by Olivia Miles
Unlike Ivy, her twin had been tight-lipped about their home life. Ashamed, perhaps. But Ivy didn’t seem to share the same feelings.
“Small-town life can be difficult,” he said.
“Is that why you stayed away for so long then?”
Brett rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I like city life. I like the more challenging cases you find in an urban environment and a major hospital.” There were personal reasons, too, but he didn’t need to get into that.
“Then why move back?” she inquired.
He reached for his glass as he thought of an excuse. “I thought I’d change up the pace for a bit. Don’t want to burn out too young.” He shrugged, realizing how much truth was in the statement, the fear he had that he’d done just that: burned out. He’d sworn he hadn’t, insisted he was fine, that he just needed to work, stay working, work harder than ever. But what he really needed was a break. Even if he wasn’t enjoying it, and even if he worried what it was costing him, the reality of what could happen if he didn’t take a step back now was devastating.
His boss had been patient, let him stay on until he’d found something else, suggested he go home for a bit, to the sleepy town he’d grown up in. But he’d also put him on the easier cases or put another doctor in the room with him when it was something more severe, just in case his nerves caught up with him, just in case he slipped…
He cleared his throat, hoping to shift the conversation back to her. “Do you ever plan on getting out of town?”
“Nope.” The swiftness of her answer surprised him and sent a pang of something he’d almost call jealousy straight to his chest. When was the last time he’d be so sure of something? “I love Briar Creek. It’s my home.”
Brett nodded slowly. “So… it doesn’t bother you that you could probably name just about half the people in this town?”
“Half?” Her scoff was good-natured, and her eyes sparked. “Try three-quarters. I could probably tell you their birthdays, too.” She swiveled in her chair, and her thigh brushed his, sending a surge of heat straight to his belly. He waited to see if she’d realize and pull back, but instead she stayed put, taunting him with her nearness, the reminder of her touch, the temptation of those thighs, so close, he could reach out and touch her. He shifted slightly, feeling her leg slide along his, and tensed against his growing arousal.
“Oh, right. Flowers.” He reached for his drink.
“Is that what you wanted to talk about?” She looked at him expectantly, and Brett blinked, almost forgetting the reason he’d given her for joining him for a drink. It was too easy to get caught up in the gentle ring of her laugh, the slip of her smile, the way she kept tucking her hair behind the ear he’d had the pleasure of grazing between his teeth.
A steady need stirred deep in his groin and he shifted his gaze, getting back to the point of the conversation while he waited for Mark to finish up in the kitchen. “I was actually wondering if you could recommend a good caterer.”
She looked at him like he was half crazy. God, it was a cute look. Her eyebrows pinched, her head tipped, her mouth quirked. He swallowed hard.
“Why not ask your brother? Isn’t that why you’re here?”
He laughed with her. It felt good. Easy, natural, and right. Too right. It was the history, he told himself, the comfort that comes from being with people you’ve known all your life, even if he’d never really noticed her most of that time. As a boy, he was already buried in a book. As a teenager, when most of the other guys were hitting on girls or pumping themselves up for the courage to ask one on a date, he was sitting in a sterile hospital. And as an adult, well, he noticed them, but that didn’t mean he had time for them.
“Can you tell I’m used to treating patients and not planning parties?” He grinned and was relieved when she smiled back. So she didn’t hate him. But that didn’t mean she liked him, either. And he couldn’t remember the last time a girl hadn’t liked him. “I actually just stopped in to pay my brother a visit. I hadn’t even considered that he’d offer to cater with how busy he is here.”
“I’m sure Mark will help,” she said. “Dr. Kessler told me this year’s proceeds go toward the oncology department. That must mean a lot to your family.”
Sobered, he turned sharply from her and took another sip of his drink. “It does. It also made it damn near impossible for me to turn down the request.” He slanted her a glance, giving a sheepish smile that he hoped would keep things light.
“I wish my interest were as noble as yours,” Ivy admitted on a sigh. “But I’m afraid it’s a plain and simple business move for me.”
“No ulterior motives?” He winked, but the way her eyes darkened and her face blanched made him realize he’d upset her somehow.
Her easy smile was all at once replaced by that prim pinch, and she began fumbling through her oversized bag, the contents of which seemed to include everything from fruit snacks to piles of receipts. “As I said, strictly business. And on that note, I really should be getting back to the shop.” She slid off her bar stool, her jeans pulling tight at her long legs.
Okay, so he’d offended her. He seemed to be good at that. “Wait. Sit down. You haven’t even finished your… water.”
She locked his gaze for a split second, and he could see her waver, see her eyes soften and the set of her jaw loosen into something that could almost pass for a smile.
Her wallet was tight in her grip, and after a clear hesitation, she set it back in the bag. “It’s club soda, actually, but I may as well finish it.” She inched past him, using the bar to leverage herself onto the stool, a little farther from him this time.
“Okay, look, I can tell you’re still mad at me about…” He lowered his head and whispered, “You know.”
Her eyes were sharp on his. Flat. And bored. And entirely unimpressed. “No, I don’t, actually, because I can think of about ten different things to be mad at you about right now.”
