even so, is there anything I can do to help make it up to you? Maybe I can buy you a cup of coffee sometime?”
Brooke shook her head. “How about you just send me some flowers sometime?”
Kiffany paused, her face clouded in confusion. Brooke saw the instant she got the joke, and Kiffany let out a giggle. “Maybe I’ll do that! But I’ll have to be careful to make sure it gets to the right florist!”
Feeling Dylan’s eyes on her, Brooke turned toward him. His face shone with a mixture of awe, admiration, and a little bewilderment. Realizing that her hand still rested in his, she gave a little tug. “Let’s go.”
“Dylan, can I speak with you?” Monica said. “It should take just a minute.”
At her voice, Dylan dropped Brooke’s hand as if it was hot.
“Sure,” he said, stepping back into the hallway with Monica.
Brooke went to the front waiting area and sat down on one of the chairs. She flashed a weak smile at an older woman with glasses sitting in another chair. But noting the woman’s open curiosity, Brooke averted her gaze. Since the woman couldn’t have missed Kiffany’s apology, Brooke figured they’d already provided her with enough show for an afternoon visit to the eye doctor.
About ninety seconds later, Dylan returned. He started for the door and then turned and walked back to the front desk. “Kiffany, listen carefully. I have no interest in a relationship with you, nor will I ever. I will never intentionally send you flowers or call you. Any pleasant look on my face is not directed your way. I am sorry if I have hurt you, but that wasn’t my intention. I wish you the very best and hope you find someone who will love you and make you happy. But it won’t be me.”
Kiffany nodded. “I understand.”
With that, Dylan hurried for the door without another backward glance.
Once back to Dylan’s car, Brooke sank down weakly into the seat and shut her eyes for a brief moment. Dylan got in and started the engine.
Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes. “Who’s next on the list?” she asked bravely.
“No one,” Dylan replied. “We’re done. I’ll take you back to the florist shop.”
And suddenly, the words she had longed to hear all day felt terribly flat.
“No, Dylan,” Brooke replied firmly as he pulled out onto the street from the parking lot. “We are not done. I want to get all the names checked off the list today. I need to.”
Dylan blew out an exasperated breath. “I’m not going to take you to another name on the list and put you in the crossfire between me and one of my exes! It just isn’t worth it. And I’m not okay with you cleaning up any more of my ugly dating history.”
“Then maybe I should do it by myself,” Brooke said, with sudden inspiration. “I think the women are reacting more to you than to the fact that they got a mistaken delivery of flowers. If I just go to them by myself and explain the situation without you, then they will have no one to get mad at.”
“You’re not going alone,” Dylan said stubbornly, as if his statement ended the discussion.
“You really don’t have any say in it, Dylan,” Brooke said casually. Instead of anger, she had opted for the soft, easy you-can’t-make-me attitude. “I have the names and addresses of where the flowers were delivered. I’ll just make a visit to each and get it done without you.”
“Absolutely not. I don’t want you going alone.”
Brooke turned her body away from him, pretending to be engrossed in the view. But really, she was working on not launching into a tirade. She held her silence, wanting to make it as uncomfortable as possible for him. It didn’t matter to Brooke what he wanted or thought. As soon as he dropped her off, she could take her car to handle the final apologies without Dylan.
The silence stretched from seconds to minutes. Brooke watched the buildings of Crossroads pass and idly thought how nice the downtown area was looking. Many of the older buildings looked renovated and sported new paint. Instead of old and tired, their little town was taking on a cute and quaint look. She’d already heard that more tourists were starting to come through town and visit the little shops. The mayor and city council were working on some other projects that would hopefully draw more of the tourist business to Crossroads as well.
With close access to recreation and a great small town atmosphere, Brooke was happy to see Crossroads healthy and thriving, but she really didn’t want too many people to come and figure out what a great place it was to live! A new Community Center sign caught her eye. She turned, but couldn’t see any of the details fast enough, but it looked as if an old fire station had undergone some significant renovations. She made a mental note to ask her mom about it. She was on several committees and stayed current on what was going on in the community. She was so well known that it seemed like every person she ran into usually came with a bit of gossip to add to their “hello.”
Dylan’s sigh interrupted her sight-seeing. “Fine,” he said, his exasperation evident. Apparently, he couldn’t handle the silence any longer. “I’ll get you the numbers. If you insist on making apologies, you can call instead of go in person.”
Brooke looked
at him, thoroughly incredulous. Had she just wasted her entire day? “I thought you said you didn’t have their phone numbers!”
“I don’t,” Dylan insisted. “But I have my old cell phone bills. I know when I dated who and should be able to figure out their numbers if I look at my call records.”
A little surprised that he was willing to go to that work, Brooke nonetheless replied, “That would be great. Thank you.” She looked at the now-crumpled paper in her hand. “It looks like there are several more names on your list that haven’t been contacted yet, plus the local orders I need to call for Helen. I know she already notified them of the mistakes, but I need to call and make personal apologies.”
“I may not be able to get them to you for a couple of hours,” Dylan said cautiously. “After I drop you off, I have to run by the bank, and then I’ll have to go home and do my research. Will you still be at the floral shop this evening?”
“No, I’m hoping that I can just pick up the order info and make the calls from home,” Brooke said, worry lining her voice. “I really don’t want Helen looking over my shoulder and critiquing the word choice in my apology. Would you mind dropping the phone numbers off at my apartment? I can give you my address.”
Dylan nodded. “I can do that.”
Suddenly remembering Dylan’s plans for the evening, Brooke asked. “Do you think you’ll be dropping by before or after your date with Monica?” If he didn’t bring her the info until afterward, she may not have time to make the calls tonight after all.
“I’m not going out with Monica tonight,” Dylan said. “You should have the numbers with plenty of time to make your apologies this evening.”
“Maybe I misheard,” Brooke said, confused. “I thought for sure that you said you’d pick her up this evening.”
“We were supposed to go out,” Dylan said. “But she canceled. That’s what she called me over about right before we left.”
“Oh.” Brooke tried to talk herself out of asking more questions, but she couldn’t quite manage it. Mostly, she was worried that it was somehow her fault. “Is she still upset about the flowers? I thought she’d taken the news very well, but maybe not.”
