by Olivia Miles
She had a point, Ivy supposed, but it still made her sad to hear it. “Grace said your cookies were better than Anna’s. They were really delicious.” They were—not that she’d be eating one again. “Has Anna tried them? You should get her opinion.”
“I gave her a box of my cookies as a thank-you gift… for the promotion. And she never said a word. If she thought they were any good, she would have said something.” She shook her head. “I guess I was just kidding myself thinking that…”
“Thinking what?”
“Never mind. It doesn’t matter now. I have a promotion. I’m helping Anna and Mark. How can I not be happy about that?” Kara’s smile was grim.
“Don’t give up on your dreams,” Ivy encouraged as they finished their drinks and tossed their plastic cups.
Kara looked her square in the eye. “Face it, Ivy. Some things aren’t meant to be, no matter how much we wish they were.”
The girls walked outside a little quieter than when they’d come in. It had grown dark in the time that had lapsed, and Main Street was empty. Most people were home, enjoying a summer night with their family, Ivy supposed.
Kara’s words echoed in her mind. Maybe that type of life just wasn’t in the cards for her.
A burst of fury bubbled within her. Since when was she giving up or standing by and watching Kara do the same? She’d been a fighter all her life—she’d had no other choice. She and Henry had been born hustling and scrambling. It was their only chance. And the only reason she had Petals on Main was because she fought to make it happen. And she still fought for it every day.
“I have an idea for your cookies,” she said firmly.
She expected Kara to match her enthusiasm, but instead she just groaned and lazily turned to face her. “There’s no point, Ivy. They’re nothing special.”
“But they are special,” Ivy insisted.
Kara thought about it as they crossed the street. “Okay, I’m curious. What’s your idea?”
“Forest Ridge Hospital’s annual fundraiser is coming up. I’m doing the flowers this year, and Brett is helping out, too.” Just saying his name! She checked herself, focused on her friend. “Why not make some cookies for the silent auction, or even see if they’ll work for the dessert buffet?”
“Cookies? At a black-tie event?” Kara didn’t look convinced.
“Hey, you have to start somewhere, and this kind of exposure doesn’t present itself all the time.”
Kara took a deep breath. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask.” She bit her lip, fighting a smile. “Okay, ask him for me.”
Ivy felt her blood go cold. “Ask him for you?”
“Brett. Could you ask him for me?”
“But you’re his cousin!” Ivy cried.
“So? Mark is his brother! My boss! I don’t even know how to bring it up! But maybe if you mentioned you’d had my cookies, and they were really good…” She stopped walking. “Oh, please, Ivy. He likes you.”
No, actually, he didn’t like her. Not in the way she’d once wanted him to, at least.
Ivy stared into the pleading eyes of her friend, kicking herself for even bringing it up. She shouldn’t have said anything. Should have let Kara figure it out for herself.
But she wasn’t that kind of friend.
“Oh. Fine.” She sighed, feeling it roll through her shoulders.
“Great, let’s call him now.”
Her eyes sprang open. She’d been planning to mention it next time she talked to him about the flowers, in a real meeting, of a professional nature. But to call him… Her heart began to race and despite the cool evening air, she felt hot and clammy.
Kara moved to a bench under the glow of a lamppost. “I have his number—”
“I have his number,” Ivy said. Gritting her teeth, she reached into her bag and pulled out the phone. Sure enough, there in her contacts list was Brett’s name.
Kara rubbed her hands together nervously as, with a pounding heart, Ivy tapped Brett’s number and put the phone to her ear. Her stomach churned with dread as the first ring went through. She didn’t know what she would do if he answered.
Her breath was heavy, and she moved the receiver slightly lest he catch her panting on the other end when he answered. Instead, the call went to voicemail. So, perhaps there was a God after all.
“Hey, Brett, it’s Ivy. Um, Ivy Birch.” She cleared her throat, her mind going blank. In front of her, Kara was clenching two fists to her mouth, her big blue eyes watching her. “I’m here with Kara and we had an idea for the dessert buffet at the fundraiser. So um…” Blank. It was all blank. What next?
