The not-so-subtle hint wasn’t new. Marilee was forever threatening her employees with reduced wages or being fired. The fact that she owned the most successful real estate firm in the city gave her power and she knew it.
When she’d first joined the firm, Olivia had been immune to Marilee’s pettiness and whims, but lately that had changed. Maybe it was inevitable with the passage of time. Maybe it was the fact that Olivia had caught Roger staring at her legs. No matter how much Marilee did to slow the clichéd ravages of time, the truth was she would be fifty in a couple of years. Whatever the reason, Olivia wasn’t Marilee’s favorite anymore. She was just like everyone else.
A familiar ache filled her chest. It had started when she was twelve years old and her mother had simply left. Olivia had been devastated. She and her mother had been so close. They were the two who got each other. Kelly had always been Dad’s favorite and Olivia had been Mom’s, one each, the way it was supposed to be. But when Mom had left, Olivia had been alone.
Ever since then, nothing had been right. There had been moments when she’d felt safe, as if she belonged, but only moments. Except with Ryan. When she was with him, she always knew that she was going to be okay. With him, she could believe in herself, in the future.
She thought of the messages on her phone. The meaningless parties she could waste time on, the women she hung out with. They, like Marilee, were more frenemy than friend. What did she have keeping her here? Kathy’s boyfriend? A career that was going nowhere? She had no idea what she wanted, which meant she was never going to achieve anything. She needed time to think and maybe, just maybe, the chance to make her life perfect again.
She couldn’t go back to being that twelve-year-old girl again, but she could take Ryan up on his invitation. Go back to Tulpen Crossing. That would give Marilee something to chew on and wouldn’t that be fun? Plus she could finally get her man. Because with Ryan, everything was better.
“You know what, Mom? You’re right. I should take some time off.”
Marilee’s expression tightened. “I’ve told you not to call me that. Especially at the office. I’m nowhere near old enough to have a daughter your age.”
“Good thing Kelly doesn’t work for you. She’s even older than me.”
“I have to say I don’t care for your attitude.”
“Sorry. I should probably get out of here, then. I need to pack and close up my apartment.”
“You’re actually going somewhere?”
“Uh-huh. Home. I’m going home for the summer.”
Marilee sat up. “Home? To that backwater town? Are you crazy?”
“No. I think it will be fun. I haven’t visited in forever. I’ll let you know when I’m heading out. And I’ll make sure Kathy has all the information she needs for the listings we have.”
“You can’t simply leave me. You have responsibilities.”
“You’ll be fine, Mom. You always are.” Olivia smiled. “At least this way you don’t have to cut my hours.”
* * *
Reporting for work at 5:00 a.m. was not for sissies but there were a few things that could mitigate the horror. One was the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls hot out of the oven. The other was Billy Joel blasting at a volume just short of hearing loss.
Helen Sperry walked in the front door of The Parrot Café at two minutes to five. Being on time wasn’t difficult what with her basically living around the corner. She paused to inhale the glorious, gooey scent, then smiled when she heard the opening line to “Uptown Girl.”
“I’ll bet Billy can afford to buy all the pearls he wants now,” she called as she flipped on lights. “What do you think, Delja?”
There was no answer from the kitchen, but that was okay. Delja America wasn’t much of a talker. Instead she expressed herself through her amazing cooking and baking.
Helen hummed along with the song as she walked into the kitchen. “Morning. Everything okay?”
Delja had been with the diner since she graduated from high school nearly forty years before. She was barely five feet tall, but had the build of a linebacker. The muscles of one, too. She could flip a fifty-pound bag of flour onto the counter like it was a small baggie filled with grapes. And the things the woman could do with eggs bordered on miraculous. She was a widow, with one son—the current mayor of Tulpen Crossing—and a daughter who lived in Utah.
Delja looked up at Helen and smiled. Helen crossed the kitchen to receive her morning hug—the one that nearly squeezed the air out of her body. She hung on as tight as she could, trying to return the body crushing with equal force, but suspected Delja was not impressed by her upper body strength.
Delja released her, then held her at arm’s length.
“You good?”
The question was asked in a low, gruff voice. It was the same one Delja had asked every single morning for the past eight years—ever since Helen had taken over the diner from her aunt.
“I am. Did you talk to Lidiya? Are you going to stay with her this summer?”
Every year Delja visited her daughter for three weeks. The entire town wept as the supply of cinnamon rolls dried up. Tempers grew short and people counted the days until Delja’s return.
“September.”
“Okay, then. You’ll email me the dates?”
Delja nodded once, then turned back to frosting the rolls.
There was more they could discuss. Their personal lives, what supplies might be running low, whether or not the Mariners were going to have a winning baseball season, but they wouldn’t. Delja preferred a single-word response to actual conversation and did most of her communicating via email. If something had to be ordered, she would have already sent a note to their supplier.
As for checking on her work, Helen knew better. Delja started her day at two in the morning. By five there were biscuits in the oven, all the omelet extras had been prepped and oranges squeezed. At The Parrot Café, the back of house ran smoothly—all thanks to Delja.
