Love in Bloom

by Sheila Roberts

  “I’m kind of booked Friday.” Now he’d try for Saturday. She inputted this information, along with the chances of getting Saturday night off. No chance for Saturday, came the answer. Take Friday. If you turn him down for both days, he’ll want to know why. “But I think I can change my plans,” she added with a smile and a flip of her hair. She’d find someone to cover for her.

  “Great,” he said.

  “That new movie, Bomb Squad, is opening,” Bobbi suggested. There was also a chick flick opening, but she could see that with Hope. Jason would want to see the action movie.

  She could tell by his expression that she’d hit it on the nose. “Works for me. Meanwhile, how about lunch tomorrow?”

  Okay, now she was making it all too easy for him. She stuck out her lower lip. “Sorry. I’ve got plans.” She would have as soon as she got back to the shop. She and Hope hadn’t been out to lunch in ages. “We’ll have fun Friday,” she added, rewarding him with a dimpled smile.

  He gave a fatalistic shrug and smiled in return. “I guess I’ll have to wait till Friday then.”

  Anticipation was a good thing. Men loved the thrill of the hunt, and she didn’t want to deny him that.

  Funny, she was so good at hooking men, but keeping them on the hook was another matter. Probably because she never seemed to find the perfect man.

  This time you have, she reminded herself.

  JASON WAS CERTAINLY hooked Friday night. He had no desire to end their date with just a movie—a very good sign.

  But his choice of how to continue the evening nearly gave her a heart attack. “How about going over to the Last Resort for a drink? I’ve been meaning to check the place out. I hear they have karaoke on Friday nights.”

  All she needed was to come in there with Jason in tow and have the other waitresses greeting her and asking her how she was enjoying her night off. “I’ve got a better idea,” she said. “How about coming back to my place? I’ve got chocolate cake.” Thank God she’d made a bakery run earlier.

  “That’s even better,” he said with a smile.

  She was feeling pretty smug about how she’d dodged that bullet, watching him devour the cake she’d picked up from the bakery, when he pointed to her People magazine and idly observed, “So, you like to read.”

  She thought of the romance novel on her nightstand. “Oh, yeah.”

  He looked around the apartment. “Where are your books?”

  Books? As in a whole bunch? “I . . .” Umm. “They’re still in boxes,” she improvised.

  “Oh, you haven’t been here that long?” He looked confused. Probably wondering how she could be new in town and own a flower shop at the same time.

  “Not in this apartment. I was living someplace else.” That was no lie. This apartment had become available and the idea of being neighbors with her sister had sounded like fun. “I need to get a bookcase,” she added.

  “I could make you one. I make all kinds of stuff.”

  “Well, then, I’ll take one. Thanks. That’s so sweet.” What was she going to fill it with?

  “I’ve got some nice cedar left over from a project I did last month.”

  “Great,” she said. Just Great. DON’T ANYBODY PANIC!

  SATURDAY MORNING FOUND Bobbi at the Heart Lake Library for the Friends of the Library book sale, frantically stocking up on books to supplement her meager supply. Brainy books. So far she’d found a money management one for dummies (she needed that), two fitness books, a Martha Stewart tome on decorating, and a great cookbook that was nothing but chocolate recipes. She’d even picked up a Jane Austen novel—Pride and Prejudice.

  “Hi there,” she said to the woman taking her money. “I’m Bobbi, your new best friend.”

  “The library always needs new friends,” the woman said with a smile.

  “So, friend to friend, what do you think of this book?” Bobbi held up her Jane Austen novel.

  “It’s the perfect introduction to Jane Austen,” the woman assured her. “That will be six dollars.”

  “For all these?” Wow.

  “A steal,” said a deep voice behind Bobbi.

  She gave a guilty start and turned to see Jason Wells. He was wearing long, baggy shorts, a sweatshirt with the sleeves ripped off, and tennis shoes. He looked like he was getting ready to go running or work out at the gym—both preferable options to being here, catching her buying props for her apartment.

  “Hi.” How long had he been standing there? What had he heard?

  “I see you’re taking advantage of the sale,” he said.

