“The night’s cold, and you’re only wearing a jacket.”
“I’m fine, really.” She hadn’t noticed the chill. Something about being with him in the moonlight made her giddy. Made her want to shed her schoolgirl self and let loose.
He tugged open his door. “Get in, or I’ll have to follow you. I can’t worry until next week whether you reached your car safely or not.”
Sitting with him in the compact car wouldn’t leave much room between them. The thought of his inviting smile aimed at her from close range alighted prickles along her skin. She preferred him to follow, with a distinct metal divider between them. His sparkling gaze could wander wherever it wanted, and she wouldn’t see, wouldn’t be tempted to touch his handsome face, and taste his inviting lips.
A hand atop the roof, he waited.
To refuse might insult him. She’d regret putting an awkward barrier between them when he only intended to be considerate. “All right. Thanks.” She climbed in and focused on whatever laid beyond her window. The street light. A few cars. The outline of buildings. Anything to stop herself from staring at him. She forced her breath in and out in even measure so it wouldn’t catch in her throat. His sandalwood scent intoxicated her, made her lightheaded.
After backing out the car, he pointed out the windshield. “Down this aisle?”
“Yes.” Her response came out in a breathy rush. To cover her nervousness, she flashed a smile.
He shifted into first and cruised through the parking lot. “So will I see you at the awards?”
“No, we’ll deliver the flowers, and help with setup. That sort of thing.” She winced. From that brief description, her job sounded so boring.
“Have you worked at the flower shop long?”
If he thought her duties menial, it didn’t come across in his friendly tone. “Only a month. I’d registered for a new semester, but...” She shrugged. “Maybe I’m not meant to finish school, who knows?” Many times, she’d wished she could find a job to put her skills to use now.
“Don’t say that.” Urgency edged his tone. “You’re very talented. Don’t ever doubt it.”
He sounded as fervent as when she was in high school. But teachers were supposed to encourage their students to stay in school. She shouldn’t read any more into it. “Here’s my car. Thanks, Mr. Hunter.”
“Mike.”
At his insistent tone, she turned, hand on the door latch. Surprise pricked her senses alert. “Pardon?”
With a grin, he shrugged. “Mr. Hunter’s too formal. After all, I’m only a few years older than you.”
To divine what might drive his request, she studied him, but his earnest brown eyes and warm smile revealed nothing. “Okay. Good night…Mike.” Her stilted speech sounded more awkward than calling him Mr. Hunter.
His smile broadened and he reached across her and flipped the door handle.
Warmth flushed through her when his arm brushed hers. “Thanks for the ride.” She hurried to her car, fumbling with the keys. Only when she revved the engine and turned on her lights did his car cruise away, as if reluctant to leave. She had to remind herself to back out her car and drive home, to tamp down the urge to follow him.
Everything about this night seemed like a dream.
Chapter Two
When Becca pushed open the beveled glass door to the Basket of Blooms, the tinkle of the bell above the door mixed with the noises of the busy shop. The immediate scent of fresh flowers always brought fond memories of gardening with her mom.
The telephone rang, and Emmie Darnell ran to the counter and answered before the second ring. Grace Parrish sat at the desk, muttering as the adding machine whirred with her deft keystrokes.
Today promised to be as hectic as the last month, since Becca had been hired. Being busy made her days fly by, and gave her little time to worry. She didn’t want to think about how far behind she’d fallen in her studies at art school, or if her mother would ever improve enough for her to return there. Night school served its purpose for now, but it wouldn’t impress an employer.
“Morning, ladies!” Becca called.
Emmie smiled as she talked on the phone.
Pausing her fingers over the numeric keypad, Grace turned. “Hey, Becca.”
Deb Lawrence entered from the back of the shop. “Good morning!”
The homey atmosphere in the shop always unraveled Becca’s wound nerves. At the counter, she hoisted up her handbag, oversized to double as a briefcase to carry her art supplies. Her presentation last night had gone well, but she hoped this morning’s would surpass it.