He sputtered on the sip of his drink. “Ten?”
“Yes, ten. Maybe eleven, but at least ten.” She sniffed and hugged her handbag tighter in her lap as she stared at the mirrored backsplash behind the bar. He stared at her profile, the slight upturn of her nose, the purse of that mouth, his own jaw slack.
“Are you going to enlighten me?”
She slid him a glance from the corner of her eye. “Aren’t doctors supposed to be smart?”
So now she was insulting his intelligence. But considering he had no clue what he’d done to so massively piss her off, other than the obvious disappointment, he supposed he deserved it.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” she added quickly. “You are smart. But for someone so smart, you are awfully stupid when it comes to women.” She gave him a pitying look and shook her head on a little sigh.
Brett blinked, unable to even find words to match the emotions that were stirring within him. Confusion. Annoyance. Frustration. Maybe she was right. Maybe he didn’t know much about women.
But one thing he did know was that Ivy Birch was like no other girl he’d met before. Usually one kiss was all it took for a woman to be sending him texts, suggesting drinks, or hanging around the break room or hospital lobby, hoping for a chance to talk. But Ivy was doing none of those things, and the few times he had seen her since letting her down, she’d seemed more annoyed than disappointed.
This was new territory. And one he couldn’t resist exploring.
Ivy didn’t know what had come over her. She took another sip of her soda, just to make sure the bartender hadn’t accidentally given her something stronger, like, say, a tumbler of vodka on the rocks. But nope, tasted just like the same boring club soda she drank at every function, except this one was missing a much-needed wedge of lime.
Beside her, Brett ran his hand through his hair, tousling it in a mess of directions and succeeding in making himself look even more adorable than he had two minutes ago, if such a thing were even possible.
Her heart did that little dance it was hel
l-bent on doing every time she saw that face, but her head replayed his words, over and over. The insinuation that maybe she wasn’t doing the fundraiser for a professional reason or even out of charity, but out of something so much worse.
The egomaniac thought she was doing it to get close to him.
And it didn’t matter that his nut-brown hair conjured up all sorts of images of what he must look like when he rolled out of bed in the morning, or that his deep-set eyes were a notch wider than usual and more earnest looking, too, or that his mouth… Oh, that mouth. No, none of it mattered. Because a man could be handsome off good looks alone, but a man couldn’t be attractive without personality to back it up.
“Forget I said anything,” she said, wishing she’d never said anything at all. She knew the type. The inflated egos that came with good looks and female attention. Engaging would just stoke that fire.
“But now I’m curious,” Brett insisted.
She drained her club soda, plucked a five-dollar bill from her wallet, and set it on the bar.
“I invited you for a drink.” His voice was low and smooth, and she could listen to it all day long. And all night. And that was just the problem.
“And then I went and insulted you. Consider us even.” She started to get off the bar stool again, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist. His hand was warm, his grip firm, and she knew she wasn’t going anywhere. As much as she’d love to snap free of his hold on her, another part of her wanted him to never let go. Her stomach fluttered and tightened, and she fought against it, willing herself to fight the attraction, to stay focused on the facts.
Brett tipped his chin. His expression had turned serious, almost grave. “I think we’ve established that you aren’t interested in me.”
Actually, it was more like the other way around, but Ivy listened.
His thumb grazed her skin before he dropped her hand, just long enough to send a tingle down her spine and straight to her belly. His mouth quirked into a small smile as he tented his fingers. “But I’m hoping we can still work together on this fundraiser.”
“Of course. I already told you I would do the flowers, and I appreciate the opportunity.” And she needed the opportunity, too, she reminded herself, thinking of the stack of bills waiting to be paid, the money that had never come from the sale of her mother’s house, the fact that in addition to helping her out, Henry had covered the cost of fixing up the old place, only to have it sell for far less than he alone had sunk into it. Simmer down now, Ivy. The man may have rejected you on a personal level, but you don’t need it messing with your professional life, too.
Brett was still watching her, his entire body shifted on the chair now, his focus so intense that she had to shift her eyes away for a second to collect herself.
“We’ll keep in touch then,” Ivy said, eager to get away. Quickly she added, “About the event.”
Brett’s brow furrowed slightly. “Here. Let me give you my number.” He held out a hand, and, blinking, Ivy reached into her bag and handed him her phone.
She watched as he tapped the screen with his thumbs and then handed it back to her.
She had Brett Hastings’s number in her phone. Now don’t get all crazy, Ivy. It’s just for the fundraiser. It’s nothing personal.
Except something about the way his hand lingered on hers and his eyes locked on hers with intensity made her wonder if it wasn’t just a little personal.
Nonsense. He’d told her straight up where he stood. He wasn’t interested. And that was just something she’d have to live with.
“Great,” she said, tucking the device in her handbag right next to her insulin shots. Just great.
Because just what she needed, in addition to having to see him around town and now suffer through this event, was the image of his name lighting up her screen, giving her hope where none belonged.
