Love Blooms on Main Street

by Olivia Miles

  It should have been him. Not some neighbor. Not even Aunt Rosemary. He was her son. And he’d turned his back on her… for his career.

  He wouldn’t do that to another woman.

  He turned to go. Ivy was fine, he told himself. She’d been fine when he walked her back here last night—fresh faced, full of energy—making it easy for him to overlook what had happened, how badly she’d scared him, how she’d touched upon that fear he’d tried to stamp out over the years. She was probably upstairs, enjoying her day. Or off with friends. Possibly, she was even on a date.

  He frowned at the thought of it.

  He’d go to the gym, he decided. It was the one true release this town offered him.

  He started retracing his steps back to the corner when the sound of a window sliding open caught his attention, following promptly by the sound of his name.

  He turned to follow the voice and saw Ivy poking her head out of the window above the shop. Her auburn hair cascaded down, drawing shadows on her face and shielding the better part of it from view. He yearned to reach up, brush it behind her ear, just for a full glimpse of that smile.

  “I saw you standing down there. We’re closed on Sundays, but I can make an exception for the man who hates flowers.”

  He grinned. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”

  “Nope. What’s the occasion? Your mom’s birthday is January eighth. Is there another special lady in your life?”

  Was there? He looked up at Ivy, feeling his pulse begin to race. “How’d you remember my mom’s birthday?”

  “I told you. I’m in the business of knowing these things.”

  He couldn’t think of more than three or four people who knew his birthday, and he was ashamed to realize that he would have had to pause and think about his mother’s for a little longer than it took Ivy to rattle it off. It was one of the differences between their businesses, he supposed, but he couldn’t fight a twinge of guilt that stirred within him at the thought.

  “I actually came by to see how you’re feeling,” he called up.

  Ivy hesitated for a moment and then tipped her head. “Let me buzz you in.”

  Brett hesitated, but he did as she suggested and went over to the door between her shop window and the next storefront. Seconds later, the door buzzed, and he pulled it open to climb the stairs and venture one step closer into Ivy’s world.

  He bit back a smile as he hurried to the landing at the top, telling himself over and over that this was a professional visit and that it couldn’t be anything more.

  Ivy frantically gathered the pile of unfolded laundry from her bed and shoved it into the closet. She then tossed the duvet cover onto her bed, grabbed the pillows from the floor, and set them side by side.

  Ridiculous! It wasn’t like he was here for that—and even if he was, she wasn’t up for it. Well… she wasn’t up for the disappointment that would inevitably follow.

  She closed the bedroom door firmly, and then, on second thought, left it open a crack. The living room was passable, save the chenille throw wedged in the corner of the sofa. She rolled it into a ball and then, realizing that looked even worse, tossed it over the back of her secondhand armchair.

  The knock came as she was frantically loading the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher.

  “One second!” she called, dashing into the bathroom. She smoothed her hair and took a deep breath before flicking off the light. Her apartment hadn’t looked this tidy in a while, and all it had taken was fifteen seconds. For the first time, she was grateful for its minuscule size.

  She flung open the door, not sure if her heart was pounding from nerves or the mad sprint around the three tiny rooms that constituted her home, but the sight of Brett in her door frame confirmed it was the former. Her pulse skipped a beat as his chocolate-brown eyes met hers and his lips curved into that slow, sexy smile. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out, so she simply took a step back and grinned as he crossed the threshold.

  He looked big and out of place in the living room, drawing attention to its small scale and lack of male visitors. Henry was the only constant man in her life, and she usually saw him at his house, not here.

  When her girlfriends popped by, they usually sat together on the sofa or one took the chair, but they were shorter than Brett and smaller boned. Instead, Brett seemed to tower, filling the narrow space between the television and the coffee table, and Ivy ushered him to sit.

  He arranged himself on the edge of the sofa, as if suggesting she share it with him.

  She eyed the armchair. It would be the sensible thing to do.

  “How about some coffee?” She waited, wondering what he would say, if the purpose of his visit was purely professional, if he would start berating her about her diet, question her setback yesterday. She couldn’t bear it. Even if he wasn’t interested in her romantically, and even if they were just friends, she didn’t need another reminder in her life of how different she was. She didn’t want the white-glove treatment. If anything, she wouldn’t mind Brett getting a bit rough with her.

  Oh, Ivy.

  “Coffee sounds good,” Brett said, plucking a throw pillow out from behind his back. He set it to the side and hooked his ankle on the opposite knee, watching her expectantly.

  “Great. So… I’ll be right back.” She calmly walked into her kitchen, but she struggled to push back the small thrill that Brett was in her apartment, sitting on her couch.

  How many nights had she lain in bed, dreaming of this type of scenario? Only in her fantasies, she would wake to his fingers stroking her bare back, his smooth, sleepy voice whispering in her ear, and after a round of morning pleasure, she’d lazily climb from the tangled sheets, slip on one of his shirts (because there would be shirts, and they would be his, because maybe he lived with her by then… she’d never thought out those details), and pad into the kitchen, humming a little song under her breath while she prepared a breakfast tray, complete with a vase and flower (she’d always envisioned a red tulip) for the man who was waiting for her in bed, propped up on an elbow, chest bare, smile positively wicked.

