Secrets of the Tulip Sisters

by Susan Mallery

  “You’ve never been to my office before,” he went on. “Why is that?”

  “I don’t know. You’ve been back about a year. I guess I should have been by.” She turned toward the tiny homes. “You build these?”

  “I do. Have you seen one before?”

  “Only on TV.”

  He grinned. “Gotta love the free advertising.” He gestured to the model next to the cross section. “Micro housing is defined as being less than five hundred square feet. They serve different purposes for different people. In sub-Saharan Africa, micro housing provides sturdy, relatively inexpensive shelter that can be tailored to the needs of the community.” He pointed to the roof. “For example, we can install solar panels, giving the owners access to electricity. In urban settings, modified homes can be an alternative to expensive apartments. They can also offer shelter to the homeless. For everyone else, they fill a need. You can get a single-story house for an in-law or a guest cottage with a loft. You can take it on the road, even live off the grid, if you want.”

  She studied him intently as he spoke, as if absorbing every word. “I like living on the grid, but that’s just me.”

  “I’m with you on that. Creature comforts are good. Come on. I’ll show you where we build them.”

  He led her around the divider and into the back of the warehouse where the actual construction was done. Nearly half a dozen guys swarmed over the homes. Griffith saw that Ryan was leaning against a workbench, talking rather than working. No surprise there. He ignored the surge of frustration and turned his attention to Kelly.

  “Clients can pick from plans we have on hand or create their own. If it’s the latter, I work with them to make sure the structure will be sound. A house that’s going to stay in one place has different requirements from one that will be towed.”

  She nodded slowly. “You’d have to make sure it was balanced on the trailer. Plus it can’t be too high. Bridges and overpasses would be a problem. Maybe weight, as well.”

  “Exactly. A lot of people think they want a tiny home but when they actually see what it looks like, they’re surprised at the size.”

  “Or lack of size?” She smiled. “I can’t imagine living in five hundred square feet.”

  “Or less. It takes compromise and creative thinking.”

  “Plus not a lot of stuff.”

  They walked back to the show area. She went through a completed tiny house waiting to be picked up.

  “I can’t believe you fit in a washer-dryer unit,” she called from inside.

  “Clothes get dirty.”

  “But still. It’s a washer-dryer.” She stepped back into the showroom. “It’s nice that you have this setup for your clients. They get to see rather than just imagine.”

  He nodded as he looked around. There were photos of completed projects on the wall, along with the cross section. He had a small selection of samples for roofing, siding and hard surfaces. All the basics.

  “What?” she asked.

  “It’s okay,” he admitted. “I want to make it better, but I don’t know how to do the finishing touches.” He could design the hell out of three hundred square feet, but when it came to things like paint and throw pillows, he was as lost as the average guy in a housewares department.

  “I wish I could help, but I can’t.” She flashed him a smile. “I’m totally hopeless at that kind of thing, too. Now if you want to know the Pantone color of the year, that I can do.”

  “The what?”

  “The color of the year. Every year the design world picks colors that are expected to be popular. You know, for clothes and decorating.”

  “Why would you know that?”

  “Um, Griffith, I grow tulips for a living. If I don’t get the colors right, nobody wants them at their wedding or on their coffee tables.”

  “Oh, right. I didn’t think of that.” He frowned. “Don’t you have to order bulbs before you plant them? What if you get the colors wrong?”

  “Then I’m screwed and we lose the farm. Which is why I pay attention to things like the Pantone colors of the year. It’s not so much that people won’t buy yellow tulips regardless of what’s popular, it’s that I’ll lose sales by not having the right colors available when my customers want them. I like being their go-to vendor when they need something.”

  He’d known she cared about her business, but he hadn’t thought of her as competitive. Better and better.

  “Do you focus on having the right colors in the field flowers as well as those you grow indoors?”

  She studied him for a second, as if surprised by the question.

  “They’re different,” she admitted. “What we have for the annual tulip festival are more focused on popular colors as well as types of tulips. I use the greenhouses for wedding seasons as well as for the more exotics. It’s easier to control the process when you don’t have to deal with Mother Nature.”

  “I hear she can be a real bitch.”

  Kelly laughed. “If there’s a spring hailstorm, I won’t disagree. Ten minutes of hail can ruin an entire crop.”

  He winced. “That sucks.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  They smiled at each other. He had a feeling she’d forgotten about why she’d come to see him, which was how he wanted things.

  He’d known who Kelly was since high school. She’d been a couple of years behind him, but he’d seen her around. She’d been relatively quiet. Pretty, but not in a flashy way. Her freshman year, they’d worked on the yearbook together and he’d gotten to know her. Still, he’d been that guy and she’d been younger. He hadn’t known if he wanted to make his move or not. Then things had blown up with her mother and he’d hurt Kelly’s feelings and, before he could figure out what to say or do, he’d graduated and gone off to college.