CHAPTER
10
The gym offered a weekly Pilates class that Ivy decided was probably a better fit for both her physical and mental health than hitting the treadmill. Regular exercise was an important part of managing her diabetes, but she wasn’t exactly sitting idle all day long at the store, and intense workouts could wreak havoc on her blood sugar levels—and watching Brett lift weights wreaked havoc on her heart. According to Crushed: A Ten-Step Program to Accepting Rejection and Putting Your Life Back Together, a scheduled class with her close friend, conveniently located nowhere near the main cardio and weight room so that she wouldn’t be tempted by that cocky grin or confident swagger, was just the thing she needed to focus on herself… and not on those deep-set brown eyes and the rumble of that laugh.
“Did you start your new position yet?” she asked Kara as they settled onto their mats. A week had passed since Kara had announced her promotion, and nothing more had been said on the matter since.
Kara nodded. “This morning.”
“How was it?” Ivy asked when Kara didn’t elaborate.
Kara pulled her long dark hair into a ponytail and shrugged. “Oh. Fine, fine.”
Didn’t sound very fine, but Ivy decided not to press the topic. The instructor had taken her place at the front of the room, and Ivy had a feeling she was going to need all the help she could get to keep up with Kara, who had trained as a dancer under her mother’s instruction and then went on to do regular yoga and Pilates in recent years.
At the end of the session, Kara turned to her, cheeks flushed, and grinning. “Fun, huh?”
“It was.” Ivy rolled up her mat and followed her friend to the door. Her plan was to dart into the women’s locker room and take the back exit home, but Kara stopped in the hall, tipping her head in the opposite direction.
“Let’s go to the juice bar.”
Ivy wrestled with her decision. After working out for forty-five minutes, a smoothie sounded delicious, not to mention good for her, but the chances of seeing Brett were high—she stopped herself right there. This was her town, too, and unless she wanted to live her life in hiding, she was going to have to start getting used to seeing him around. The more she did it, the less of an impact it would have on her. Hopefully.
Forcing back her trepidation, she said, “Sure.”
The juice bar was busy, even at nearly nine in the evening, but there was no sign of Brett. Ivy started to relax as she collected her drink and took a seat in the corner of the room.
“I have to admit, when they first opened this place, I was hoping it would be a chance to meet some guys.” Kara pursed her lips. “But instead, it’s just the usual crowd.”
Ivy looked around. Kara was right. She recognized every single person in the room, even if she didn’t personally know them. “Maybe someone new will move to town,” she offered, even though she doubted that very much. Briar Creek wasn’t exactly a destination point, unless you were a tourist looking for a country weekend getaway. The ski resorts were close, and she’d met a few guys there in the past, like the ski instructor she’d thought had long-term potential but who turned out to be casually dating half the other ski instructors and some of his adult students to boot.
“The only new face around here is Brett’s,” Kara said, and Ivy’s heart began to beat a little faster. She took a sip of her drink to distract herself. “Still, I’m happy I joined. It gives me something to do, and it takes the pressure off joining one of those adult dance classes my mom is now offering.” She rolled her eyes and chuckled under her breath.
Jane had told Ivy all about the adult classes and the book club group in their neon leg warmers, squabbling over the music selection. It had been Henry’s idea to start those classes back when enrollment at the studio hit a rough patch, and now that things had picked up again, Jane was never going to let Henry forget it. Deep down, Ivy knew that Jane was pleased, though. She loved teaching dance, just like Ivy loved making beautiful bouquets. It worked out well for both of them, too. Now that Ivy was feeling better, she didn’t need as much help around the shop, and Jane had enough hours between the dance studio
and the bookstore café to keep her busy.
She wondered, as she often did these days when she spent time with Kara, what her friend might really enjoy doing.
“I take it that working at the dance studio doesn’t appeal to you.”
Kara’s mouth dropped. “Are you kidding me? I can think of nothing worse! My mother had me in every show until I was old enough to put my foot down and refuse. I still break into a cold sweat when I see blue eye shadow and frosted pink lipstick.”
“Gotta love the eighties,” Ivy mused, though she had never had the opportunity to take a dance class. She’d envied the other little girls in their sparkly tutus and makeup, and she’d made doll clothes for her sole doll with any bits of shiny fabric she could find, hoping to re-create the event she was missing. Dance lessons were expensive, and besides, there was no one to drive her. Her mother was usually at the bars by seven, if she even came home from the various jobs she had at all. Dinner was cereal; bedtime was of their own choosing. Somehow they’d figured it out. Gotten to school on time every day with a packed lunch, even if it was a little lacking.
Ivy took another small sip of her drink. It was cool and sweet and creamy. And rare. She’d make sure to enjoy it.
Kara, on the other hand, took a long, casual sip of her smoothie as if it were nothing more special than ice water. “My days at that studio are behind me.” She played with her straw. “It’s not where my interest lies.”
“You’d rather be working at the restaurant,” Ivy hedged.
Kara glanced around the room. “I’d rather be in the kitchen of the restaurant, actually.”
Ivy perked up. “Then why don’t you?”
“Because I’m not a chef,” Kara said, her shoulders visibly sagging. “Once Anna joined up with Mark and opened Rosemary and Thyme, they hired a whole team of sous chefs. The menu is much more complicated, too. I’m not qualified for that sort of thing.”
