by Olivia Miles
Already his cousin Luke had noticed the exchange and was giving him a discreet thumbs-up sign from across the deck. Brett muffled a sigh and thought fast. He didn’t want to hurt the girl’s feelings, but he didn’t want to feed into her advances, either.
“Hey, I—”
In his pocket, his phone vibrated against his leg. Happy for the distraction, he pulled it out and glanced down at the screen. Well, what do you know? Looked like his services were needed after all.
He stood, readying himself to make an excuse that was, for the first time that night, the truth. And the flicker of his pulse when he watched Ivy turn and glance at him over her shoulder confirmed it.
CHAPTER
6
Be careful what you wish for. Ivy repeated this over and over to herself all night long as the humiliation of Brett’s rejection burned strong. Hadn’t she been the one who claimed to want a man to just come clean with her, tell her he wasn’t interested, rather than make up some lame excuse for why he didn’t want to date anymore or offer up another empty promise that would leave her waiting by the phone?
It had been bad enough that he’d sought her out, felt the need to put her in her place, but then to carry on with his fun as if the conversation had never happened! Flirting with Shea O’Riley from the stationery store! It was shameless! How could she have ever even thought he was cute? Okay, so yes, he was cute, technically speaking, but he was also a total ass. And really, that smile that had once made her all but swoon was, on closer look, more of a smirk. And those deep-set eyes she had found so penetrating and intense and soulful were, on reflection, simply laced with menace.
Oh, she was plenty mad at Shea, too, until she remembered that Shea, like everyone else in town, had no idea that Ivy had held a torch for him for—she cringed—eighteen years, or that she had kissed him a few months ago. Shea was simply doing what any other normal, confident, heterosexual woman under a certain age would do in this town, and that was make a play on the most eligible bachelor. Handsome. Smart. A doctor. A real catch. But of course, an uncommitted catch. At least to her.
Ivy picked up the stack of self-help books she’d bought four towns over that morning and bit into a carrot stick, wishing it was a bowl of raw cookie dough instead. She closed the shop on Sundays now, after much pressure from Henry to give herself a rest, and she had to admit—to herself only, of course—that she liked having the entire day off. Sometimes she caught up on orders, or did a bit of housework, or, in recent months, used the entire afternoon to fantasize about a certain undeserving someone, but today she was using it as a self-improvement day. And it started with the glossy cover on the top of her stack: Say No to the Narcissist! Everyday Strategies to Help You Stop Loving Men Who Only Love Themselves.
She snorted. It wasn’t like she had loved him. Strongly liked, yes. She supposed she should be grateful it was just a kiss, that her entire fantasy hadn’t come true and she hadn’t ended up another notch on a bedpost.
With most of the men in her past, they hadn’t revealed their true colors until after it was too late—after she’d already fallen in love and slept with them. Oh, she supposed there were warning signs, looking back. Like Craig, who saw her only once a week and never told her what he did with the other six nights. Or Lance, who was completely reluctant about quitting the co-ed volleyball team… or letting her join. And then of course there had been the last guy she’d “dated” nearly two years ago, who, after six months and what she thought was the start of something real, hadn’t invited her to have dinner with his parents when they came to town.
She’d been hurt every time, but she was determined not to give up the hope that she would find one guy who was looking for the same thing: a nice, quiet life in Briar Creek and a family to come home to at the end of every day. She hadn’t had that chance for the first half of her life. Was it so much to wish for it now?
And all along, in the back of her mind, whenever another date turned into a bust, whenever another guy gave her the “it’s not you, it’s me” speech, she thought of the one man she knew who seemed so different from the rest. The one man who just had to go and move to Baltimore.
The one man who had turned out to be no different than the others.
“They’re all the same,” her mother used to say bitterly, when Ivy confessed her latest dating woes. At the time, she’d tried to shut the words out, tell herself that she wouldn’t end up like her mother, that she’d meet a nice, sweet man and have a cozy, comfortable life.
But now she began to wonder… Was it even possible?
The kettle whistled in the small kitchen at the back of her apartment, and Ivy crossed the cramped living room to the sun-filled galley space where her favorite hand-painted floral mug was already on the counter. She grazed her thumb over the chip as she turned the stove knob with the other hand. When their mother had passed away last summer, Ivy had kept few things from the house before they sold it: the photo albums from when she and Henry were babies up through age five, when their grandmother and keeper of the albums had died. A few of her favorite childhood books that kept her company on those nights when her mother had one too many glasses of Cab. And this dainty porcelain mug with the sweet little petunias painted on in a variety of colors—chipped, but not ruined, and too pretty to part with.