  To be honest, he hadn’t thought about her all that much until he’d moved back to Tulpen Crossing, but now that he was here, he found her on his mind a lot. Her five-year relationship had conveniently ended six months ago. He figured there’d been enough time for her to have moved on. Now all he needed was to get her to buy into the plan. And if the lady said no, well then he would back off.

  “Come on,” he said, motioning to the door leading to the walkway between the warehouses. “I want to show you something.”

  Her expression immediately turned wary. “Etchings?” she muttered, then flushed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply...” She cleared her throat and stared at the floor, then back at him. She sucked in a deep breath, then asked brightly, “What did you want to show me?”

  “Just the other warehouse.”

  “Okay.”

  Her voice was doubtful, but she followed him along the covered walkway, then into the second building.

  It was smaller and currently unoccupied. There were piles of material around the perimeter, plans tacked to the walls and empty pallets next to a small forklift.

  “Is this for overflow when you get really busy?” she asked as she walked over to a stack of boxed solar panels.

  “No. This is why I do the other work.” He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy designing homes for people. They’re so excited and enthusiastic. It’s just there are other places, other people, who are desperate for shelter. That’s the work I do here.”

  Her brown eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

  “I work with several nonprofits. They collect materials and ship them to me. When I have enough, I ask for volunteers and we put together micro housing in kit form. It’s then sent to wherever it’s needed most.” He pointed to the solar panels. “Those are for sub-Saharan Africa. They’ll be self-sufficient as far as electricity. I’m working with a guy I know in Oklahoma who’s experimenting with different ways to purify water. Right now the units are too big and too expens
ive, but eventually we’ll be able to send them with the houses. These are more basic than what I sell here, but they’re still shelter.”

  He walked over to the designs on the wall. “One of the organizations has me build tiny houses for homeless shelters. Same premise, different materials, depending on which part of the country they’re for. A couple of times a year, they send me interns to coordinate everything. We’re getting ready for a build next month. I’ll be putting the word out for volunteers.”

  Her mouth wasn’t exactly hanging open, but it was close. Good. Griffith didn’t do the work for the attention, but he wasn’t above using it to impress Kelly. Because when it came to a woman like her, a guy had to be willing to take advantage of whatever the gods offered.

  “I’d like that,” she told him. “To help. This is a great project. All of it. I had no idea you were doing this.” She shifted her gaze from the materials to his face. “It’s amazing. Everyone always says they want to make a difference, but so few of us have the opportunity to do so directly. With this, there’ll be homes for families when there weren’t homes before. That could mean the difference between life and death—literally.”

  “You get it,” he said before he could stop himself.

  She smiled. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  No. Jane hadn’t. His ex-wife had gone along with him when he’d moved to Africa to work with his mentor, but she hadn’t liked it one bit. She’d made that clear on a daily basis. He supposed he had culpability in the problem. He’d been the one who was supposed to join an international architectural firm and design museums and elegant skyscrapers. Instead he’d fallen hard for micro housing. Jane hadn’t approved.

  “You’d be surprised how many only want to write a check,” he said instead. “Not that I’m knocking the check writers. They provide the funds.”

  “It takes both sides of the equation. Without your work, the check would be meaningless.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  She stood a comfortable distance from him. Her posture was relaxed and open. She’d forgotten why she’d come to see him. Which probably meant it was time to remind her.

  “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  She blinked in surprise, then her whole body changed as she remembered her mission. “Oh, right.” She cleared her throat. “I, ah... Well, the thing is...”

  He waited patiently. “Yes?”

  “You are, um, around a lot. Around me.”

  Around was better than stalking. A lot better. He gave her his best smile again, hoping it would help.

  “You’re not imagining things,” he said quietly. “I’ve been trying to get to know you without being too obvious. I guess I suck at the spy thing, huh?”

  She relaxed. “Kind of.”

  “Sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to.” Now it was his turn to be nervous. Kelly didn’t play games so he wasn’t going to, either. He was going to put it out there.

  “When I moved back, I noticed you right away. You were with Sven, so I figured I had to let it go. Then you two broke up. It’s been six months, so I’m hoping you’re over him.”

  Her eyes widened. “Okay.” The word was drawn out to three syllables.

  “So here’s the thing. I want us to get to know each other. I think we could have fun together. If I’m right, I’d like us to take things to the next level.” He looked into her eyes. “I’m a decent guy. I believe in serial monogamy. I’m not looking for love or marriage or happily ever after. But I am looking for a long-term girlfriend. I’m hoping you feel the same way and we can work something out.”

  Her mouth dropped open. She closed it before taking a step back. “Friends with benefits?”

  “Something like that, although I was thinking more lovers who are friends.”

  “You want to have sex with me?”

  He grinned. “Kelly, pretty much every guy who sees you wants to have sex with you, but to be clear, yes. I would like that very much.”

  “I don’t understand.” She held up her hand. “I take that back. I understand what you said. It’s just... Wow.”