  “Absolutely.” She nodded vigorously. “You, too?”

  “Yep. I was on my way to the gym when I saw the sign outside. By the way, your bookcase should be done by next Saturday. Want me to come over and help you fill it?”

  “Sure,” she said. What she had here was not going to fill a bookcase.

  Then she remembered her sister’s book-overflow problem. Hope had just filled a box to donate to the library. Maybe a few of those books could take a little detour to Bobbi’s apartment.

  BOBBI LEFT HOPE’S apartment after lunch Sunday carrying a box of books and vowing to read every one.

  “Do you really think you can sit still long enough?” Hope teased.

  “I can try,” Bobbi replied with a grin.

  Hope shut her apartment door with a sigh and a shake of the head. This was nuts. Her sister was slipping from make-a-good-impression mode into romantic fraud, and she was becoming an accomplice. Bobbi needed to just be herself. If the man didn’t like Bobbi for who she was (and how could he not?), then he wasn’t the right one. It was silly to build up a false image.

  Hope thought of her fake breast. That was different, she told herself. She wasn’t trying to get a man. With the ugly scars and the Franken-boob, there was no chance of that. The second operation after the capsular contracture had gone better, but it wasn’t hard to spot which boob was the patch job and which one was the original. Still, she wasn’t out to do any false advertising. She was just trying to feel like herself again and get her life back.

  And she was glad to be alive. Glad. To prove it, she got her gardening tools and drove to the community garden.

  She arrived to find Millie Baldwin there, tending her patch. “Hello,” Millie greeted her. She pointed to Hope’s pale green sweatshirt. “That’s almost too pretty for the garden. And such a flattering color.”

  Garden therapy was the best. Millie made it sound like Hope really looked special. That was stretching it. Even before the cancer she’d been just okay. She had nice eyes to make up for the snub nose she hated, an okay mouth. Good legs. But stand her next to Bobbi and she disappeared.

  “Thanks,” she murmured. “Do you have all your flowers planted now?” She motioned to the little stakes capped with empty seed packets delineating tiny flower neighborhoods.

  “Almost. I’d love to plant some lavender, but it’s silly to plant a perennial in a community garden. Such a shame though. I have the best recipe for lavender cookies.”

  “If it’s any consolation, you can get lavender sugar at Kizzy’s Kitchen,” Hope said.

  “I’ll remember that,” said Millie. “Although I’m not sure lavender cookies will go over that big with my grandchildren. Carrot cookies certainly didn’t.”

  Hope wasn’t sure carrot cookies would go over that well with her, either, but she kept her mouth shut.

  “Or maybe I’ll give the recipe to Amber, our resident baker,” Millie added. “I’d love to be able to pass it on to someone.”

  “Your daughter?” Hope suggested.

  Millie got suddenly busy with her flowers. “Oh, Debra’s much too busy to fuss with baking.”

  “Well, I’m sure Amber would love the recipe, and so would I,” said Hope.

  Millie looked at her and smiled. “Thank you.”

  As they chatted, Hope felt her frustrations slipping away. The sun fought off the occasional chilly breeze and kept them warm. A couple of mothers h
ad brought their children to the play area, and the sound of laughter danced on the air and lulled her.

  And then the lull ended. “I imagine a pretty girl like you has got a boyfriend waiting for you to finish up here and go do something with him,” said Millie.

  “No boyfriend,” said Hope, shaking her head. “I’m too busy with my shop.”

  “Oh.” Millie appeared nonplussed.

  Hope could feel Millie studying her. “I . . .” She had no idea how to finish her sentence.

  “It’s none of my business,” Millie said quickly.

  Now Millie thought she was a loser. She didn’t want that. “I’m still putting my life back together. I was sick.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Millie said, her voice filled with concern. She offered a gentle smile. “You look the picture of health now.”

  Hope shrugged. “So far, so good.”

  “I hope it’s not something that can come back.”

  “It could. Right now I’m in remission.” Hope regretted the words the minute they slipped out. Such a dead giveaway. And what was she doing sharing so much personal stuff with someone she hardly knew? Except Millie didn’t feel like a stranger. She felt more like a newly found grandmother.

