Secrets of the Tulip Sisters

by Susan Mallery

  “Sorry,” Kelly said as she walked back to the kitchen. “It wasn’t supposed to be a hard question.”

  “Family.”

  “Tell me about it. You have Ryan and I have Olivia.”

  “I don’t think you have to worry about Olivia. She had some good ideas at the meeting tonight.”

  “Yes, if she can do it. Putting on a fund-raiser like that is a big deal. Do we know if she really has the experience to pull it all together?”

  “You’re concerned.”

  “Wouldn’t you be?”

  He didn’t know enough about Olivia to answer the question. He suspected Kelly didn’t, either.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” Kelly leaned against the counter. “I don’t know enough to go barging in to help, and maybe she’ll be fine.”

  He poured them each a mug of coffee. “You sound doubtful.”

  “I am and that’s not fair. I should let her mess up before I judge her.” She sighed. “That sounded incredibly snotty and I didn’t mean it to be.”

  “I know. Milk? Sugar?”

  “Just black.” She flashed a smile. “You forget, I’m a farmer. We’re hearty stock.”

  They carried their mugs into the family room. Griffith was pleased when Kelly sat on the sofa instead of one of the chairs. At least she wasn’t trying to get away from him. It was one thing for her to ask him to kiss her when she was drunk and quite another to deal with him while she was sober. He was confident that she’d already made up her mind, but didn’t want to push her. Better for her to be the one urging them to the next step. He settled beside her on the sofa, but not too close.

  “Has any other part of the house been remodeled?” she asked.

  “The master bath and bedroom.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought a house this old had a master bath.”

  “It does now. I took what was the nursery and had it converted. The main bedroom was a good size. That was easy. A little paint, refinished floors and a big throw rug. The bathroom was more complicated.”

  “If it was just a nursery, I would say complicated doesn’t begin to cover it. You would have to run plumbing and all kinds of stuff.”

  “Don’t be impressed. I traded with a friend. He did my bathroom and I built him a tiny home.”

  “You could have let me think you did it yourself.”

  “Except I didn’t. Besides, one day you might ask me to help you tile something and then the truth would come out anyway.”

  “Your parents would be very proud of your honesty,” she teased.

  “My mom especially.”

  “How are they?”

  “Good. Loving New Mexico. They’re enjoying the weather and have made a lot of new friends. My mom is helping at a wild horse refuge. I keep waiting for her to slow down, but I’m starting to think it’s never going to happen.”

  Kelly smiled. “They are such nice people. Your dad used to put air in my bike tires every summer.”

  Griffith’s parents had owned a gas station in town. Technically the gas station for a number of years. His dad had a couple of guys to help with the auto repairs. Both he and Ryan had worked at the station in summers to earn spending money.

  Theirs had been a traditional, middle-class upbringing. There’d been plenty of family time, a ranch-style house and two cars in the garage. Had either of the brothers wanted to go to community college and then transfer to a state school, there’d been savings for that. Instead Ryan had gone to college on a baseball scholarship and Griffith had headed to Harvard on an academic one.

  Once his parents had realized the college fund wasn’t necessary, they’d sold the gas station and the house and had bought a place in New Mexico to live out their retirement.

  “Yeah, he’s a good guy. He has a huge workshop where he’s restoring an old ’68 Mustang. He texts me pictures every week, showing me what he’s done.”

  “My dad will be just like that when he retires,” she said with a grin. “Which is years away. It’s nice that your parents are still together.” She grimaced. “Not that I want my parents to have stayed married. It was not a successful union.”

  “Some aren’t.”

  She looked at him. “I wasn’t implying anything.”

  “I know. I didn’t plan on getting a divorce.”

  “I don’t think anyone does.” She set her coffee on one of the magazines. “I’m sure it was painful.”

  Griffith didn’t want to talk about his failed marriage or his ex-wife. Neither spoke well of him. But if he was looking to get involved with Kelly, then she had the right to know at least the basics of what had happened.

  “And a surprise,” he said slowly and set his mug next to hers. “I met Jane in college. She was an English major and planning on getting her master’s in political science. She was smart, from a good family. On paper we had a lot in common. I planned on joining an East Coast architectural firm when I graduated. I was going to design hotels and museums.”

  He raised a shoulder. “Shallow, right?”

  “We all need somewhere to stay when we go on vacation.” She met his gaze. “What happened?”

  “I went to a lecture about tiny homes. It was mostly so I could tell my professors that I’d attended. They like that sort of thing, and it was a chance to learn. What I didn’t expect was to be blown away by the possibilities.” He leaned toward her. “There’s so much we take for granted here in our country. Like access to clean water and sanitation. Did you know that in the world today over two billion people still don’t have access to toilets as we know them?”

  Her eyes widened. “Are you kidding?”

  “I wish I were. I didn’t study the kind of engineering that can build a sanitation system, but I can at least provide housing to people and with that housing, give them a toilet, whether it’s self-sustained or hooked up to plumbing.”

