Finding Her Heart (McCormick's Creek Series Book 2)

by Jen Peters

  “Do you mind if I take pictures, then?”

  “Not at all, whatever you like.”

  Mrs. Markov pulled her smart phone from her bag and snapped shots from every angle of the room. Then she proceeded down the stairs, took pictures of the common rooms and welcome hall, and even more outside.

  Finally they met back in the dining room. Ree shifted a few place settings of china and silver to the side. “Do you have a wedding planner you’re working with?” she asked.

  Mrs. Markov smiled serenely. “Just me. Nobody cares as much as the bride’s own mother, do they?”

  They discussed menu options and the number of guests, the afternoon wedding time and when people would be arriving and leaving. Ree shared some ideas for lighting, committed to a solid floor for dancing, and promised an email with floral arrangement ideas. It didn’t seem businesslike to mention that the florist was her own mother.

  By the time they were done and Mrs. Markov had slipped her elegant body back into her elegant car, Ree was exhausted. Many, many details to see to plus the dinners coming up, for which they had yet to find a chef. She really didn’t know if hosting a wedding before they were even open would be worth it--perhaps she should have said no from the start. But they were locked in now, and she was due at the flower shop.

  She left a message for Mr. Mitchell Blake, but if he didn’t want to answer his phone, she wasn’t going to make an extra effort to track him down.

  * * *

  Time dragged through the week. Ree forced herself to catch up on her coursework despite the enticing sunny days outside. She placed supply orders and consulted with Harriet and rescheduled a furniture delivery for the inn. She arranged for wedding centerpieces from a florist in Springfield, and ordered lights and tulle and rolls of satin ribbon. The more things she crossed off her to-do list, the more she thought of to add. And she spent more time at the flower shop, while her mother spent more time in physical therapy.

  It was more than the tasks, though. She had texted Mitch once, but had no response. And despite her loathing for his career, she missed him. She missed the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. His swirled scent of cologne and peppermint. The way he honestly listened to her ideas.

  Her reverie was interrupted by a call from her mother—they had received a rash of calls asking for bouquets to be sent for Parents’ Day on the 27th. She hadn’t even realized there was such a thing, but the work certainly shoved her confused thoughts to the background.

  And in the midst of the flowers, Mrs. Markov called.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” she said abruptly. “I’d like to have canopies on the lawn for the dinner instead of having the tables on the porch. I’d like two large canopies, with a third just for the head table. That will give them room for guests to greet them, as they always do.”

  Ree scribbled notes while trying to picture it in her mind. “Of course. Is there anything else?”

  “Yes, there’s nothing worse than high heels poking into the grass. Or through a canvas or carpet across the grass. So I’d like a hard floor laid down in the canopies. Can you arrange that?”

  “I’m sure we can.” Ree repeated the details back to Mrs. Markov and hung up with a sigh. She hoped canopies were easily available, and that the rental agency would have ideas about finding a portable floor. She hoped Mrs. Markov wouldn’t make any more big changes.

  She started to text Mitch, then decided that she should be handling this on her own anyway. No need to bother the boss, especially when he seemed to have disappeared.

  Chapter 17

  Mitch’s heart wrenched as he pulled slowly up to the inn. It had been an exhausting week-and-a-half, filled with his grandfather’s funeral and the ramifications for the firm. Mitch should still be in Portland dealing with the remaining details and reassuring clients and partners, but he’d had enough. He missed the old man and the small town called to his heart.

  The McCormick Inn popped now, bright blue with intricate white trim, the gardens restored and blooming. And Granddad wouldn’t see it finished, see it filled with people and sound again the way it was in his youth.

  Mitch wished they had talked more about past times, about what Granddad was like growing up. What it would have been like to lose the symbol of your family’s success in the depression. Was it only their home, or did they own businesses that went under, too? And what did Granddad’s father do here, and how did he end up founding a law firm in Portland?

  The one time Mitch brought it up, all the old man had said was, “leave the past in the past, lad. The future is what you need to focus on.”