She’d loved flowers for as long as she could remember. She loved the symmetry of the petals, the way they could transform even the dreariest of rooms. And their house had been dreary. Damp and cold and uninviting. Flowers always made it better. She’d light up at the pastels, at the sunny yellows and vibrant reds. Every season brought something new, something to cheer up a room, something to evoke the spirit of a holiday, even if holidays were never celebrated much in their home growing up. Henry had stepped up, she realized as she grew older. Even though they were twins, he had always looked out for her in that way—tucking aside money and buying gifts for Christmas or their birthday in case their mother forgot, which she often did. She smiled sadly as she carefully filled her mug with the steaming water. She supposed he still was looking out for her.
Ivy let the tea steep and carried it back into the living room, which was so very different from the dark and gray house she’d grown up in. What money she had, she tended to put into the shop, but just as with Petals on Main, she made her small apartment her personal jewelry box, with long, brightly colored curtains to frame the tall windows that looked out onto Main Street, a crisp white slip-covered couch with patterned throw pillows, and soothing celery-green walls that made her think of springtime, even in the winter. She settled herself once more on the armchair that was tucked next to the big bay window and looked down onto Main Street, wondering, despite herself, if Brett was strolling the sidewalk at that very moment.
Well, who cared if he was? Certainly, she didn’t.
She set her tea on the coffee table she’d salvaged from a secondhand shop and refinished herself with some elbow grease, sandpaper, and a can of white paint—she was quite proud of that piece, really—opened the book again, and forced herself through the first chapter, hoping for a nugget of inspiration. Something, anything, to end this crush once and for all, and to ensure it wouldn’t happen again.
Next time she fell this hard for a guy, she had better be damn sure he was worth it.
She flicked to the next chapter and found herself skimming it. She’d read enough of these over the years to know what to do. At least two dozen were hidden under her bed, dog-eared and highlighted, some passages even memorized. Focus on herself. Live a happy life. In time, she’d attract the right person. She could spend all day trying to cheer herself or come to her senses, holed up in her apartment, or she could get out in the sunshine and truly move on.
She decided on the latter.
Ivy picked up her phone, scrolled through her contacts, and dialed Kara. Her friend answered on the third ring.
“I’ve been thinking,” Ivy said. “It might be time for me to finally try out that new gym you’v
e been talking about.” The cost was dear, but the payout was big.
Plans made, Ivy set the phone on her coffee table and went into her bedroom to scrounge up some workout clothes, already imagining the promise of lean, long muscles.
So Brett may not be looking for anything. And so she might not even want him anymore. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a little fun making him live to regret it.
Kara was already on the treadmill when Ivy walked into the gym an hour later, her stomach full of the banana and peanut butter she’d eaten in advance to offset the exercise. She waved to her friend and wound her way through the machines, catching a few glimpses of people she knew from the shop and others she’d gone to school with since kindergarten. She knew Henry hated this aspect of Briar Creek—that there was no getting away from everyone you knew, no escaping the dark side of their past, but Ivy saw it differently. She’d grown and evolved, and she was happy to have the chance to show everyone she wasn’t the same sad scrawny kid with the drunk mom making a spectacle of herself at every town event. It was redemption, closure really, and it helped ease the bad feelings she had about her youth.
Speaking of redemption…
A group of girls Ivy went to high school with were fake stretching and staring shamelessly at the weight section of the room. For a minute, Ivy’s pulse pricked with interest, until she caught Brett’s image in the mirror and stopped dead in her tracks. Of course. It seemed Shea wasn’t the only one in town who had gotten wind of Brett’s arrival. It wasn’t every day a handsome, single guy moved to town. Throw an MD in the mix, and they were probably lining up around the block. No doubt Rosemary would be pushing Kara to the front of the queue if they weren’t already related.
Brett finished his set, his biceps straining at the effort through the tight material of his gray cotton T-shirt, and he lowered the weights when he spotted her—a signal that she couldn’t turn and run, as she’d been hoping to do. Seeing no other choice, she waved and walked toward him, sparking a wave of whispers from the gaggling women on the mat. Standing to give her his full attention, he raked a hand through his brown hair and picked up a towel he’d set on a nearby bench.
Ivy cursed under her breath. She’d love nothing more than to turn on her heel and take the long path to the row of machines where Kara was hard at work, but that would just show Brett that she cared. And she didn’t care. At least, he couldn’t think she did.
She plastered a breezy smile on her face, hoping that would suffice, but oh God, no. He grinned back, wider than she expected—a smile that probably won him a lot of hearts over time. Well, not hers. She bristled, telling herself it was just a smile, and a cocky one at that, and continued on her path.
“We meet again,” Brett commented as she neared the weight section.
“Briar Creek is small like that.” Why hadn’t she considered that Brett would have joined the gym? He hardly maintained those hard abs working in the emergency room or with mere sit-ups alone. She wondered if it was too late to revoke her shiny new membership, which was costing her more than she should be shelling out.
She gave a tight smile that she could only hope passed for polite and inched to her left in an effort to create some distance between them and that sweet smell of soap and musk and spice that had lingered on her bridesmaid dress long after their kiss was over, but Brett stopped her.
“I’m glad you’re here, actually.”