Suddenly it came to her: She should tell him to call Kara.
But before she could say just that, Kara whispered frantically, “Tell him to call you back.”
“So call me back.”
Oh crap, what had she done? She’d just told the man who was hell-bent on telling her that he wasn’t interested in her to call her back. It’s just what he wanted. Just what he expected, she was sure. To find some lame excuse to have the guy who rejected you still interact with you.
Ivy disconnected the call with a shaking hand.
Now she had the pleasure of waiting for Brett to call her back. And no doubt he’d be assuming that she’d found a reason to call him just to hear his voice.
Brett walked into the break room and pulled open the fridge, grinning to himself at the carefully labeled items that lined its shelves. Forest Ridge Hospital might be a far cry from what he was used to in Baltimore, but some things were consistent, like triple-labeled yogurt containers and notices of the wrath that might happen if he accidentally took one. Instead, he reached for his own not so carefully labeled jug of orange juice and took a long sip, straight from the bottle.
It had been a busier shift than he’d expected, and he was happy for it, even if his heart was beating a little faster than usual. In the week since he’d been back, he’d already adjusted to the slower pace, already forgotten the jolt that came with thinking quick, reacting on instinct and years of training. With each case he successfully handled, he was that much closer to getting back to normal—and that much closer to a position in a bigger and busier emergency room.
With the orange juice container in hand, he pulled a plastic chair out from an empty table and dropped into it. He was used to being on his feet for hours, and most of the time he didn’t have time to even think about it until he was finally able to relax for a few minutes.
He glanced up at the TV in the corner, where the local news was relaying the week’s weather forecast, and pulled out his phone. He skimmed through his emails, frowning at the one from his old coworker asking how he was settling in, and moved on to missed calls. Predictably, one from his mother and one from Mark. Less predictably, one from a number he didn’t recognize. For a minute, his heart skipped a beat, betraying that little fact he’d come to accept: His dad was long gone, wasn’t looking for him, and Brett would never hear from him again. He’d come to that conclusion years before, but he couldn’t deny the ping of disappointment when he realized it was a local area code. Briar Creek. Definitely not his father. Connecting to voicemail, he wedged the phone in his ear and took another sip from his drink.
His pulse flickered with interest as Ivy’s hesitant, sweet voice flowed into his ear. The connection was bad—there was wind in the background, no doubt an early hint of the storm that blew in an hour ago—but her final words were clear as crystal.
He disconnected the call with a smile. So Ivy Birch wanted him to call her, did she?
He was looking forward to it more than he probably should. Looking forward to hearing the soft melody of her laugh, hearing that soft, feminine sound filling his senses.
He ran a hand over his jaw, recalling the way she looked that other night at the bar. There were moments of flirtation in there. A few glimpses of the woman who had caught his eye and showed him a certain level of interest that he’d then acted on. But only a few. By the end of the conve
rsation, those electric eyes were positively blazing with indignation, and she’d all but left him coolly in her wake, just like she had every other time he saw her since he’d moved back.
A beeping alerted him at the same time Jackie, one of the night nurses, appeared in the door frame, out of breath and paler than usual. “There you are. We’ve been looking for you. Ambulance just pulled in.”
Brett was on his feet, already meeting her in the hallway. “What do we have?”
“Single car accident into a phone pole. Driver is a forty-five-year-old male, unconscious with a severe head laceration, considered critical.”
“Blood alcohol?”
“Zero. It appears to be on account of the storm.”
“Any other passengers in the car?”
“Two. Also critical. Forty-two-year-old woman in the passenger seat, also unconscious. The child is being taken straight to surgery.”
Brett marched into a triage room as the patient was being wheeled in and began scrubbing in frantically. He should have been here, strolling the ER, waiting to see what was rolling through the doors next, instead of sitting in the break room, thinking of Ivy. Or his dad.
