Love Blooms on Main Street (12 page)

He tipped his head, giving her a knowing smile.

“If you must know, your cousin made them.” Ivy set her hands on her hips with a sigh of exasperation. She hadn't intended to tell him that part until after he had officially agreed to let them be some part of the fundraiser, just as Kara had asked her, but he liked them, and she didn't see any harm in being up front now.

“My cousin? Which one?” He tipped his head, curious.

“Kara.” Did he honestly think Luke was a possibility? And everyone knew Molly was still in Boston.

He looked thrown for a moment and stared down at the box with newfound interest. “Kara made these?”

Ivy felt suddenly defensive of her friend. “She has quite a talent.”

“I thought she was a hostess at Rosemary and Thyme,” Brett said, squinting at her.

Ivy licked her bottom lip. “Yes, well, she actually works in the office now, but she worked for Anna at the Fireside Café before it burned down, and she learned a lot. I think she has a real chance of making something out of this. She just needs an opportunity to get things off the ground.”

“And you think the fundraiser will help?”

Ivy grinned. “I was hoping so.”

Brett studied another cookie, then took a bite. “Why didn't she just ask me herself?”

“I think she wanted to be judged on merit, not on her relation to you.”

“I get that.” He finished the cookie and closed the box.

“You?” Ivy managed not to snort. “But you're Brett Hastings. You were valedictorian of our class, you had near perfect SAT scores, and you got a full ride to an Ivy League school. You won every science fair, you were captain of the lacrosse team, and—” And she'd just gone completely fangirl on him.

Her cheeks flamed with heat as she caught the devilish glint in his eye. His smile was wide, revealing that elusive dimple that used to make her heart swell at the slightest glimpse, and Ivy pinched her lips. She'd said enough for one day. She'd said enough for a lifetime.

“Let's just say that I know all about being judged,” she finished.

His expression folded, and she hated the look of compassion she saw in his eyes. Hated that it felt good. Hated that it made him seem so approachable, so… nice. She didn't want to think of him as nice. Nice was the guy she held a candle for all those years. Nice wasn't the guy who inflated with every perceived compliment thrown his way.

“Believe it or not, I dealt with my share of rumors, too,” he said. “When your dad's restaurant fails and then he disappears with one of his coworkers, people talk.”

“I'm sorry,” Ivy said.

“Don't be.” Brett shrugged. “You get it. Few do.”

Now, why'd he have to go and do that? She didn't need him coming in here, pointing out things they had in common, bonding over crappy things in their youth. It didn't matter if they had a connection in the past. What mattered was that they had no chance of a future.

He wasn't interested in one. She barely was, either.

“So should I give Kara the good news, or do you want to?”

“I'll stop by her place on my way to your brother's. They live out that way, right?”

Ivy eyed him carefully. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't. “Jane and Henry live out near the lake, yes. When are you going out there?”

“Tonight. They invited me for dinner.”

“Tonight,” Ivy repeated. The very same night she was having dinner with Jane and Henry. “I'll be there, too.”

His smile faltered enough to make her wonder what exactly was spinning through that egotistical mind. He probably thought it was a setup, even though Jane would never do that. Henry either. She opened her mouth to set him straight, just so there wasn't any misunderstanding, but the door opened and a voice trilled, “Oh, Ivy! Hellooooo!”

Ivy did her best to mask her impatience. Mrs. Griffin. About ten minutes too late.

“I should go attend to my customer,” she said, scooting out from behind the workstation. She reached for the cookie box at the same time Brett did and laughed nervously at the misstep, but when she looked up into Brett's piercing gaze, she noticed he wasn't laughing at all. The ease of the conversation had faded, and in its place was a heat and intensity she'd be best to avoid.

And she would. Tomorrow. But first she had to get through dinner tonight.

M
ark was in the kitchen, whisking a white sauce that Brett knew from his childhood to be a classic béchamel, when Brett stopped by the restaurant later that day. Normally his older brother put him in a good mood and made him focus on the lighter things in life, but he couldn't shake the burden on his shoulders, the knowledge that he'd sent the résumé, updated to reflect his temporary position at Forest Ridge and his participation in the hospital's fundraiser, and that now all he could do was wait and see what happened.

Every time he thought of it, his stomach rolled over. He knew rationally that there were other hospitals in other cities that would eventually have a position open, but that fact did little to reassure him. There was a strong chance he wouldn't get the position in DC, maybe not even be brought in for an interview, and he had to brace himself for the worst-case scenario. The problem was, there were only so many setbacks he could pull himself back from, and his confidence wasn't what it used to be. A new position in a department he was excited about might be just the fresh start he needed to get over this dark spot in his career for good.

And hopefully, his time in Briar Creek would help erase the ghosts from his past once and for all.

“You look tired,” was the first thing out of his brother's mouth.

“Thanks for the compliment,” Brett shot back. “It was busy last night. Car accident.”

“Everyone okay?” Mark frowned.

Brett shrugged. “They were okay when I handed them off to surgery.”

“But now?” Mark tossed a rag over his shoulder, giving him his full attention.