“Oh?” She felt the blood drain from her face as she stared up into those warm chocolate-brown eyes.
“I kind of had the impression you were mad at me last night after our talk.”
She narrowed her gaze as the little bubble of hope burst inside her. The little bubble that whispered, Maybe he’s had a change of heart. Maybe he saw you walk into the gym in those yoga pants and tight tank top and thought, What a fool I’ve been.
When would she stop hoping he would say what she wanted to hear? When he stopped looking like that, she decided, tearing her gaze from his perfectly sculpted chest. The very one she’d run her hands down, pressed her nails into…
“Why would I be mad at you?” she asked. “You established you weren’t interested—”
His brow pinched together. “I didn’t say I wasn’t interested. I said I wasn’t looking for a relationship right now.”
She refused to allow herself to read into the first half of his statement any more than she should. He was letting her down—again—and stroking his sorry ego in the process.
She held up a hand and managed a smile. “Relax, Brett. It was just a kiss.”
Only it wasn’t just a kiss and they knew it. She could tell by the way he nodded slowly, as if digesting this information, reflecting on it. It had been an entire evening of laughter and flirting, small touches, and unbreakable eye contact. By the time their two bodies had finally fused, they could barely keep their hands off each other. The kiss was deep, and long, and if they hadn’t been tucked in the old telephone vestibule of the Main Street B&B, they probably wouldn’t have stopped.
She’d kissed enough frogs in her lifetime to know when a kiss was good. And when both people knew it.
She watched his Adam’s apple roll on a swallow. “Just a kiss.”
“I mean, it’s not like we slept together or anything.” She shuddered, thinking of how much that would have hurt. “Thank God for that!”
His gaze darkened and narrowed steadily on her. “Here I thought you were enjoying yourself that night.” His voice was as smooth as melted chocolate, and just like the dessert, she stamped it out. Not allowed. Not in her world.
But his words still echoed in her head, followed quickly by red-hot anger. “Did you?” She tipped her head, hoping the flush of mortification would stay at bay. Had it been that obvious? She stiffened as she recalled the moan she’d released in his ear when his fingers had slid up her thigh… “Huh. Well, I don’t really recall. It was so long ago.” She shrugged.
He stared at her, his square jaw pulsing, and she fluttered her lashes, released a sigh that mercifully didn’t shake and betray the jumping jacks that were going on inside her right now, and said a silent prayer that he couldn’t possibly see through her painfully neutral expression to the sad fact that she not only recalled but had also replayed and could easily reenact every second of that kiss.
She glanced around the room, looking for an escape, for somewhere to let her eyes linger other than on that handsome face, that perfect body. She could do this. She’d pretend she didn’t care. That she was cool with it. That that night was simply one distant event in what had since been a very exciting few months in her dating life.
The more she did it, the easier it would get. And considering Brett was now back in Briar Creek, she’d better hope it got easier and that next time, her heart wouldn’t be racing like a Thoroughbred coming out of the gate.
“I should find Kara,” she said, backing away. “I was supposed to meet her here ten minutes ago, and she’s probably wondering where I am.”
She took another step backward, feeling confident with her honest excuse, and felt the back of something hard hook her heel. Weightlessness hit her in slow motion as her feet came out from under her and her free fall began—until Brett’s hand was tight on her upper arm, and all at once he was yanking her up, the force so unexpected that she stumbled forward, right into his chest.
She allowed herself one long sniff of his shirt before pulling herself back from the hard wall of his torso. So much for staying cool. She’d almost smacked her head on a barbell in her hurry to get away from him.
“Are you okay?” Concern crinkled his brow, but his dark eyes positively danced.
His hand was still on her arm, and the touch spread tingles over her skin, chasing butterflies through her stomach and pulsating parts of her body that hadn’t been touched in way too long, reminding her of the way he’d gripped her tight as he’d pushed her against the wall, his body so close to hers she had gasped for breath, and then lifted her leg as his hand
s reached under her dress…
She looked into his eyes, feeling what little willpower she was clinging to start to dissolve. On a nervous laugh, she nodded her head frantically. “Nice save, Doctor.”
“It’s what I do.” He grinned again and dropped her arm.
She hated that the absence of his touch was so obvious, and that, based on how things were going, she’d probably never feel it again. But another girl might. Brett Hastings might not be looking for a relationship, but something told her that casual fun wasn’t out of the question.
And she wasn’t looking for casual fun.
It was time to get a grip. Time to start thinking with her head instead of her heart. Because from the looks of things, there was no room in Brett’s heart for her. And therefore, there was no room in hers for him, either.
She turned and carefully traced a path over to Kara, who was still jogging steadily on the treadmill, watching the television propped in the corner, oblivious to everything that was taking place on the other side of the room, and climbed onto the machine next to her friend’s. She punched firmly at the buttons, starting at a slow pace, and kept her gaze away from the mirror that lined the far wall.