  He knew this was a ridiculous topic. Not many women found a discussion on poverty and toilets arousing. But he couldn’t seem to shut his mouth or change the subject.

  “That’s what got me excited. I was accepted for an internship in Africa. I spent two summers building tiny homes there. Jane expected me to get it out of my system. I was offered a place at a New York firm and another in London. I turned them both down to go back to Africa.”

  “Were you married by then?”

  “Oh, yeah. Jane came with me and stuck it out for two years. When we returned to the States, I was supposed to take a job in New York. Instead I accepted a position at a nonprofit in LA, designing shelter for the homeless. That was it for Jane. She left.”

  He paused. “Okay, that makes it sound like I was a saint and she’s a horrible person. I don’t mean that. She and I had other problems and I’m sure most of them were my fault. She’s very sweet, but she had expectations that I didn’t meet.”

  “What about now?” Kelly asked. “Would she like what you’re doing?”

  He smiled. “Tulpen Crossing isn’t exactly her speed.”

  “But we have the craft mall. How could she not love it here?”

  “I’m confused, as well.” He thought about what had happened when Jane told him she wanted a divorce. “I didn’t see it coming,” he admitted. “I knew she wasn’t happy but I figured we’d work it out. That she wasn’t willing to try shocked the hell out of me. I couldn’t get past how I’d made such a bad decision. Of course I’d changed the rules, so maybe she’s the one who was shocked. Either way, I’m bad at love and bad at marriage.”

  “That’s a fairly harsh assessment after a single failed relationship.”

  “I don’t like making mistakes.”

  “No one does, and I’m not judging. It’s not like my five years with Sven made any sense. He’s a great guy, but I don’t know.
I should have missed him more, you know? He ended things and I felt bad, but I wasn’t crushed.”

  She grabbed a throw pillow and pulled it against her midsection. Even in his guyness, he was able to recognize the gesture as protective.

  “Were you in love with him?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. While we were together I would have said I was, but after it was over, I just kind of went on with my life. I missed the concept of our relationship more than the actual man himself.”

  “Good to know.” He put his arm on the back of the sofa and rested his hand on her shoulder. “So, Kelly Murphy, what’s it going to be? Now that we’ve confessed our failed relationships, you want to see where things go between us?”

  She looked down, then back at him. “No falling in love, no forever. Just dating.”

  “And sex.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes, and sex. I’m clear on the expectations.”

  Her phrasing surprised him. Why expectations? That made it sound as if it would all be about him and not her. Didn’t Kelly like sex?

  Before he could ask any questions or figure out a way to pursue the topic, she drew in a breath.

  “Yes.”

  His mind screeched to a halt, then skipped back to what he’d asked.

  “You’re in,” he confirmed.

  “I’m in.”

  He thought maybe she was going to say something else, but decided not to give her a chance. Instead he pulled the pillow away and tossed it on the floor, then scooted a few inches closer, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.

  Her mouth was warm and soft and yielded immediately to his. Her lean body was temptingly close, but he wasn’t going to rush things. His gut told him slower was better where Kelly was concerned. He wanted her to trust him.

  He kept his lips on hers for three full beats of his heart, then slowly brushed back and forth. Just a little. Just to get the feel of her.

  Heat burned in his chest before moving lower to the traditional spots, but he ignored the expected reaction to kissing a woman he was interested in, instead focusing on her.

  Her hands fluttered, as if she wasn’t sure what to do with them. One finally landed on his shoulder. Her breathing quickened slightly. Just when he was about to draw back, she parted her lips.

  The invitation was clear and not one he could resist. He slipped his tongue inside, just for a second, and let himself enjoy the taste and feel of her. Her fingers dug into his shoulder and she leaned closer. He circled her tongue with his, felt his blood heat then, regretfully, broke the kiss and straightened.

  Her eyes were half closed. She blinked and looked at him. He smiled and brought the hand on his shoulder to his mouth. He kissed her palm.

  “It’s late. I should get you home.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  He debated asking her to spend the night, but instead rose and helped her to her feet. He was a man with a plan. No matter the temptation, he was going to stay focused. He didn’t want one evening with Kelly—he wanted a lot more and he knew he was going to have to earn that.

  * * *

  Olivia parked in front of The Parrot Café. She wasn’t that hungry, but a childhood memory of an Oreo cookie milk shake had her mouth watering.

  She didn’t actually need the billion calories, but she could run them off later. One of the advantages of being back in the Pacific Northwest was the balmy temperatures. She didn’t have to get up at five to run before the sun was up, nor was she concerned about it getting over a hundred by midafternoon.

  She went inside. It was a little after one o’clock and much of the lunch crowd had dissipated. She took a seat at the counter and was surprised when Helen, her sister’s friend, appeared and handed her a menu.

  “Oh, hi,” Olivia said. “You work here?”

  “Actually, I own this place. I bought it from my aunt and uncle a few years back.”

