Love Blooms on Main Street (16 page)

Brett wiped his hands on the towel until they were almost clean. “You still want to see the mechanic about this, but it should work for a while at least. When's the last time you changed your oil?”

Ivy felt herself blanch. She'd been so preoccupied with everything these past few months that she hadn't even thought about things like car maintenance.

“I guess I… forgot.”

Brett slammed the hood shut and shrugged his shoulders good-naturedly. “You might want to do that. Soon.” He winked.

Aw, now why'd he have to do that? A wink and a smile? Damn him.

“You can clean up inside if you'd like,” she suggested. “I have a wash sink in the back room. And there's water in the fridge.”

“Great.” Brett grabbed the dirty towel and headed for the back door, returning moments later with two bottles of water, his bronzed arms now clean. “I grabbed you a water, but it seems like you might prefer juice.”

She took the cold plastic bottle from his hand. “Oh, those are for Sophie,” she said, waving a hand through the air. “Jane works a few shifts a week for me, and Sophie comes with her sometimes.” It wasn't exactly a lie, per se. Once, she had offered Sophie a juice box when the little girl had stopped in with Jane to pick up an arrangement for the dance studio.

Still, she was eager to change the course of this conversation.

“So, where'd you learn so much about cars?” she asked.

“My dad collected old cars,” Brett said, hopping onto the hood of the car. He squinted into the sunlight, his gaze somewhere faraway.

Ivy joined him, landing within an inch of his thighs. She stopped herself from scooting over, deciding there was no reason to flinch every time she thought she was sending the wrong signal. The guy had just fixed her car—clearly, she hadn't scared him off—and the more time they were spending together, the easier it was to just enjoy his company and accept the fact that, sad as it may be, they weren't looking for the same things.

“He liked to work on them in his spare time,” Brett continued, pausing to take a sip of the water. “And I liked watching. Some of my fondest memories are those of watching him work on an engine.”

“That's sweet,” Ivy said. “I never knew my dad.”

“I barely knew my dad, either,” Brett said, his jaw tensing. “He spent all his time in that restaurant, working, and when he was home… Well, we just got the leftovers, no pun intended.” His smile was grim. “He didn't have much time for us.”

“My mom didn't either,” Ivy said. She hesitated—she didn't talk about her mother much, not even with Henry. It felt like a distant part of her past now, and one she didn't want to relive.

Her mother's condition was known around town. No one could overlook the way she behaved at public events, the way she got loud and sometimes disorderly, the way neighbors would have to step in and gently urge her to go home and have a rest. Few people said anything directly, but they whispered, and the pitying looks they gave to Ivy and Henry confirmed it.

She'd hated that kind of attention, almost as much as Henry did. She'd vowed not to let it define her. And she'd almost gone and done just that last summer by letting her diabetes get out of control.

“I always thought that if my mom really cared, like if she genuinely, truly loved us, she would have stopped drinking.” Her voice broke a little on the end, and she took a sip of her water. It was the most emotional she'd gotten on the subject with anyone in a while, but she oddly wasn't embarrassed. Brett was easy to talk to. Always had been.

“It's not that easy,” Brett said simply. “Addiction is a powerful thing.”

She liked his matter-of-fact approach almost as much as she liked how unfazed he was by her admission.

“My dad didn't have any excuse. He was just selfish.”

The bitterness in his tone stung, and Ivy frowned at the hurt in his voice. She wanted to reach out, hold his hand. Instead, she slid it under her thigh and put some weight on it. Now wasn't the time to be doing anything crazy.

“Maybe he just didn't know how to balance his life,” she offered. “Running your own business can be daunting, and I know from Anna that the restaurant business is particularly high pressure.”

Brett looked at her flatly. “He was running a restaurant, not saving lives.” He shook his head. “I didn't mean it like that. I just… I just think that you have to pick and choose what it is most important, and if you can't find a way to balance everything, then you don't try to have everything. It's simple.”

She eyed him thoughtfully. “You sound a lot like my brother. He found a way to balance everything, though.” She thought of how happy he was, working a steady job, still pursuing what he loved, and coming home to the family he'd always wanted but never knew how to have.

“Well, he's an exception to the rule,” Brett remarked. He popped the top back on his water bottle and hopped off the car. With one hand on his lower back, he stretched, pulling the cotton T-shirt taut across his broad chest and revealing an inch of smooth skin just above his belt loops. “And he ultimately sacrificed something.”