  She sighed now and then stared at the flickering blue flames on the gas range, not knowing how long had passed. Quickly, she filled the kettle, set it to boil, and began filling the French press’s carafe with coffee grounds.

  “Milk or sugar?” she asked, poking her head around the corner. He was standing now, inspecting some of her paintings.

  “Neither,” he replied.

  She smiled briefly and pulled back into the kitchen, her pulse racing. She decided to busy herself by preparing a tray while she waited for the water to boil—anything to avoid going in there and talking to him until she had officially gathered her wits.

  So he was wearing a mossy green T-shirt that brought out some flecks around his irises. So his hair looked adorably disheveled. So his shoulders looked even broader than ever, giving her a little thrill followed by a horrible sinking feeling when she recalled how good it felt to push up against his chest.

  The kettle whistled—a high, unforgiving pitch—and with a shaking hand, Ivy flicked the knob and filled the glass carafe. Brett was back in place on the sofa when she entered the room.

  “Here you go, sir,” she said, setting down the tray and handing him a mug.

  “Thanks.” He took a sip and leaned back casually. After a beat, his brow pinched. “Aren’t you going to sit?”

  “Oh.” Ivy wrung her hands, her eyes darting from the sofa to the chair. It was a really small sofa. So small that when Henry came back to town last summer, he had refused to sleep on it, even though he wanted to hover about and watch her every move.

  But to sit on the armchair across the room might be formal and… unwelcoming.

  She slid onto the sofa next to him, sinking deep into the old cushions, as casually as she would with an old friend, though certainly not such a handsome one.

  “How are you feeling?” His tone was conversational,
but she winced all the same. This was what she was afraid of, what she avoided with anyone she could.

  “Fine.” She blew on her coffee and took a sip. “Thanks again for yesterday.”

  He shrugged. “That’s what friends are for.”

  There was that word again. She wasn’t so sure how she felt about it yet. “Is that what we are? Friends?” Growing up, they’d been classmates. They’d gotten along well, hung out in the same social circles, and attended the same parties, even partnered together on some school projects.

  “We could give it a try,” Brett said. “I’m willing if you are.”

  Ivy held his gaze, hating the part of her that wanted to cry out that no, she didn’t want to be friends. Not just friends. How could she be friends with someone who had kissed her so intensely and just as easily walked away? He’d rejected her. And it stung. But he was also being nice to her. Showing her that sweeter, tender side that had made her fall for him in the first place, all those years ago.

  She smiled sadly. Briar Creek was a small town. Too small for enemies. And after yesterday, Brett knew her better than most in this town. In some ways, he was now closer to her than Grace or Kara. She wasn’t so sure how she felt about that. Could she trust him with her secret?

  She held out her hand and gritted her teeth against the spasm of lust that shot through her when he took it in his palm, warm from the heat of his mug. “Friends.”

  His grin widened, exposing that quirk in his cheek. “I wasn’t sure you’d agree to it after…”

  She frowned. Was he… blushing? His cheeks were definitely a bit pinker than usual. Brett the ninth grader, who seemed so sweet and accessible and yet so untouchable all the same, had blushed—when he was forced to do a presentation in English class, when he’d won first place in the science fair. But Brett the bachelor who had all the girls at Forest Ridge Hospital swooning? That Brett didn’t blush.

  Yet somehow he just had.

  She fought off a smile. “Aw, you’re not all that bad. Believe me, I’ve known worse.”

  He seemed to not know whether to laugh or frown, so she decided to make it easy for him. “Let’s see, there was the guy who turned out to be engaged. The one who ended up having a criminal record. Petty theft, but still.” She shrugged, amused.

  Brett choked on his coffee. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, but I can.” Ivy shrugged. “So, really, Brett, I’m flattered that you’re so concerned about my welfare, but I’m a big girl, you’re a big boy, and it was just a kiss.”

  “Just a kiss.” His eyes locked with hers and she glanced away.

  “So,” she said, huffing out a breath. “I’ve told you all my dirty secrets. Now it’s your turn.”

  His eyes flashed for a second and a muscle in his jaw flinched. “Not much to tell, I’m afraid.”

  “Never been dumped, I take it.” Of course not.

  He shook his head softly. “Always been the dumper, I’m afraid.”

  Figured. Ivy pursed her lips and set her coffee down. It wasn’t personal. It was just who he was. But the part that hurt was that she’d never stood a chance.

  “Well, some advice from one friend to another,” she forced out. “Don’t go breaking any hearts around here. If you do, Rosemary and her book club will be beating down your door, planning an intervention.”

  His laugh was low and throaty, like rich gravel. She could get used to that sound.

  “What do you have planned for the rest of the day?” she asked. See, this was nice. A week ago a question like that would make her worried she sounded suggestive or eager, but now that they were friends, it was totally normal. Yep, totally and completely normal. About as normal as gazing into your friend’s eyes and wishing he would just lunge across the couch and slide his hands between your thighs.

  “I might hit the gym. How about you?”

  “I have to go to the flower market tonight, so I’ll probably catch a nap beforehand.”