Helen went to her office and tucked her handbag into the bottom drawer of her desk. She glanced in the small mirror over the sink by the door. Her black hair was pulled back in a French braid, her bangs were trimmed and her makeup was subtle. All as it should be. The fact that she couldn’t see below her shoulders meant she didn’t have to notice that her last diet had failed as spectacularly as the previous seventeen. Which was not her fault. Really. How could she be expected to eat Paleo while living in a world that contained Delja’s cinnamon rolls?
She returned to the front of the store and started the morning prep. There were place settings to be put out and sugar shakers to be filled. Silly, simple tasks that allowed her to collect herself for her day. And maybe, just maybe, give her a second so that the butterflies in her stomach calmed down from their current hip-hop to a more stately waltz.
The Parrot Café (named for parrot tulips, not the bird) had been around nearly as long as the town. Helen’s aunt had inherited it from her parents and when she’d married, her husband had joined the team. From what Helen could tell, the two of them had been very happy together. The café was open from 6:00 a.m. until 2:00 p.m., seven days a week. Until Helen had come along, the childless couple had shut down every August and had traveled the world. Then Helen’s parents had been killed in a car accident, leaving the only child an orphan. There had been no other family, so Helen had come to Tulpen Crossing.
She supposed her aunt and uncle had tried. As much as her world had been thrown into chaos, theirs had been, as well. They’d done what they could to make her feel welcome, but she’d known the truth. They hadn’t wanted children. It had been a choice—yet they were stuck with her.
She’d done her best to not be any trouble, and to learn the business. By the time she was thirteen, she was already waiting tables. The patrons loved her and no one knew that she cried herse
lf to sleep every night for the first three years after her parents had died.
Her parents had been poor but happy—both musicians. That meant there hadn’t been any money for, well, anything. The only thing she still had of her parents’ was the piano they’d played and their wedding rings. She kept the former in her living room in her small house and had had the latter made into a pendant she wore every day. She hadn’t inherited much of their musical gifts, but like them, she did love Billy Joel. He was her connection to the past.
By five thirty Helen had the coffee brewing. The rest of the wait staff showed up at five forty-five and the first customer would walk through the door exactly at six. By seven thirty every booth would be full, as would the counter seats. There was always a lull around ten that lasted until the lunch crowd showed up. By then Delja had clocked out and the culinary students from the school up in Bellingham were hard at work in the kitchen, prepping for lunch.
It was a system that worked. The students got to practice in a real world restaurant, her customers had an opportunity to try new and fun food, along with traditional favorites, and she had a steady supply of labor. Many students signed up for weekend shifts and those who lived local often wanted a job with her for a couple of years to get experience for their résumés before moving on to somewhere a lot more elegant than The Parrot Café.
Helen glanced at the clock, then reached for a mug. She was still pouring coffee when she heard the front door open. Her butterflies started a quickstep and for one brief second, she thought her hands might actually shake. Which was ridiculous. And right on cue, the recorded sound of breaking glass was followed by the opening chords of “You May Be Right.”
“I may be crazy,” Helen whispered to herself before turning around and smiling as Jeff Murphy walked toward her. “Morning.”
“Hi, Helen.” Jeff winced slightly. “Does it have to be this loud?”
“Billy is my rock-and-roll boyfriend. A love like that demands volume.”
“Uh-huh.”
Jeff set paper-wrapped flowers on the counter before pulling out his phone and tapping the screen. It only took him a second to find the Sonos app and lower the volume to the level of background noise.
“One day Billy’s going to kick your ass for doing that,” she told him.
He grinned. “I’m willing to take the chance.”
It was a variation on the conversation they had nearly every day. One she looked forward to with ridiculous anticipation. Billy might be her rock-and-roll boyfriend, but Jeff was, well... Jeff was the reason her heart kept beating.
Stupid, but there it was. The truth. She was wildly, desperately in love with Jeff Murphy.
The man was gorgeous. He looked a little like the actor Jason Bateman, with shaggy hair and big brown eyes. He was tall, fit, funny, kind and he could play guitar like nobody’s business. In a word—irresistible.
He was also single, so what was the problem? Why couldn’t she simply tell him how she felt? Or ask him out to dinner? Or rip off her clothes and smile winningly? Jeff wasn’t a dummy. He would get the message.
Only three things stopped her. One, he was older. Sixteen years, to be exact. While she didn’t care, she thought he might. Two, the extra thirty pounds she carried. She was currently subscribing to the when-then philosophy—distant cousin to the if-then concept. When she lost weight, then she would be brave and throw herself at Jeff.
She acknowledged that pending moment of disaster might be the reason she seemed in no hurry to commit to a weight-loss plan but she wasn’t sure.
Reason number three—which was probably the most important and therefore should be the first—Jeff was her best friend’s father.
Yup, Jeff was Kelly’s dad, which added a whole layer of complicated to the situation. Because should she ever confess the truth to said best friend, there would be a conversation filled with “WTF” and “Are you kidding me?” All of which would be screamed rather than spoken.