If Brett was implying that Henry had given up his lonely travel writing days, then yes, technically he had sacrificed that job, but Ivy knew he was happier with his decision. It didn't seem like there was any sense trying to convince Brett of this, though.

“You going to the Fourth of July festival?” she asked as she hopped off the hood. She was standing close to him, close enough to feel the heat from his body, warmer than the summer breeze.

Brett shrugged and gave her another one of those stomach-turning slow smiles. “I was sort of hoping to skip it, but I don't really see how I can.”

Ivy looked at him quizzically. “But it's fun.”

“So you'll be there?”

“Wouldn't miss it,” Ivy said.

Brett shoved his hands in his pockets thoughtfully. His eyes were steady on hers, betraying nothing, even though she felt like there was something he was eager to say. Finally, he just said, “Well, maybe I'll see you there then.”

Hope deflated as quickly as a popped balloon.
Maybe
he would see her there? He couldn't have been less committed in his word choice if he'd tried, and she had an inkling he had some practice in stringing together sentences like that. And she'd had her share of practice hearing those types of lines.

“Yeah, maybe,” she replied, taking a step back from his tall form, those wide shoulders, and that grin that made her stop thinking clearly. It didn't matter that they'd shared a moment or even that he'd stopped by to help. Whatever his motives were, only one thing was clear, and that was that Brett wasn't looking for a girlfriend.

And she wasn't looking for a fling.

B
riar Creek's annual Fourth of July festival was a time-honored tradition and one Ivy was especially thrilled to be a part of for the fourth consecutive year. With the exception of the diner and the pub, shops along Main Street closed down for the day, and everyone in town gathered on the square. It was Ivy's chance to showcase what she did best—not just with the oversized floral arrangements she used to anchor various stations, but to really transform what was otherwise a blank canvas.

“The decorations look even better this year than last,” Grace admired as she stared up at the gazebo Ivy had trimmed in patriotic swag.

“That's what I was hoping for,” Ivy said, feeling a twinge of pride. She brushed a strand of hair from her forehead and swept her eyes over the green, where people were gathered at round tables covered in red, white, and blue cloths, eating corn on the cob and eagerly waiting for the pie-eating contest to commence. This year, she'd tried to convince Henry to join, but he just shook his head. He may have embraced their small town again, but he had to draw the line somewhere.

“It's a hot one today,” Grace said, fanning herself. Even the shade of the giant maple did little to offset the humidity that seemed to cling to their skin and made Ivy's twenty minutes with the hair straightener feel like an official waste of time.

She'd been up since five and hard at work since six, and even though the volunteer committee did the majority of the heavy lifting, Ivy had climbed on a ladder more times than she'd wished to, in a sundress no less.

At the edge of the lawn, Luke called over to Grace, and she blushed a little at the sound of her name. “It never gets old,” she said, and Ivy felt her heart sink a little. It didn't go unnoticed that a lot had changed over the course of these events… for some. More and more, everyone was part of a pair, and Ivy was still on her own, still the third wheel, still waiting for her chance to belong to someone special.

At least she had work to keep her busy, she thought as a little boy began jumping up to tug at the flags she had trimmed the gazebo with. Heaving a sigh, Ivy turned to Grace. “I'll be back in a minute. Duty calls.”

By the time she had finished repairing the swag and giving the young man in question a no-nonsense glance that sent him running to his mother, Grace was back on the picnic blanket with Luke and her sisters… and their significant others. And Brett was still nowhere to be seen.

She should be relieved, not disappointed. After all, there was nothing healthy about the little tingle she felt when he was around. That tingle represented hope, and she was done holding out any for that man.

“Where is everybody?”

Ivy jumped, and even before she turned, she knew Brett had come up behind her. His voice was deep and low and just close enough to her ear to stir up all those wrong feelings she had tried to deny.

She forced a casual grin as she turned to face him, but her traitorous heart pinged on impact with those deep-set eyes.

“Oh. Hey. You mean Mark and Luke? They're over there, under the tree.” She relished the opportunity to look across the square, to focus on something other than Brett.

He was wearing a green shirt, she couldn't help but notice. Not exactly getting into the spirit of things.

By contrast, she wore a red cotton sundress. Standing next to each other, they looked like they were ready for Christmas, not the Fourth of July.

Ill-suited, she reminded herself. Definitely ill-suited.