  “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry—we weren’t in the same grade at school, so you’re kind of a mystery to me.”

  Helen laughed. “That’s okay. I’m what, six years older? When you were in high school, I was already working here full-time. I would have seemed ancient.”

  “Maybe just really mature.” Olivia pushed away the menu. “Do you still make Oreo milk shakes?”

  “We do and they’re delicious.”

  “I’ll take one.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  Helen took the menu and entered the order on a small computer on the back counter. Olivia glanced around at the booths and tables, the cheerful prints on the walls. Big windows let in lots of light. The restaurant wasn’t fancy—more diner than bistro—but it had a welcoming feel. It was a place you’d want to come back to.

  Helen returned with a napkin and a long-handled spoon. “How are you settling in to being back in town?”

  “Pretty well. So much is familiar, but every now and then there’s something I don’t remember.” She tilted her head. “I sort of remember you weren’t born here. Is that right?”

  “I moved in with my aunt and uncle when I was eleven.”

  Olivia wanted to ask why, but told herself it wasn’t her business. “And you stayed. That’s nice. So many people want to be somewhere else.”

  “Like you?” Helen grinned.

  “I suppose. Although I didn’t so much make a choice not to stay as to not come back.” After all, being sent away when she was fifteen hadn’t been her idea. “Your diner’s really nice. I like the way the wall color complements the booths and the artwork.”

  “Thanks. I’ve made a few changes since buying the place.”

  A bell softly chimed. Helen turned and collected the tall milk shake, then brought it over.

  “Here you go.”

  Olivia stared at the black-and-white ice cream mixture, the fudge poured over the top and the whipped cream.

  “It’s so beautiful. I’m having a moment.”

  Helen laughed. “Should I leave you two alone?”

  “No, I’m good. How on earth do you not eat one every single day?”

  “Oh, there are plenty of temptations in this place. I swear I start and break a diet every other day.”

  “I would, too.”

  “Yes, but you’re skinny.” Helen held up a hand. “Sorry. That’s my curvy bitterness manifesting. No offense.”

  “None taken.” Olivia dipped her spoon into the milk shake and tasted it. “Oh. My. God. It’s amazing.”

  “Another satisfied customer. I’ll pass along your praise to my cook.”

  “Please.”

  A family walked to the cash register to pay their bill. Helen assisted them, then returned to sit by Olivia.

  “I’m going to donate three or four gift certificates for the auction,” she said. “I’m trying to decide if I want to do a dollar amount or breakfast for four. I’m not sure which would be easier for the winner and for me.”

  “Would you be willing to have one of the breakfast gift certificates be part of a package? I’m going to talk to one of the local hotels for a two-night stay. Being able to add breakfast here would make it even more desirable.”

  “Sure. That works.”

  “Thanks. Oh, and if you want me to design a gift certificate, I can do that. You could even use it for other purposes. Get it printed out on a nice card stock for holidays or something.”

  “We’ve never had gift certificates. I hadn’t thought of selling them, but that could be a good idea. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem. I love doing all kinds of design work.” Olivia put the straw in the milk shake. “In Phoenix I do marketing for the real estate firm where I work, but it isn’t exactly full-time, so I’ve branched out. I’ve done a little interior design and lately I’ve been doing more and more staging. So i
f you ever want your living room spruced, I’m your girl.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Have you gotten a lot of people offering items for the auction?”

  “Not yet. I’m starting to get the word out. You wouldn’t happen to have any contacts with a hotel in Seattle, would you? I want to make the Seahawks tickets a really big item.”

  “Like you mentioned for the hotel here. Bundle the tickets with a hotel and maybe a restaurant?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I don’t,” Helen told her. “You might want to talk to Griffith. He’s done a lot of work for clients in Seattle. He’d be your best bet.”

  “Thanks. I met him last night. He seems like a good guy.”

  “He is.”

  More customers waited to pay their check. Helen excused herself and went to help them. Olivia sipped her milk shake.

  This was nice, she thought. The town, the people. She liked that she was being accepted. In a way she could start over—no Marilee, no past, just her and her family. And wouldn’t that be nice.

  11

  Helen took a deep breath for courage, told herself that she was strong and self-actualized and that there was absolutely no reason to be nervous, then she walked into Jeff’s office at Murphy Tulips and felt her knees knock together.

  He sat at his desk, the phone pressed against his ear. When he saw her, he smiled and waved her closer.

  “Give me a minute,” he mouthed. She nodded and went to the window.

  From where she stood, she could see two of the huge greenhouses that grew their “off-season” tulips. They were between harvests, but in a few weeks, nearly three dozen workers would descend on the place to harvest and wrap tulips to be delivered up and down the West Coast.

  “Let me see what I can do,” Jeff was saying. “It’s late in the season to be placing orders, but I’ll do a count and figure out what we have available.”

  Christmas tulips, Helen thought with a grin. Someone else had been caught flat-footed, realizing too late red-and-white tulips were required for whatever they had going on.