“If you have a minute, can you take a look at these designs and let me know what you think? I used them for my class project last night. Mom says they’re great, but I need an objective opinion.”
Emmie laid a hand on her arm. “How’s she doing?”
Becca blinked back the tears that threatened so often these days and forced a smile. “Holding her own. Thanks for asking.”
Grace nestled her elbows against the counter, her face alight. “Sooo, did you wow them last night?”
Thank goodness for Grace. She always knew how to lighten the mood.
Becca pulled out her sketch pad. “Not exactly. But Mr. Hunter said they were good.”
Her brow furrowed, Deb stepped next to her. “Who’s Mr. Hunter?”
“A substitute teacher.” Becca’s words came out in a sing-song tone.
Emmie clucked her tongue. “Something about the way you say that makes me think he’s kinda cute.”
Unable to suppress it, Becca smiled. “Not kind of. Very.”
At home last night, she found herself sketching Mike Hunter. His dark hair, tapering to the top of his collar, made her want to run her fingers through its waves. She wanted to remove his black, rectangular-framed glasses, and peer into his dark brown eyes that sparkled when his gaze met hers. Press her lips against his and push his corduroy jacket from his shoulders. Drawing his features gave her a sensation of intimacy, one she wanted to experience.
Thank goodness Emmie, Deb and Grace were too busy laughing to notice her distraction. Since she’d been hired at the shop, the three co-owners had come to feel like her sisters. Warm. Supportive. On the days she had to bring Mom for her chemo treatments and doctor appointments, all three encouraged her not worry about them, even though the shop had attracted so much new business, they sometimes put in sixteen working hours.
Becca hoped to give something back. Something worthwhile.
“Enough teasing, ladies.” Deb laid her hands on the counter. “Let’s see what you have.” The enthusiasm in her tone ignited Becca’s excitement.
Before opening the pad, Becca trembled as she gazed at each woman. She’d labored hard on these designs and hoped her bosses loved them as much as she did. “These are rough, but you’ll get the basic idea.” Lifting the cover, she shifted the page sideways so all could see. “This would be the business card.”
The three women edged closer, uttering mmm and oohhh and very nice.
Like her nerves, the page fluttered when Becca flipped to the next image. “And this is what the delivery truck would look like. A bigger version of the business card, with more flourish and detail, since there’s lots more room.”
Emmie’s fingers traced the design. “I like how the basket spills out flowers in the shape of our shop name. Very clever.”
“I hope you don’t mind I used the Basket of Blooms as the theme. You’ve been so good to me. I wanted to repay you somehow.” Since the day she interviewed, Becca’s fingers itched to work on a new logo for the shop. After hearing Emmie complain their sign looked too lackluster, Becca had gone to work. Several versions later, she successfully captured the image in her head on paper.
With a sigh, Deb leaned an elbow on the counter. “Your beautiful design sure would look nicer than the plain lettering we have now.”
Their eyes wide, Emmie and Grace nodded in agreement.
Unable to keep the excitement from h
er voice, Becca met each woman’s gaze. “I have a friend who could paint the design. For a discount, too, if we plug his business. I wrote his name on the back of this page.”
Scrutinizing the images, Grace tapped her pen against her ever-present notepad. “First, we’d have to figure costs.”
Emmie and Deb exchanged knowing smiles. “Of course.”
“And finally…” Becca turned another page. “This would be the shop sign out front. Plus we could reproduce the logo on small posters to hang around town.”
Emmie gave a sigh. “Oh, wouldn’t that be great? We’d have our own Basket of Blooms brand.” As the marketing expert, she understood.
“Yes, exactly. People will recognize the shop from the logo.” An airiness filled Becca as she imagined the design subconsciously prompting customers to call in orders.
Grace held a hand to her chin. “You don’t know anyone that makes discount signs, do you?” A smile filled her face.
Becca wrinkled her nose. “Sorry.”