  So Mitch looked at the turrets and pictured a boy in shorts playing with his soldiers up in a secret hiding place. He looked at the side garden and wondered if his grandfather had tried to dig to China. Did he climb the big oak tree, surely old enough to have been climbing size eighty years ago?

  With a sigh, he moved the gear lever into Park and set the brake. Back to business. He needed to discuss advertising with Ree. Actually, he really didn’t—she was handling things well, and everything seemed under control. But it would be a good excuse to spend time with her, and he’d take any positive vibes he could right now.

  He loved her spark, and she drew him like a moth to the flame, more than any other woman he had dated. But he couldn’t quite figure her out. She wasn’t at all like Melanie, who could take the toughest opponent and rake him over the coals. But Ree still held secrets—everyone did.

  If she really wanted out of the town, she could have left. Surely there were other people who could help at the flower shop. She had to have some sort of agenda hiding under that gleaming smile, behind those sky blue eyes and fall of glossy curls. Everyone wanted something. Everyone did what they did to achieve that, one way or another.

  So what did she want?

  Mitch entered the inn and found Harriet hanging pictures, but Ree wasn’t there. Surprised at how empty that left him feeling, he wandered out onto the back porch and soaked up the heat of the day. Progress was happening out here, too. The event floor area had been graded but still needed to be cleaned up, and sod lines were fading in the new grass.

  To the right, with the mountains as a magnificent backdrop, a garden area was being prepped. The brush and weeds were gone, and fluorescent flags marked a winding path through it. His focus softened, and he tried to imagine what it would look like with roses and whatever else was planned.

  He couldn’t picture the flowers and shrubs much, but he was seized with a vision of a sculpture. Something light and airy, like the running deer he’d seen outside a museum once. Copper or brass to weather the elements. Or perhaps a sundial, solid and sure. Either way, something suitable for a memorial for his grandfather.

  He shook his head and tried to file the idea away for later—he really ought to be doing something productive—but it wouldn’t stay put. His grandfather had left quite a legacy, not only for Mitch and the rest of the attorneys in the firm, but in the work the Foundation did—activities for inner city youth, a mentoring program, scholarships for college and grants for law school. Education was important to Granddad. He liked to say that it gave a person wings to soar as high as they could.

  Hmm…maybe something with birds.

  He heard a slight noise and turned. “Ree.” A smile came unbidden to his lips.

  Ree didn’t particularly smile back. “I thought you were dealing with take-over crises in Portland. You haven’t answered your phone all week.”

  “I’m sorry, I turned all communication over to my assistant and let him handle things. I’ve been…busy, some items that took all my attention." He couldn’t mention his grandfather without choking up, so he wasn’t going to say anything about it. And he wasn’t quite ready to tell her that, even with all the work to do after his grandfather’s death, he couldn’t seem to stay away from McCormick’s Creek. From her. “He’s working on the background for my next clients now,” he said instead.

  She nodded stiffly. “I
finished today’s flowers for the shop and came over to talk to Harriet. But we need to talk.”

  Mitch frowned. “The inn is going to take more and more of your time. Opening is less than three weeks away. Isn’t there someone else who could help your mother?”

  Ree looked away. “Even if there were, the shop can’t afford to pay anyone else. Mom manages to give me some pocket money, but it wouldn’t be near enough if she weren’t feeding and housing me too.”

  “Can’t she get a loan? Surely the bank would cover something like this.”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure she could repay it—payroll costs would be high, and she mostly makes enough to pay her own living expenses. She doesn’t want to retire with a load of debt hanging over the shop, or she’ll never find a buyer.”

  “She’d sell it? Not keep it in the family?”

  Ree huffed. “She doesn’t have much choice—I’m an only child, and I sure don’t want it! Besides, it’s been a living for her but it’s not her passion. That’s what the greenhouse at home is for.”

  Mitch was surprised. He hadn’t even noticed a greenhouse. “She grows the flowers for her shop?”

