Love Blooms on Main Street (11 page)

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.

T
he 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, and 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.

From an early age, she had brought the outside world in. Even if it was just a buttercup or a dandelion or—before she knew better—an armful of tulips from the neighbor's flower bed, it was a reminder that there was a life beyond those four walls. And a hope for something happier.

When she'd finished inspecting her flower supply and making sure each bloom had enough water, she checked her messages for any orders and jotted down a list for her next twice weekly trip to the wholesale market. June was wedding month, and she had her fill of orders between showers and receptions, but she'd need to get started on the decorations for the annual Fourth of July festival, which was only two weeks away. The garland and swag would be easy—she could just recycle the same ones from previous years—but she wanted to add something fresh to the mix, too, just to keep people on their toes. After all, as Kara had pointed out, very little changed in Briar Creek year after year. Well, except for this summer's arrival of Brett Hastings.

The door jingled as she was halfway through her to-do list, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw Brett standing in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame, his smile slightly hesitant. His eyes looked a bit lost as they took in their surroundings.

Not quite the entrance she'd dreamed about, but it would just have to do.

“Hello there,” she said, tensing at the way her voice practically echoed in the empty space. Normally Mrs. Griffin or Rosemary Hastings popped in first thing, sometimes waiting outside before she'd even turned the sign, tapping their feet and watch simultaneously, claiming she was a minute or two late and that they needed to get a start to their day. But this morning, there was no sign of them, and from a swift sweep of Main Street through the big windows, no one else was on their way in any time soon, either.

It was just her and Brett. Alone.

She could think of nothing worse, even if, up until recently, it was all she had hoped for.

Brett studied the room with a furrowed brow as he took his time approaching the workbench. She stood firmly behind it, grateful for the two and a half feet of solid wood that would separate her body from his, hoping it would be enough to keep the warm musk from filling her senses and making her go all light-headed and start thinking things she shouldn't.

“This is a pretty nice shop you have here.” He stopped at the wrought iron baker's rack where she stored the colorful selection of artisan soaps and candles.

“You sound surprised,” she pointed out. She wasn't surprised by his reaction, though. It
was
a nice shop. She'd made sure of that. She had a vision, one she clung to and refined over the years, but one that never lost focus. She'd carefully selected this location, just down from the town square, with the big windows, exposed brick walls, and wide floor planks. Every single item in this room, from each stem to each pot, was carefully weighed against other options. Even her business cards were hand-stamped from a hand-carved stamp, and she only ever addressed each greeting card with the shade of ink that best matched the bouquet in question.

Let Brett be surprised. Let him even be impressed.

He slid his eyes to her, his mouth pulled into a lopsided smile that made her stomach roll over. “I think I underestimated you.”

Yep. He had. She thrust the pastry box at him. “Here. These are the cookies I mentioned. Kara and I had some the other day at the bookstore and they're delicious. Grace said that several customers complimented them.”

Brett made a face that told her this wasn't going to be as easy as she had hoped. “Do you really think cookies are a good idea for this kind of thing? It's a black-tie event and… I really can't afford to screw this up.”

“Want to impress the new boss, huh?”

His lips thinned. “Something like that.”

“Well, I wouldn't have suggested them if I hadn't thought they'd be a hit. But if you think they're too casual for the dessert buffet, then maybe they'd be better as a party favor. The guests can take them home to their kids. But really, I've never met an adult who doesn't like cookies.”

Brett grinned. “Point made.” He popped the lid and took a cookie from the stack. Without bothering to really look at it, he crammed it into his mouth. Ivy resisted the urge to roll her eyes by gritting her teeth instead. How many times had she seen men do the same thing when they stopped into the shop? Just take a handful of whatever was closest, instead of stopping to pay attention to the details and aesthetics.

It suddenly occurred to her that Brett might need a little more help with this fundraiser than he thought.

She stopped herself right there. She might oversee the decorations for the town's three annual festivals, as well as the Valentine's Day dance, but unless Brett asked for her help directly, she wasn't offering up her services. Something had shifted between them since his return—the same easy conversation they'd once had was gone, replaced by an unspoken tension.

Brett swallowed the cookie and reached for another one. “These might just be the best damn cookies I've ever had.”

Ivy felt her shoulders relax. “Really?”

“Really.” His dark eyes glimmered. “Did you make these? Is that what all this is about?”

Immediately, Ivy felt her smile droop. She stared at him and that cocky grin that curled his full lips as his eyebrow lifted. “I told you, I tried them at the bookstore—”