  Millie’s face donned that oh-no expression all women wore when confronted with even a whiff of the C word. “What kind of cancer did you have, dear?”

  Hope got suddenly very busy pressing earth down around her seeds. “Breast.”

  “I’m so sorry you had to go through something so horrible at a young age.”

  Suddenly, bitter words wanted to spill out of Hope’s mouth. It wasn’t fair. Who in her twenties got cancer? That happened to older women, women who’d had a chance for husbands and children and . . . Hope bit down on her lower lip.

  “You’ve been very blessed,” Millie said. “You’re still here. God must have important things for you to do in that little flower shop of yours.”

  Millie’s gentle reminder sweetened the bitter waters. Hope wasn’t sure about many things, but the fact that she was doing something good with her life was one she was sure of.

  “And someone very special waiting in the wings.”

  Right. To want someone with a scarred body and a questionable life span, the guy would have to be way beyond special. Hope shook her head. “I don’t know about that.”

  “I do,” Millie said, a smile in her voice. “You’ll see.”

  Hope didn’t say anything. Not that she wanted to be rude. She’d simply run out of words.

  TEN

  AFTER A STRING of soppy days, April bowed out to May, which entered Heart Lake bearing perfect weather. Amber came home from work to find her son antsy, with an overload of energy needing to be burned, and her husband ready for a break. Of course, getting a job would get him a break on a regular basis, but she decided against pointing that out to him. There was no sense in starting a fight on such a pretty day. Instead, she decided to take Seth to the park and check their garden.

  They arrived to find Millie already there, kneeling on a bright yellow foam pad, digging away in the damp earth with her garden spade, visiting with her neighbor on the other side of her garden, a scrawny old man with an old fishing hat mashed onto a wiry nest of gray hair, who was busy hoeing.

  She smiled and waved at the sight of Amber and Seth. “Happy May. Isn’t the sunshine wonderful?” she greeted them.

  “Absolutely. I’m ready for some nice weather. How are our gardens?” Amber looked at her plot. Lots of little green things were popping out. “Wow, Sethie, look at all the veggies we’ve got growing!”

  “I’m afraid many of those are weeds,” Millie informed her. “And it looks like the slugs have gotten to some of your crop.”

  Amber took a closer look and saw nibbled down greens. All around them lay the shiny slime trail left behind by the Northwest’s infamous garden pest. “Gross,” she said in disgust.

  “Bring home some of the grounds from all those coffee drinks you’re making and sprinkle them around your plants,” suggested Millie. “That will keep the slugs away.”

  “Really?”

  “Old wives’ tale,” muttered the man.

  “Oh, Henry,” Millie said pleasantly. And then introduced Amber.

  Amber said a polite hello, but she wasn’t going to give old Henry any more than that. She already had one grumpy man in her life. She didn’t need another.

  “I got my truck,” Seth announced before Millie could say more. He held up his prized Tonka truck for Millie to see.

  She nodded her approval. “Very handy for hauling away weeds.”

  He beamed. But the truck didn’t divert his attention for long. “Look, Mommy, a bunny!” he cried.

  Amber looked to where he was pointing. Sure enough. A little brown rabbit sat at the edge of a tangle of ferns and thimbleberry bushes, regarding them with a twitching nose. Peter Rabbit. “Oh, how cute!”

  Of course, Seth ran toward it, crying, “Here, bunny.”

  The rabbit took off as if Mr. McGregor was after it, and Seth dragged back to the garden plot, disappointed.

  “Damned rabbits,” muttered Henry.

  “But it’s so cute,” Amber said to him.

  “You won’t think that when it’s eating your garden down to the nub,” retorted the man.

  “Well, Henry, we’ll just have to take precautions,” Millie said to him. “Don’t worry,” she told Seth. “It will be back.”

  “Rabbits at the park?” wondered Amber.

  Millie pursed her lips and shook her head. “Probably pet owners dumping them. People get a cute little bunny for Easter and then realize that, like all pets, the animal requires care. I’m sure later this spring, that little guy will have a lot more friends to keep him company. And Henry’s right. They’ll all be by to sample your lettuce.”