“Oh.” Brett seemed satisfied with her answer but, contrary to what she expected, he made no motion to walk over to join his brother and cousin. Instead, he turned his attention on her, his gaze roaming her face just long enough for her to shift under the intensity. “So, how's the car running?”

She grinned. “Better than ever,” she said. She didn't bother to mention that every time she slid into the driver's seat and turned the ignition she thought of him.

“Good. You get that oil changed?”

It had been a busy two weeks with three showers and the Fourth of July festival, in addition to the usual anniversaries and birthdays to accommodate, not to mention all the work she had for the hospital benefit, but she nodded with certainty. “Sure did.”

“Good.” He nodded slowly, as if appraising her, his eyes lazily drifting over her face until they lingered on her mouth.

She pulled in a sharp breath. The afternoon sun was really beating down and Ivy would kill for a soft breeze right about now, or a cold glass of punch. She set a hand to her head, feeling the onset of fatigue and a twinge of dizziness she knew better than to dismiss.

When was the last time she had eaten anything? She'd told herself she would stop for lunch once she had done the rounds and made sure everything was in order, but then Henry and Jane had arrived, and Sophie had bounded up, begging for a ride on the pony she insisted was named Marshmallow, and well, how could she miss that?

“Do you know the time?” she asked Brett. She ran a mental checklist of what she'd seen to eat. Usually she planned her day around these types of things, either by scoping out possible options or bringing something with her instead. But somehow, between the setup, hanging out with Henry and Sophie, and, shamefully, keeping an eye out for Brett, she'd been completely distracted.

“Just about four,” he replied.

Ivy's eyes sprang open. “Four?” She'd missed her second insulin dose. She'd been religious about it, ever since last summer, when she'd attempted to self-medicate by diet alone until she got on a better insurance plan that made the cost of her medication more affordable. Instead, she'd landed in the hospital with medical bills far higher than monthly supplies. And then she'd had no choice but to take help from Henry.

She wouldn't be doing that again.

“I need to…” A wave of nausea stirred in her gut as she greedily eyed a porta-potty. Then she noticed the line for it, and her heart began to beat a little faster.

She'd make up an excuse. Go back to the shop.

Her hands were shaking now and she felt herself sway slightly to the side.

Brett's hand was on her arm immediately. He squinted at her in concern. “Are you okay?”

“I'm just… It's the heat.” She waved her hand through the air and gave a little laugh. It sounded hollow and distant, as if it were coming from somewhere else and not her own body. She was shaking and sweating. She suddenly felt clammy and cold despite the temperature.

“Here. Sit down. You need some shade.”

“I need…” Food. Juice. Where was her bag? She didn't even remember where she'd left it.

Under the chair for the cake judging contest. Where she had so brilliantly thought it would be tucked away and safe. Now that stand was a football field's length away from her. She wasn't going to make it.

“I need my bag,” she whispered to Brett. “It's…” But the words weren't coming out, even as she tried to form them, fighting the numbness of her lips and tongue, and her vision became blurry. She bent over at the waist as her body temperature climbed with heat far hotter than the sun's rays.

Brett's voice was in her ear, urgent and firm. “Where's your bag?”

“The cake…” She managed to gesture to the table across the lawn.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she thought of her mother, all the times she'd embarrassed them with her public scenes at these events. It was like the music came to a halt, and there was Debbie, staggering around, talking loud, making a scene. The fantasy would be over. The fun gone. And Henry would take her hand, hold it tight, and silently walk her across the square to their mother. They'd make their way home and sit in that dark, depressing house, knowing that the other kids were still licking ice cream cones and playing ring-toss games and that their parents were probably gathered in small circles, talking in hushed tones about the day's dramatic turn.

Ivy didn't want to be the one they talked about. And she didn't want the fun to end.

She wanted to sit on the picnic blanket with Grace and Anna and Jane. She wanted to kick off her shoes and enjoy the day and not have to worry. Or make anyone else worry.

“I'll be right back.” She felt Brett stand, heard him say, “Stay here with her,” and heard Sharon Hastings's voice in her ear as she stroked her head.

“Heat stroke, poor thing. Good thing my son's a doctor. He'll help you.”

Only it wasn't heat stroke, and Brett must have known it. Heat stroke was treated with shade and water. And he wasn't going for those things. He was going for her bag.