  “Oh no, she doesn’t have nearly enough room for that. But she has a couple of favorite things she likes to play with. Most of the bouquets we sell include some edelweiss that she grows, and people sometimes like to buy a batwing flower." She saw his incredulous face and shook her head. “Don’t ask—you need to come in and see one.”

  Bat flowers—did they go with a Batmobile? He stifled a snort. The idea was a far cry from the daisies and roses he had gotten his first day in town. Talking about it had made Ree relax a bit, though, which was encouraging. “What else does she grow?”

  Ree looked thoughtful. “Well, what intrigues her now is breeding lilies. She’s trying to get some of the deeper colors to have the strong scent of the Stargazer lilies. It takes a while, though.”

  Hmm, Mrs. Swanson had hidden depths. He never would have pegged her for an amateur geneticist.

  Another thought struck him. If she couldn’t afford to hire an assistant, she might be a good candidate for a loan or grant. And doubly so if she had a product that could be developed and marketed.

  No need to mention that to Ree now, though, just something to check into later. In the meantime, he really needed to forget about the heavier issues in his life.

  “What are you doing for dinner tonight?”

  * * *

  “Dinner?” Ree had been fighting the lift in her heart and trying to match Mitch’s professionalism. Now the question came out of the blue and slammed her sideways.

  Mitch nodded, his eyes very green instead of gray, warm and … a little bit sad. Ree thought about what her mother had said, how Mitch seemed honest and caring. Did a man’s job always define him? This man kept a solid privacy fence around him, so it was hard to tell. His body language invited her to say yes, but she wasn’t sure about giving in to her feelings.

  She took a breath. “Business?”

  “We can talk business,” he said. “Or we can go over business stuff now and just enjoy ourselves.”

  Enjoy themselves, right. Ree didn’t even know if she trusted him. Or herself.

  Mitch hadn’t moved any closer to her, but she was suddenly very aware of his physical presence, that he was leaning against the window frame, watching her, waiting for her.

  A breeze rustled in the trees. The scent of the freshly-painted trim was sharp and tangy. And suddenly she didn’t care about being cautious. It was worth setting aside her worries to find out who this man really was.

  “Dinner would be great,” she finally said. “But first let me show you what’s been happening here.”

  They skipped the tiny manager’s office and headed for the dining room where Ree had papers spread out on the antique table.

  Ree explained about Mrs. Markov’s last-minute wedding needs and pointed to her layout of the tables and seating area. Mitch looked over her shoulder. She could feel the warmth of his body and the scent of soap and soft cologne washed over her. Business, she reminded herself. This was about business and discovery, not letting her heart melt.

  They went through possibilities for lighting, back-up plans for bad weather, and the menu choices without a chef signed on.

  “I think that’s all,” Ree finally said.

  “This is great—I’m glad you’re excited.” Mitch looked at his watch. “Seven o’clock? I’ll pick you up, and we’ll go to…would you prefer Nora’s Place or Ling’s?”

  “Chinese, please, if that’s okay." Not that she wouldn’t run into people she knew, and not that it made a difference anyway, but she’d like to be able to relax without knowing everyone in the place.

  “Chinese it is. I’ll see you in a couple hours.”

  Ree watched him drive off in the Porsche, although she had no idea where he could go in McCormick’s Creek. She shrugged, locked the inn up, and went home to get ready.

  When Ree opened the door exactly at seven, Mitch grinned and offered her a cellophane-wrapped bundle of rainbow daisies. From the supermarket.

  “Couldn’t very well ask you to arrange your own flowers,” he said, eyes twinkling.

  Ree placed a splayed hand on her chest. “Why thank you, sir,” she teased, batting her eyes. “You’re ever so kind.”

  He bowed and reached his hand out.

  “Is this entirely proper, Mr. Blake?” Ree asked, resting her fingers lightly in his warm palm. Her heart fluttered just as lightly, and her mother’s words echoed in her head. Honest…caring…more to him than his job description.