  “At midnight.” Damn. He looked so cute when he cocked that eyebrow.

  “Yep. Midnight.”

  He leaned back into a cushion. “I’m curious about this market. It must be pretty special to drag yourself there at that hour.”

  “I’d invite you along, but seeing as you hate flowers so much—”

  “Maybe this market will change my mind.” He grinned.

  She blinked. He wasn’t… He couldn’t be suggesting he join her? “You did hear me say midnight, right?”

  “Honey, I’m an ER doctor. I’m used to operating at that hour.” He leaned over and set his mug on the tray. “Besides, I should probably tag along, give some input for the fundraiser. It’s fast approaching.”

  Ivy felt a little flicker of panic when she considered all the work she needed to do. “True.”

  His lips curved into an easy smile that made her stomach roll over. “It’s a date then.”

  Ivy swallowed and pushed the swell of her heart back where it belonged. “It’s a date.”

  CHAPTER

  18

  Brett was downstairs waiting at half past eleven when Ivy slipped out the front door, holding two thermoses of coffee and wearing a grin that made him stand a little straighter.

  “We’re taking the wagon,” she informed him, jingling her car keys. Before he could protest, she added, “It’s the only way to transport the flowers.”

  “Just how many are you planning on buying?” he asked.

  She grinned knowingly. “You’ll see.”

  “Something tells me I’m going to regret tagging along,” he joked.

  Ivy stopped walking, her face serious in the glow of the sensor light behind the alley when she turned to him. “You don’t need to come if you changed your mind.”

  Like hell. Now that he was here, with her again, that familiar twinge was back. He didn’t want to go. The few hours that had passed since he’d left her apartment had been long, and even a few hours in the gym with Mark and a homemade dinner with his mother had done little to dull the emotion that was building in his chest. It was one he recognized but one he seldom experienced outside of the hospital when he was waiting for an ambulance to arrive. Anticipation.

  He jammed his hands into his pockets. “No, I think I should go. For the benefit and all…”

  She didn’t question the excuse, and he waited outside the passenger door while she slipped into the car and popped his lock. The engine started without much trouble, and he felt a flicker of pride, wondering if his dad would feel the same, if his dad would have even cared.

  He didn’t think of him when he was in Baltimore or when he was working. It was one of the perks of being away from here. There weren’t any reminders. He could compartmentalize his life into nice, neat boxes. Most of the time. Here in Briar Creek… everything overlapped. There were too many ties. Too much history. It was messy. And he didn’t like messy.

  Which was exactly why he shouldn’t be going for a midnight road trip with a girl he was wildly attracted to. A girl with health problems. A girl who could end up being an official patient one day if she didn’t take proper care of herself.

  His gut tightened at the thought.

  “So,” Ivy said, once they were on the road that took them straight out of town, “you aren’t going to cause a scene or anything, are you? Because I can promise you that everyone who is at the market will love flowers about as much as I do. You need a florist license to get in.”

  “I promise I’ll behave,” he said when she met his eye for a moment before skirting it back to the road. Only he wasn’t so sure he wanted to behave when he trailed his gaze down over the curve of her breasts to linger on her endlessly long legs.

  “So, let me get this straight. You don’t like flowers because you see them around the hospital too much.”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” he said, shifting in the seat. It was hard and uncomfortable, and he doubted he’d ever get the hint of rose scent out of his clothing.

  “I’ve got tim
e,” Ivy said, flicking her turn signal, even though there wasn’t another car in sight in any direction.

  He hesitated. “I was in high school when my mom was diagnosed with cancer.” He didn’t know why he was bothering with this, why he couldn’t have just made up an excuse—he was good at that. But something about being here with Ivy in this dark car, the radio turned off, the road open, gave him a sense of peace and connection he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  “I remember,” Ivy said, and he could detect a hint of regret in her tone. Normally, that type of thing would make him slam on the brakes, but her gentle encouragement was different than overt pressing, and so he decided to go on.

  “My dad had been gone for years by then, and it was just me and Mark. He stayed back from going to culinary school initially to help.” He shook his head, squinting at the unfairness of it. The horrible position they had all been put in—boys forced to grow up too quickly, his mother left with no one else to depend on. “I just remember wishing, more than anything, that there was something I could do to make it stop. To make her better. And wishing there was another adult, since my dad wasn’t around to step in and take control of the situation.”

  “And instead they sent flowers,” Ivy finished.

  “Yep. Flowers and balloons, and more flowers. And every time the nurse knocked on the door holding a new bouquet, it was a fresh reminder that there was nothing anyone could do to help. Not the way we needed to be helped.”

  “They did what they could to show they cared. That they were thinking of you.”

  Brett narrowed his eyes at the road. “Deep down I knew that, but I felt so helpless at the time. I swore I would never feel that helpless again.”

  “Is that why you became a doctor?”

  “I hated hospitals. Never wanted to step foot in one again. But I never wanted to feel that way again, either.”

  Ivy turned onto the highway and stepped on the accelerator. The engine revved and clanked, and Brett eyed her for a reaction, but from the casual way she merged into the empty lane, he could only surmise she was used to it.