“Don't know. I was already on to the next patient,” Brett replied, ignoring the pinch of his brother's brow. He looked around the busy kitchen, eager to change the subject. “I thought the restaurant didn't open for another hour,” Brett commented, even though he knew as well as his brother what restaurant hours entailed. Their father was barely home when they were kids, and when he was, he was too tired—or stressed—to do much of anything, except fight with their mother. Brett couldn't remember a time they weren't fighting—the good times must have been before he'd been born or could form clear memories. Brett tried not to dwell on the disappointment he'd felt growing up, when the other kids had fathers helping out at scout meetings or volunteering to coach the after-school baseball team, and he and Mark only had each other or, technically, their mom. But he didn't want his mom coming to the scout meetings, even when she offered. He saw that hurt that passed through her eyes when he turned her down, and he felt bad about it, too, but it didn't change the cold hard fact that she was his mother and other kids… they had fathers. Fathers who didn't spend 365 days a year running a business. Fathers who didn't skip out on holidays and birthdays. Fathers who didn't run out of town and never return or be heard from again.

He'd told himself he was different, that he loved his family, thought of them often, that he was just doing his job. But the sorry truth was he'd stayed away, put his career before all else. Before his mother.

And she'd always put him first.

He wouldn't be letting another woman down like that. Not if he could help it.

“You and I know a restaurant is always open. Unofficially speaking.” Mark gave a few instructions to another chef at the station and nudged his head toward the door leading to the dining room. “You have time for a drink?”

“I was hoping to see Kara, actually,” Brett said, not wanting to lose sight of his reason for stopping by. He'd hoped to tell her in person how much he loved her cookies and see how she felt about Ivy's suggestion to use them as a take-home gift. From everything he'd seen with Kara off and on over the years, she was always waffling between jobs that didn't seem to rely on any specific set of experience. But then, his visits had become less frequent, especially when he was finishing up his residency, so perhaps he'd misjudged her.

“She doesn't work weekends anymore,” Mark explained. “Anna promoted her to help out in the office, so she's coming in during the day shift.”

Brett wondered if he should mention the cookies and decided against it. He wanted to tell Kara the good news first. She deserved to hear it before anyone else.

“That drink sounds good then.” And it did. He hadn't expected to be having dinner with Ivy again tonight… not that he wasn't looking forward to a meal with a pretty girl. But there was something between them, something that was evolving, that made him wary. He liked being around her, even though he couldn't be so sure she felt the same. But he needed to leave it as friends, keep the attraction at bay.

Mark poured them each a beer from the tap and came around the bar to sit on a stool. “I'm whipped.”

“Working tonight then?”

Mark took a sip of his drink. “I was supposed to have it off, but one of my sous chefs called in, so here I am.” He shrugged. “It's not so bad, though. We're closed on Mondays, and Anna and I usually take another night off each week now that we have a good team in place. Besides, I can hardly complain about long hours when I'm talking to you.”

“True.” Brett sighed heavily, looking around the room, trying to remember the way it was before, back when it was their dad's place. He hadn't stopped to do that the last time he came in. Maybe because he wasn't ready. Maybe because it all looked so different. Or maybe because it had been so many years he didn't give a damn anymore.

He swallowed back the bitter taste that filled his mouth. That was a lie and he knew it. He did care. He'd always care.

He eyed his brother over the rim of his glass. “Can I ask you a question?”

Mark nodded. “Shoot.”

“Does it ever bother you that you followed in Dad's footsteps?” Brett watched as Mark's jaw squared in defense. “I mean, this restaurant, this location… It used to be Tavern on Main.”

“That was years ago,” Mark said tensely. “It switched hands many times over the years before Anna and I decided to open Rosemary and Thyme. But to answer your question, I think about it sometimes. It bothered me at first, but now… Now I see it as a chance to rewrite history. I'm not Dad. I never will be.”

Brett wondered if he could say the same for himself.

He'd hated that his dad was a workaholic, that he'd put his business before his family, before his kids. But now… Brett rubbed a hand over his jaw and reached for his beer. Now he couldn't help wondering if he was doing the same thing. Putting career before all else.

Patients
before all else. He shook the cobwebs from his mind. It wasn't the same. His dad wasn't saving lives. People weren't depending on him the way they were with Brett. The only people depending on his dad were his family. And he'd failed them.

But Brett had, too.

“I had planned to leave town, you know,” Mark continued.

Brett slanted a glance at his brother. “I didn't know. When was this?”

“About a year ago. I was stuck at Hastings, hating it, and a fresh start sounded nice.”

Brett understood. “What made you change your mind?”

“Anna,” Mark said with a wink. “And Mom. All that time I thought I was running that diner to help her out. It turned out she was letting me run it because she thought it made me happy.”

“She always did like that place. I didn't realize it at first. I always thought it was sad when she started working there, doing everything she could to keep a roof over our heads.” Brett swallowed hard, hating the thought of those nights he'd wake up to use the bathroom or get a drink of water and see the glow of a lamplight from the base of the stairs, and the sinking feeling he had knowing his mother was probably sitting at the dining room table, with a pile of bills spread out in front of her, trying to figure her way out of the mess their father had left when he'd skipped town.