  “Oh, entirely so, Ms. Swanson,” he said. He twirled her under his arm and tucked her against his side. “It’s my project so I get to set the rules.”

  Her pulse changed from a flutter to a race. “Ah, as long as it’s in the rules. Then, Sir, if you would be so kind as to give me the particulars?"

  He laughed. “You’ve been reading too much Jane Austen.”

  “Actually, I was trying to channel Scarlett O’Hara,” she giggled.

  He bowed. “Rhett Butler at your service. And I do give a damn."

  Their eyes met, and something sizzled between them. Ree took his arm and let him escort her to his car, feeling much warmer than the evening air would account for.

  When they finally arrived at Ling’s Lucky 8, Ree was famished and ordered a Number 12 Kung Pao Chicken with fried rice and a side of egg rolls.

  “You really are like Scarlett,” Mitch said. “Don’t like picking at salads just to make an impression?”

  “Nope,” Ree said gaily. “If I’m hungry, I eat. What you see is what you get.”

  “Admirable,” he replied.

  She didn’t necessarily consider it admirable, but she sure wasn’t going to pretend to be something she wasn’t, especially just to impress a guy. “You’re used to dating the salad types of girls?”

  “Sometimes. Too often, probably.” His smile reached his eyes. “It’s nice to be with someone real.”

  “Oh, I’m real all right,” she laughed. “Real stubborn, real broke, real hungry. Once in a while even real funny.”

  Mitch just grinned and shook his head. Dinner came, and she enjoyed watching his usual competence fade away as he fumbled with the chopsticks. It was nice to see a different side of him, but she reminded herself to look for the sleaze bag part.

  They chatted about her growing up in McCormick’s Creek and about the direction they’d be going with the inn.

  “What does old Mr. McCormick think?” Ree asked. “Does he like the way it’s turning out?”

  Mitch stared out the window in silence for a moment, then said, “He likes it. Thinks the color is a little garish—his memories are of faded paint—but he approves of it all.”

  “Did he grow up in the mansion?" Ree had never thought to ask that before.

  “No, in a house a few blocks away. But he spent a lot of time there before his grandparents had to sell it during the Depressio
n. And then the whole family moved to Portland." He maneuvered a piece of sweet and sour pork to his mouth. “This is pretty good,” he said a moment later.

  “It’s another family restaurant. I went to school with the owner’s daughter, Lian, but she’s not here tonight. Anyway, her dad was born in China, came over when he was a teenager and has been cooking ever since. McCormick’s Creek would be even more boring if we only had Nora’s Place."

  “And you don’t like boring, do you?” Mitch asked.

  Ree laughed. “No way! I can’t wait to leave!" She reddened as she realized how that sounded. “I mean, I love the inn and I’d regret leaving that, of course, but the town just doesn’t hold much for me."

  Mitch concentrated on his chopsticks, and she wondered what he would say if he wasn’t being polite. Time for a change of subject. “So what do you do in your free time?” she asked.

  He grimaced. “Free time? What’s that?”

  Ree realized he hadn’t talked about any of the lawyer shark stuff that left him with no free time, but she wasn’t sure he would even be truthful if she asked. Besides, it would ruin a perfectly delightful evening. No, she was here to see what his personal self was like. “I’m sorry, I …” she began.

  “No, that’s okay. Before work took over my life, I used to go sailing on my grandfather’s boat. A 26-foot sloop that was relaxing and exciting at the same time. And even later, I’d head out just to escape the pressure.”

  They talked about sailing, about college life, about Ree’s childhood in McCormick’s Creek. Mitch seemed as honest and genuine as Ree had originally thought, but occasionally he would look away with sad eyes.

  She had to ask. “You don’t seem yourself today. What’s wrong?”

  He hesitated, glancing over at the waitress and then at the couple at the corner table. He set his jaw and said, “My grandfather died last Saturday.”

  “Oh no, I’m so sorry. That’s why you left in such a hurry." She didn’t know whether to apologize for asking or put her hand on his clenched one to comfort. Finally she spoke softly. “Tell me about him.”