Snapping on his gloves, he crossed the room to the patient as the residents and nurses were checking his BP and pulse ox. He opened the patient’s eyes, looking for any sign of reaction from the pupils, and with a glance at the chart said, “Mr. Bauer, this is Dr. Hastings. You’re at Forest Ridge Hospital. You were in a car accident. Your wife and son are here, too. We’re doing everything we can for them.”
His mind went on autopilot as he began calling out orders, managing the bleeding from the deep gash on the man’s forehead and prepping for surgery. By the time the patient left the room, he was stable and maybe even had a fighting chance at a full recovery.
Brett tossed his bloody rubber gloves in the trash and pushed out into the hallway, his heart beating out of his chest, his mind whirring at everything that had just happened.
That had been close. Too close. And it couldn’t happen again.
CHAPTER
11
The oven timer buzzed just when Kara had finally managed to calm herself down for the first time since Ivy had called that morning and asked her to bake a dozen of her very best cookies to present to Brett.
She hurried into the kitchen, snatched her trusty pink oven mitt from the counter, and flung open the oven door, releasing smells of warm sugar and chocolate and vanilla. She knew from practice that they had baked for just the right amount of time, and since they passed her vision test, too, she carefully pulled the tray from the oven and set it on the stovetop.
She studied the twelve evenly shaped cookies with a critical eye, looking for any hint of a burned edge, and decided that they would do. They’d have to do, she thought, noticing the time. She’d made two batches, just in case, but she was too nervous to taste test one. It was too late to bake another batch now, and really, she had perfected this recipe, having made it enough times to know exactly what it tasted like. Of all the cookies she made, this was her staple. Classic milk chocolate chip. With a secret twist.
Her heart began to race as she slid off her oven mitt and reached for the spatula. Steady, she told herself as she transferred each golden cookie to the cooling rack. She glanced at the clock and then turned, leaning back against the pristine counter and looking around the equally clean kitchen. She always did that—cleaned up her mess once the treats went into the oven. Anna had taught her that trick back when she’d first started working at the café, and the habit had stuck. Anna had taught her other things, too, like the best way to prebake a piecrust or how to ensure a perfectly flaky croissant each time—cold butter. Anna had taught her many things, but the cookies… The cookies were Kara’s creation.
She turned, unable to resist, and checked them again, feeling that same surge of relief when she confirmed they had come out just right. Honestly, she didn’t know what she was getting so nervous about. This was Brett—her cousin! But also Mark’s brother. There was no overlooking that part. She just hoped that too much didn’t get back to Mark and Anna. It wasn’t that she wanted to undermine them, but more that, as Ivy had said, this really had nothing to do with them. When the time came for her to finally open her cookie business, she needed to be the one to break the news. She checked the clock again, and her heart dropped straight to her stomach. Ivy would be here in less than five minutes, and then… then the real waiting would begin. She didn’t know the first thing about starting, much less running, her own business, and when Ivy had pointed out that this fundraiser was a rare opportunity that wouldn’t come around again for another year, she knew she had no choice but to check her fears at the door, stop second-guessing herself, and take a chance. If she didn’t now, then when?
She thought about the cookies she’d given to Anna, wondering what had been said, if anything…
Don’t start thinking that way, she told herself. She had a chance now. And maybe it wouldn’t pan out. She wouldn’t know if she didn’t try. And if didn’t work out…
She pulled in a breath. She didn’t even want to think about that right now.
There was a knock at the front door, and Kara called out, “Come in!” as she reached for a pastry box and began transferring the cookies, still slightly warm to the touch but not too warm to fall apart—imagine that!
The nerves were dancing around in her stomach again, fluttering in her chest, as Ivy came into the kitchen, grinning broadly. “It smells so good in here! I could drink the air.”
It was just the boost Kara needed. “Here,” she said, proffering a platter of her first batch. “Have one.”
Ivy’s smile slipped a bit as she eyed the cookies. She reached out a hand and took one from the top. “I just had a big meal, so I think I’ll save it for later, when I can enjoy it.”