Oh, wait. There was a fourth reason Helen hadn’t thrown herself at Jeff. He’d never once made a move in her direction. All the more reason to bury her unrequited love/lust in a warm cinnamon roll.
“Let me show you what I brought you today,” he said, unrolling the paper. “Havran.”
Helen stepped closer to study the beautiful tulips. They were deep purple with a slightly pointed petal. The stems were pale green and smooth.
“They’re lovely. Thank you.”
She knew better than to offer to pay for them. She’d tried a couple of times, but Jeff had simply shaken his head. “I grow tulips, Helen. I want to do this.”
She’d tried reading something into his words but weeks, then months, had passed with nary a change in their relationship. Not by a whisper, look or touch did he ever hint that he thought of her as more than a friend. She’d learned to accept the flowers as a kind gift. The man was a tulip farmer, after all. It wasn’t as if he’d bought them for her.
She collected a tray filled with small vases, along with clippers. Together they loaded the vases and put them on each table. When she returned to the counter, he held out a small wrapped package the size and shape of a single stem.
“For you. Don’t tell Kelly.”
Humor danced in his dark brown eyes. Eyes she would very much like to get lost in. Maybe while he slowly undressed and reached for her as they...
“Helen?”
“What? Oh, thanks. Although I’m not sure I should thank you for stealing from your daughter’s private greenhouse.”
“She’s not going to notice one flower missing.”
“You take one every week. At some point she’s going to catch on.”
He winked. “She hasn’t yet.”
No, she hadn’t. Because Kelly would have mentioned the thefts, had she spotted them.
Yes, it was true—father and daughter worked together on their tulip farm. In addition to growing millions of blooms for florists and grocery stores, Kelly had a small, private greenhouse where she cultivated special flowers. Flowers Jeff occasionally stole and brought to Helen.
Today’s offering was red with a yellow base. But what was most remarkable were the long, slender petals that came to a needlelike point. They were delicate and exotic and incredibly beautiful.
“Tulipa acuminata,” Jeff said.
Helen didn’t know if the words were Latin or just scientific, but hearing him say them made her girl parts sigh in unison.
“It’s stunning,” she said. “I’ll put it in my office and not tell my best friend, which makes me a bad person and it’s all your fault.”
“I do what I can.”
He took a seat at the counter. His regular seat. The one she thought of as Jeff’s chair. When she had a moment between customers, it was where she later sat. Sad, but true.
“Want to see a menu?” she asked.
He raised his eyebrows. “Is that your idea of humor?”
Because he’d been coming to the café all his adult life and knew everything they served.
“I’m trying to mix things up,” she said.
“I’ll have an omelet.”
“With bacon, avocado, cheese.” A statement, not a question.
“You know what I like.”
If only that were true. If only she knew the words or moves to get him to see her as more than a friend. Unless, of course, he wasn’t interested. Which he probably wasn’t, because he was a decisive man. So she should get over him and move on with her life. Only she didn’t want to get over Jeff. She wanted to get into him. Or have him get into her, or...
“I need more coffee,” she muttered. And a hormone transplant. Or maybe just some more Billy Joel.
3
Leo Meierotto, the fortysomething site supervisor, stuck his head in Griffith’s office. “Boss, you’v
e got company.” Leo’s normally serious expression changed to one of amusement. “Kelly Murphy is here.”
Because Leo was local and in a town the size of Tulpen Crossing, everyone knew everyone.
“Thanks.”
“Think she wants to buy a tiny home?”
Considering she lived in a house her family had owned for five generations, “Doubtful.”
Maybe she’d shown up to serve him with a restraining order. Or did that have to be delivered by someone official? He wasn’t sure. Avoiding interactions that required him to get on the wrong side of law enforcement had always been a goal.
He told himself whatever happened, he would deal, then walked out into the showroom of the larger warehouse. Kelly stood by a cross section of a display tiny home, studying the layout.
He took a second to enjoy looking at her. She was about five-five, fit, with narrow hips and straight shoulders. A farmer by birth and profession, Kelly dressed for her job. Jeans, work boots and a long sleeved T-shirt. It might be early June, but in the Pacific Northwest, that frequently meant showers. Today was gray with an expected high of sixty-five. Not exactly beach weather.
Kelly’s wavy hair fell just past her shoulders. She wore it pulled back in a simple ponytail. She didn’t wear makeup or bother with a manicure. She was completely no-frills. He supposed that was one of the things he liked about her. There wasn’t any artifice. No pretense. With Kelly you wouldn’t find out that she was one thing on the surface and something completely different underneath. At least that was what he hoped.
“Hey, Kelly.”
She turned. He saw something flash through her eyes. Discomfort? Nerves? Determination? Was she here to tell him to back off? He couldn’t blame her. He’d been too enthused about his plan when he should have been more subtle. She was going to tell him to leave her alone.
Not willing to lose without a fight, he decided he needed a distraction and how convenient they were standing right next to one.
Secrets of the Tulip Sisters Page 3