With a chuckle, Deb clasped her shoulder. “Don’t be sorry. These are amazing! We’ll crunch the numbers, talk it over and let you know.”
“Ooh, what’s this?” Emmie tugged at a loose sheet that had edged its way out of the back. “This is terrific. Did you design it?”
The air filled with excitement as the women huddled around the sketch of a bridal gown.
Becca’s unfulfilled dreams came through in her wistful tone. “Yes. I’d begun an entire fashion line at art school before I had to move home.” Her high hopes for these sketches had faded. The longer she had to wait, the less likely her sketches would ever become actual wedding attire.
As she studied the etching, Grace tilted her head. “If they’re all as good as this one, you should open your own shop too.”
Ducking her head, Becca’s cheeks went warm. “I’m a long way from that. But someday, I hope.”
Her tone conspiratorial, Emmie nudged her. “Just think of the opportunities for cross-promotion. We could have special wedding rates—”
With a laugh, Deb held up her hands. “Down, girl. Let’s concentrate on our current customers.”
Their enthusiastic response proved more than Becca had hoped. To see her design used in a practical way would be such a thrill. More than that, it might be a signal her career was finally taking shape, becoming more than a dream. She gripped her sketch pad, where all her dreams were visible. How she ached to begin it all.
Emmie snapped her fingers. “Oh, I almost forgot. The Grand Hotel called a little while ago. They’d like estimates for lobby arrangements, twice monthly.” With a whoop, she clenched her hands and did a happy dance.
After exchanging stunned glances, Deb and Grace laughed.
Surveying the flowers crowding the room, Deb put her hands to her hips. “We’re going to need a bigger shop, if this keeps up.”
Becca tore the sheets from her sketch book, laid them on the counter, and then flipped the pad shut. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
Her question launched the three women into motion.
Taking the sketches, Deb said, “You’re so sweet for doing these. I’ll hang onto them.” She headed toward the back of the shop. “I’m heading out for more supplies.”
Following Deb, Emmie called over one shoulder, “Lots to plan for the college theater awards this weekend.”
Grace walked back to her desk. “Like table arrangements.”
“Corsages for presenters,” Becca chimed in.
The Basket of Blooms had once been only a dream for Deb, Emmie and Grace–now a dream come true. Their success gave Becca hope.
The phone rang, and Becca reached for it. “Good morning, Basket of Blooms. How may I help you?”
As she jotted down the order–two dozen red roses for a wedding anniversary–happiness welled within her. Leaving art school had been the right decision to help her mom. Coming to work at the shop, and taking night classes at University of Pittsburgh at Greensburg, had been the right decision for herself.
She hoped her efforts would pay off, in more ways than one.
***
On Saturday, the truck overflowed with the table arrangements for University of Pittsburgh at Greensburg’s Theater Awards. Becca carried the last two outside, handed them to Emmie and watched in amazement.
Somehow, Emmie wedged them into a space that hadn’t been there before. “At least they won’t tip over.” Heaving out a breath, she smiled. “Hey, thanks for helping out today. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem.” Becca climbed in the passenger side, eager to get to the college. The event was hours away, but she couldn’t help being excited. Where would Mike Hunter sit? Would he speak, or maybe present awards? Likely, he’d wear a suit. Her imagination worked overtime. Since class the other night, hardly a minute went by when she hadn’t thought of him. How different the college teacher had grown from the high school teacher. What a puzzle he was—a puzzle that piqued her interest. If only she could discover the man beneath the teacher exterior.
As she drove, Emmie glanced over. “You’re awfully quiet.”
Becca smiled. “Just thinking about tonight. The awards dinner sounds like a nice event.” The event would be even nicer if she could attend.
“Every year, the awards dinner grows a little larger. This year, the organizers asked for arrangements for three head tables, and thirty more on top of that.” Emmie shook her head. “As large as a wedding.”
Yes, a wedding. An image appeared in Becca’s mind, of herself, wearing a bridal gown of her own design, walking toward Mike Hunter, looking so handsome in his tuxedo. She nibbled her lip, startled by the vivid daydream. Confused by the hope welling inside her.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Emmie frowned.