  Wow was better than drop dead or hell, no so he would take it. “You probably want some time to think about it.”

  “Yeah. That would be great.” She looked more than a little shell-shocked. “You read Eat, Pray, Love to get me into bed?”

  “No. I read it because your book club was reading it and I thought it would be something we could talk about. I don’t just want to sleep with you, Kelly. I meant what I said. I’m looking for a relationship.”

  “But not love or marriage.”

  “Right.”

  “You’re very up front and honest.”

  “That’s the goal. You’ll think about what I said?”

  “I would imagine it’s going to be hard to think about anything else.”

  “No means no. If you decide to break my heart, I won’t bother you again.” Not that he wanted her to say no, but nothing about his invitation was supposed to scare her.

  She nodded slowly, as if stunned.

  “Why don’t I walk you to your truck?”

  She nodded again and began walking. He fell into step with her. “Thanks for coming by.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  They went outside. Kelly glanced around as if she wasn’t sure where she was. He pointed to her truck.

  “Over there.”

  She glared at him. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “Just a little. Wouldn’t you if you were me?”

  “Maybe.” Her brown eyes turned wary. “This isn’t a joke, is it?”

  The softly worded question cut him more deeply than he would have expected.

  “Kelly, no.” He moved close and took her hand in his. “I’m not kidding. I meant what I said. About wanting to get to know you, about us having potential together, about no meaning no. All of it. I swear. Please believe me. I have no reason to want to hurt you.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  She got in her truck and backed out of the parking lot. It was only after she’d turned onto the highway that he remembered what had happened in high school. How he’d dissed her in front of all his friends. He’d done it for the best possible reason but at the end of the day she’d been humiliated and it was all his fault.

  Well, hell. No wonder she didn’t want to trust him now.

  * * *

  It was rare for anything to keep Kelly from a good night’s sleep, but her conversation with Griffith had done that and more. The man had made it clear he wanted to sleep with her. In a way more troubling, he wanted her to be his girlfriend.

  Who talked like that? She’d never had a guy come up and baldly state his intentions. Not that she had huge experience with men. She wasn’t exactly a guy magnet. She’d had the requisite college boyfriend where she’d lost her virginity and had doodled Mrs. Elijah Mellon in her notes, but by her senior year, she’d realized she was more excited about returning to the farm than getting married.

  A couple of years after graduation, she and Sven had started seeing each other. Their relationship had started slowly. They’d been friends for nearly a year before they’d taken things “to the next level.” After becoming lovers, they’d settled into a comfortable, albeit not very exciting, relationship. She’d never pushed for more, nor had he. Still, she’d been surprised when he’d ended things six months ago. Not heartbroken but surprised. Which was too bad because on paper, she and Sven were well suited. She grew tulips, he grew plants for nurseries up and down the West Coast.

  So that was her romantic past—Elijah and Sven. Did she want Griffith as her third? And what did it say about her that Griffith thought she would be okay as only a girlfriend with no promise of more? Which she was, but why did he know that?

 
She finished making her bed, then walked back into the Jack and Jill bathroom she’d shared with her sister growing up. After brushing her wavy hair into submission, she pulled it back in her usual ponytail, then studied herself in the mirror.

  Why her? She wasn’t pretty or glamorous. Now if she were her sister, Olivia, she could understand Griffith’s interest. Of course if she were Olivia, Griffith would have to get in line because there were always men interested in her younger sister.

  Not that Kelly was interested in that kind of attention. She didn’t want passion or the drama that came with it. She’d seen what uncontrolled passion did in the form of her mother’s destruction of their family. Kelly wanted something different. Not quiet and not sensible, just...safe. She wanted to feel safe. In her mind that was way more important than some fleeting hormone-induced excuse to destroy and abandon.

  She left her bedroom and walked down the hallway to the kitchen. The Murphy house was nearly a hundred years old, built when the land was originally homesteaded. All remnants of the classic farmhouse had been remodeled away until what remained was a U-shaped rambler.

  The front of the house had a big family room, a large kitchen and formal dining room. To the left was the study her dad used, and beyond that were the master bedroom and an en suite guest room. To the right of the main living quarters was another, shorter hallway, leading to two good-sized bedrooms with the Jack and Jill bathroom at the end of the hall.

  Funny how she and her sister had never fought over that shared bathroom, or much of anything else. At least not when they’d been younger. Despite their parents’ troubled marriage, the constant fighting and the way each parent had claimed one child as his or her favorite, Kelly and Olivia had been buddies. They’d played together, hung out together and had been close. That had changed. Kelly wasn’t sure when exactly, but by the time their mother had left, Olivia was different. Or maybe Marilee’s departure had caused the shift—which meant Kelly had even more responsibility for what had happened.

  She could tell herself she’d been a kid and it wasn’t her fault, but she knew the truth. Her fight with her mother had pushed Marilee into leaving and Kelly was the reason Olivia had been sent away.