“She loved it, though. She liked being out. Seeing people. Friends. Neighbors. She was like Dad in that way.”

Brett had been eight when his dad left. He really couldn't say whether this was true or not.

“It's not a bad joint,” Mark added. “I didn't mind taking it over when she relapsed.”

Brett's pulse flickered, and he brought the glass to his lips. He didn't want to talk about this. Didn't want to think about any of it. He'd been in college when the cancer had come back. And he'd stayed there while Mark came home and held down the fort.

He knew it was what his mother told him to do. He was headed for med school; he had that scholarship to Yale, after all. But was it what he should have done?

The answer had kept him awake too many nights and driven him to work harder than ever, to be the best damn doctor he could be. To make the most of his decision to stay in school, pursue his degree. Even if he couldn't save his mother, he could save someone else. The sacrifice wouldn't be for nothing. He'd promised himself that. And even though she didn't know it, he'd promised his mother that, too.

“Mom's really happy you're home,” Mark admitted, and Brett pulled in a long breath. Guilt landed square in chest, needling and prickly, reminding him of the résumé that had been sent that morning and the hurt she would feel when he took off again.

He wanted to spare her that hurt. But sticking around Briar Creek couldn't change the past. It would only ever remind him of it.

He drained his beer. He had come back to town for a temporary stay, hoping to make the most of it, to better his mindset, prepare for the next phase in his career. There was nothing more to it than that.

The sun was beating down on the pavement when Brett finally left the restaurant after catching the tail end of a ball game on the television they had in the bar area, wishing that he'd been on call or could have made up a polite excuse not to have dinner with Henry tonight. The last thing he wanted to do right now was sit in that cozy little house and start feeling things he shouldn't when he caught a glimpse of Ivy's smile.

He supposed he should bring a hostess gift. Henry didn't drink—and neither did Ivy—but Jane would appreciate the gesture, and unlike his brother, he was worthless in a kitchen, leaving any offering to be of the store-bought variety. He walked down Main Street, toward the grocery store at the far end, watching in growing curiosity as the revving of a dying car engine filled the otherwise quiet evening and a woman climbed out of a bright orange vehicle and started beating the hood.

A woman who looked a lot like Ivy.

His heart sped up with interest as he increased his pace, until he could make out the little wrinkle on her forehead as she set her hands on her hips and glared daggers at the station wagon. He knew that look, he thought wryly. He'd been on the receiving end of it more than once since returning to town. The girl was fiery, with a spark he found undeniably attractive. Most of the girls he'd casually dated would say or do anything they thought would please him. He couldn't have a relationship with someone like that. But Ivy spoke her mind, stayed true to herself. She was the kind of girl who could share things, enlighten him, and keep things interesting for a long time.

If he were looking for that type of thing, of course.

He paused a few feet from the car and watched in stunned silence as she set down her bulging handbag and hit the hood of her car with all her might.

“What are you doing?” he asked, laughing under his breath.

She looked momentarily startled to see him. Her blue-green eyes flashed on him, sparking with awareness that she was being watched, but she just pinched her lips and shrugged. “It just needs a good pounding,” she explained, giving it another hard slap.

He struggled to compose himself. “A good
pounding
?”

“Yep.” She smacked it again, wincing as she pressed her red palm to the other hand.

She smacked it again, and this time he winced with her. That had to have hurt.

“Here,” he said, stepping off the curb. He pulled back his hand and brought it down to the metal hood. All at once a searing pain burned right through his skin, shooting sparks up his arm. “Jesus! Ow.” He gritted his teeth and shook his arm in the air.

Her smile was wicked. “I'm tougher than you think.” She hit it again and then jiggled her keys. “I think that should do it.”

He stepped back and watched as she slid into the driver's seat, her pretty features pinched in concentration as she turned the key. Sure enough, the engine sputtered and then started, and from behind the windshield he caught her triumphant grin.

“I hope those hands are insured,” she said, poking her head out the window.

They weren't, but he didn't tell her that. Still, she had a point, and he'd be more careful next time.

If
there was a next time. And there wouldn't be. Because he needed to keep his distance from this girl and the way she made him want to fall deep and hard. And because she shouldn't be driving this car around anymore.

He walked over to her open window and leaned inside. He was so close he could smell the vanilla-scented perfume wafting off her skin and hair and that creamy blue dress that hugged her in all the right places.

“You really ought to see a mechanic.”

“Why?” she quipped. “The car's working fine now. It just needed a—”

“A good pounding. I know.” His mouth twitched. He closed his eyes briefly and thought about the worst case he'd ever handled back in Baltimore—motorcycle crash on a highway, no helmet, no padding. “A car shouldn't need a good—” He swallowed hard. “You shouldn't need to beat your car into submission.”

“Well, I don't exactly have money for a new carburetor right now.”

“Ah, so you did see a mechanic.” Brett grinned.

“I did, and I didn't like what he had to tell me. I could pay up, or I could suffer through a few little inconveniences.”