She heard the rustling of fabric, vaguely smelled the sweet, familiar musk, and heard the opening of her bag. Sharon was talking, somewhere in the distance, mentioning water, that she'd be right back, and then there was the sound of a plastic straw being ripped from a juice box, and it was pushed to her face, into her mouth. She took a long sip, Brett patiently talking her through it.

She blinked, looking up into his eyes. She'd never seen them so sharp. So alert.

He handed her a bag of fruit snacks, already opened, fed a few into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed, and shivered as the world around her became clear again, and Sharon reappeared with a large plastic cup of water.

“Poor thing,” she said, leaning down to hand it to Ivy. Ivy took it with shaking hands. “It's too hot out today. Every July, I say the same thing. You go take a rest, honey. Brett, get her in the shade.”

“I've got a better idea,” Brett said. He was still resting on his heels, crouched eye to eye, and the smile that broke his face turned her heart over. “What do you say you and me have an early dinner?”

Brett's heart was still pounding when he pushed open the door of Hastings a few minutes later and waited for Ivy to pass. The diner was empty and cool, and he led them to a booth in the corner, where they'd be uninterrupted if things picked up. Brett pulled two menus from their stack behind the metal napkin dispenser and slid one to Ivy.

“Thanks,” she said. Her voice was small, her gaze fleeting, and her cheeks still far too pale for his liking.

Brett struggled to control his breath against the pounding in his chest. That had been scary, and unexpected. As a physician, he was prepared to act when the need arose. When he'd first started his residency, he'd idly considered the possibility every time he boarded an airplane or even walked into a restaurant, but it was different to treat a stranger than to see someone you knew struggling.

He'd experienced that scenario enough for one lifetime.

Ivy waited until they had placed their orders to say, “So, how'd you know?”

He raised an eyebrow and studied her across the Formica table. She seemed more resigned than usual, and less spirited. The fire in her eyes was gone. He found himself missing it.

“I'm a doctor. It's sort of my business to put symptoms together and come up with a diagnosis.” Usually he got it right. But not always…

He took a sip of his water and set it back on the table, realizing she was still waiting for a better answer. “I noticed you passed up the cookies at Jane's house that night. I found it odd, given how much you'd praised them, but then I just figured you were like most girls and were watching your weight.” He caught the spark in her eyes and grinned. “Not that you need to worry about that. You're just right.”

“Just right, eh?” She gave a small smile.

His gaze dropped to the delicate space between her clavicle and lower to the hint of cleavage that skimmed the rim of her dress. “Just right.” He swallowed hard and tore his eyes away.

Focusing on what he did best, he cleared his throat, determined to keep this professional and to keep his head where it belonged.

“Then at your shop, I noticed you had a fridge full of juice boxes. Your comment about Sophie didn't seem to add up, especially when Jane mentioned she only works for you a few hours a week now. While Sophie's in school. Then today… It's hot out there, but not hot enough for heat stroke.” He'd known immediately what was happening, seen the warning signs flash across his mind, alerting him to everything that could go wrong if action wasn't taken.

He reached for his water, forcing it back.

“Good thing not everyone shares your knowledge,” Ivy commented ruefully. She took a long sip of water through a straw, her brows pinching pensively. “I suppose I was lucky you came along.”

“No one else knows then?” Brett frowned. Diabetes wasn't his specialty, but he'd dealt with his share of cases in the emergency room, and he knew the signs of both hypoglycemia and hyperglycemia… and the consequences.

“Henry.” Ivy sighed. She poked her ice cubes with her straw. “And Jane.”

“And?”

“My mother knew, of course. A few teachers at the school who have since retired.”

“What about Grace?” She was her best friend, after all. They were inseparable growing up; everyone knew that.

Ivy shook her head. “Nope. Not Grace. Or Anna. Or their mother. The only reason Jane knows is because…” She trailed off, refusing to look him in the eye.

He rolled over his palms. “Because?”

She hesitated. “I… had a similar situation last fall. At Grace's bridal shower. Jane called Henry and he told her what to tell the paramedics.”

“Jesus.” Brett blinked hard. If he was understanding her correctly, that meant she could have rolled into his emergency room at some point. The thought of it made his blood run cold.

It was one thing when a patient on the table was a stranger. It was another when it was someone he cared about. Thoughts of his mother lying in that bed, frail and weak, without a hint of color in her cheeks, made his chest tighten until he struggled for breath. He took a long sip of water, trying to banish the image.

“It was a rough time. I wasn't managing my diet properly or my medication. It's one of the reasons Henry came back to town.”