Kara plucked a plastic bag from the top drawer and handed it to Ivy. “So what time are you meeting Brett?”
“In twenty minutes. Are you sure you won’t come with me?”
It was at least the fourth time Ivy had asked this question, and Kara was starting to feel like she was putting her friend out. She added a few more cookies to the plastic bag and then just emptied the entire contents of the platter into it.
“I’m worried that if I go, Brett will have a hard time saying no. I don’t want him doing me a favor just because I’m his cousin.”
“So you don’t want me to tell him you made these until after he’s made his decision?” Ivy clarified.
Kara hesitated, but only for a moment. She didn’t need charity, not if she was going to try to make something of this… hobby. “Only once he’s decided.”
“If you say so.” Ivy put the bag of cookies into her tote and, more carefully, accepted the pastry box of the last batch. “You know, if he says yes, you’ll need to come up with a logo for these boxes.”
Kara’s pulse quickened. She’d thought of that herself, but she didn’t want to admit it. No sense in getting ahead of herself.
“Okay, then. I’m off.” Ivy turned but stopped when she reached the front door. “Wish me luck,” she said, her tone laced with trepidation.
But Kara knew she was really the one who needed the luck. That and something to get her through the next few hours while she waited for her fate to be sealed. She wrung her hands, wondering what to do with herself. She could only hope and pray that if her cookies didn’t speak for themselves, that Ivy might be able to sweet-talk Brett.
The plan was simple. Brett would swing by the shop, she’d hand him the cookies, and off he’d go. And then… out of sight, out of mind. At least, that was the plan. As for the out of mind part, she was still working on that.
Saturday mornings were always busy. No doubt her regulars would be there. Mrs. Griffin would probably be mulling over her weekend arrangement, allowing Ivy to maintain a professional distance with Brett that she so desperately needed to maintain. After all, they were working together for the hospital fundraiser, a
nd that’s all this little meet-up was. Business.
Ivy pulled her car into the alley spot she paid for monthly but couldn’t do without for her deliveries and let herself in the shop through the back door. She set the pastry box on her worktable and then went into the back room to deposit the bag of cookies Kara had so generously given her on the counter. She was having dinner with Henry and Jane tonight. Now she wouldn’t need to worry about what to bring.
Her green and white ticking-striped apron was hanging on its usual hook on the back of the storeroom door, and Ivy bit her lip, wondering if she should put it on now or wait until after Brett had stopped by instead. Nonsense. What did it matter how she looked? She could be wearing a strapless, form-fitting cocktail dress and he probably still wouldn’t care or notice. He wasn’t interested, and no amount of fretting over her appearance would change that sad fact.
She tied the strings tightly in the hope of making her waist look just a little slimmer, telling herself it was for her own confidence, because after all, she deserved to feel good about herself in the company of a man who had rejected her, and marched over to the front door to turn the sign. She had hoped Brett would have been available to stop by in the middle of the day when for sure there would be a steady flow of traffic to keep things breezy and quick, but he’d said he had a late-night shift at the hospital, and she hadn’t dared offer to drop them off at his house, even if she planned to do it when he wasn’t home. No doubt he’d see that as her being eager, looking for an excuse to see his bed or something, and really, she couldn’t care less what his bed looked like.
Or what he looked like in it.
Ivy tapped her lips together, just to make sure some of the gloss was still there, and then went to the sink to fill her galvanized watering can. The mornings were usually her favorite part of the day. She loved the way the sun filtered through the big floor-to-ceiling windows at the front of the shop, and the eaves of the big maple tree dipped into view, casting long shadows and filling the top corner of the glass with bursts of green or, in the autumn, vibrant orange and fiery red. She loved the way Main Street was just coming alive when she came downstairs each morning, the way she was greeted each day by a room that popped with colors and soft fragrances. It was soothing and peaceful and so very different from the way her mornings used to start, back when she and Henry were still living with their mom in that drab old farmhouse desperately in need of a fresh coat of paint and a wreath on the front door.