To hide her flustered feeling, she forced a smile. “Oh, sorry. When you mentioned wedding, I thought of my bridal designs.”
Emmie steered the truck around a corner. “Yes, what are you planning to do with those? Can you submit them somewhere?”
Becca shrugged. “I’m not sure. I keep revising them, adding to the line. We’ll see.” She’d researched various design houses, but none had seemed a good fit. Timing was everything, she reminded herself. Degree or not, job openings occurred infrequently. She planned to have a full complement of sketches ready.
Emmie drove through the college gates. “You keep at it. Someday, your work will pay off.”
Her mom recited that mantra often. “I hope so.” She’d never give up on her dream. Something good had to happen, after all her hard work, not to mention the love she poured into it.
They followed the winding drive past three large buildings, and stopped at the side entrance to McCarter Hall. Becca ran to prop the back door open, spied a two-tiered cart near the kitchen and rolled it outside. “Look what I found.”
“Wonderful, fewer trips.” Emmie loaded three, tall flower sprays on top.
Becca helped set the smaller table arrangements around them and on the bottom tier. While Emmie wheeled the cart inside, Becca hoisted two vases into her arms.
The banquet room already buzzed with activity. The caterer had set up the table linens, so Emmie and Becca went to work alongside the others placing glassware and cutlery.
“Becca.” Mike Hunter strode in carrying a large box.
Holding the centerpiece, she turned toward the familiar voice. “Mr. Hunter. Hi.” The words came out in a breathy rush, and her cheeks burned. Why did she act like such a fool around him?
After flashing a wide-eyed, approving smile, Emmie pretended to busy herself at another table.
“Mike. Please.” He set down the box behind the podium and stepped closer. “The place looks great.”
“Thanks. I wasn’t expecting to see you.” Not exactly a lie. Hoping and expecting comprised two different things.
Watching her with a half-smile, he rested his hands on his hips. “I’m delivering the award plaques so they’ll be ready to go tonight.”
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He had the smooth fingers of an artist. His long legs ended in narrow hips, which angled to a lean chest, widening to broad shoulders. As her gaze wandered across his contours, the arrangement nearly slipped from her grasp, making her finally remember to set it on the table. When he focused on her with those keen dark eyes, she always lost coordination. She forced herself to stand tall.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed Emmie pushing the cart toward the door. “I better go help. Excuse me.” Though she hated to leave his side, Becca hurried out to the truck.
Emmie reloaded the cart. “So, that’s your new teacher?”
“Yup.” She bit back a grin.
“Very nice.” Emmie sang the words.
Becca laughed. “Yes, he is.” Realizing she meant it, she felt lighter inside. These past few months had been full of stress and worry on top of work and homework. She hadn’t had time for fun. Flirting with Mike Hunter was silly, harmless fun. A pang of regret hit her. Nothing can come of it.
Becca set more vases on the cart, grabbed another centerpiece and helped Emmie steer it inside. During setup for the rest of the tables, she glanced at Mr. Hunter often, hoping she wasn’t being too obvious.
He emptied the box of plaques and arranged them on a stand behind the head table. A few times, he glanced up and smiled. Each time their gazes connected tiny flickers of heat flitted through her.
Hands on hips, he stood back to view his work. After grabbing his jacket, he walked toward Becca. “Guess I’ll see you next week. Sorry you’ll miss tonight’s awards.”
The sincerity in his tone took her aback. “Me, too.” If he only knew how much. She set the last arrangement on the table. “Are you bringing anyone?” Horrified she’d voiced it aloud, she busied herself straightening the flowers in the vase.
“Yes,” he muttered. “An old friend.”
She forced a smile. An old friend could mean many things. “How nice. Is your friend interested in theater?”
Shifting his feet, he looked away, lips pressed into a thin line. “She majored in theater, but hasn’t had any roles since.”
Design for Life Page 2