  Amber frowned. Suddenly the bunny wasn’t quite so cute.

  “Invest in some chicken wire,” Millie advised.

  “Great. One more thing to buy so I can save money,” Amber grumbled.

  “Can I go look for the bunny?” asked Seth.

  “Yeah, and if you find it, kill it,” muttered Henry.

  Amber frowned at him, but he was too busy hoeing to see. “Stay right around here where I can see you,” she said to Seth, and he scampered to the far end of the row of garden plots and began peering under bushes.

  “He’s a sweet child,” Millie commented. “And all those lovely golden curls. I never did ask. Does he take after his father?”

  “Well, in looks. Thank God that’s all,” Amber said, feeling suddenly as grumpy as Henry.

  “If you women are going to start male bashing, I’m leaving,” announced Henry, opening his garden gate.

  Amber immediately felt like a heel.

  “ ’Bye, Henry,” Millie said pleasantly. “See you next week. He was finished anyway,” she said to Amber as Henry hobbled off on stiff hips.

  But Henry had been right. That hadn’t been fair. Even if she was mad at Ty, he didn’t deserve getting publicly villainized at the community garden. “I shouldn’t say that. Ty’s not a bad guy. Right now he’s just not much fun to be around is all. He still hasn’t found a job. And he’s not looking very hard, either,” she added miserably.

  “Well,” Millie said thoughtfully, “didn’t you tell me that your restaurant closed down?”

  “Yeah. And we were supposed to come up here to make a new start. The only one really making any kind of new start is me. He’s sitting in front of the TV and feeling sorry for himself. Oh, I take that back. He makes lunch every day. Big whoop.”

  “Considering how depressed he probably is, I think it might actually be a big whoop,” Millie said thoughtfully.

  “I’m the one who’s working,” Amber protested. “I’m at the bakery three days a week at eight A.M. I’m growing the garden. I’m even going to start selling cookies at the farmer’s market. What’s he doing?” With each word she could hear the anger building in her like lava in
a volcano. She gave a weed a vicious stab with her spade, cutting it in half.

  Millie sighed. “It’s hard when the man you love lets you down. When our children were little, Duncan got a stock tip from one of his friends at the office.” She shook her head. “We lost ten thousand dollars. Not much by today’s standards, I suppose, but to us it was a fortune.” She gave a mirthless chuckle. “I wanted to kill him.”

  Amber stared at her. “The way you talked about your husband last time we were together I thought he was a saint.”

  “He was, a saint who made mistakes. They all do.”

  “Well, I bet Duncan didn’t sit around moping every day,” said Amber. “Ty only went out to look for a job once last week.”

  “Maybe that’s because he’s battle weary and he’s lost his armor.”

  Surely Millie wasn’t comparing Ty to a knight in shining armor. “Oh, come on.”

  “I know it sounds corny, but every man wants to provide for his family and protect them. Your husband is no exception. He’s failed at both. That has to have hit him pretty hard.”

  “I get that he’s bummed, but that’s no excuse for doing nothing.”

  “Of course not,” Millie agreed. “But it is an explanation. It’s hard for a person who is seriously depressed to motivate himself to do anything.”

  “Hey, I’m seriously depressed, too,” protested Amber.

  “There are some things we women simply don’t understand about our men. They need to be able to provide for us, even in this day and age when women work. If a man can’t provide for his family, he doesn’t feel like a man. It’s as if he’s gone to war and lost a limb.”

  “Lots of men learn to cope without an arm or leg,” Amber said unsympathetically.

  “Yes, they do. But I suspect what your husband really needs before he can go out and fight the world again is his armor.”

  That again. “Well, tell me where the nearest shining armor shop is and I’ll be happy to get him some.”

  Seth had returned. “I can’t find the bunny anywhere.”

  “I guess he’s playing hide and seek,” said Amber. She handed Seth his spade. “How about helping me weed?” She set him to work at the far corner of the plot, then turned to Millie. “Okay, tell me about the armor.” What the heck? Millie had been around the marriage block. And they had to talk about something.