Love Blooms on Main Street (20 page)

“Besides, it's not like you've given me any grandchildren to keep me busy.”

Brett was almost happy for the shift in conversation. “You've got Mark for that.”

His mother wrinkled her nose. “Oh, I'm not so sure. Those two are too busy at the restaurant to even set a wedding date, much less start a family. You boys and your careers. Just like your father.”

“Not just like our father. Not at all like our father,” Brett struggled.

His mother turned to him in surprise, but her expression softened when she saw the steel in his eyes. “I meant that your father was passionate about his work, that's all.”

Passionate enough to put work above all else. To put a career ahead of loved ones, ahead of family. He knew what she meant, and the truth hurt. The anger wasn't for her; it wasn't even for his deadbeat dad. It was for himself.

Pushing back the guilt that threatened to ruin the evening, he began setting the table. Mark was at the restaurant tonight, so it would be just the two of them. As much as he valued the time with his mother, he found himself wishing his brother could join them, just to breathe some life into the evening. Mark had a way of keeping things light. Whereas Brett… Well, he'd always been the serious one.

“So how do you like the job now that you've settled in?” Sharon asked as she joined him at the table.

Brett loaded his plate and wondered how to tactfully answer that question without lying. “It's slower paced than I'm used to,” he finally said. Today he'd removed a raisin from a four-year-old boy's nose. He'd handled bigger cases as a first-year resident.

“Well, they're lucky to have you. And so am I.”

Brett managed to swallow the piece of roasted chicken, even though his throat had started to close up. She'd never asked him to stay, never pushed for him to be in Briar Creek even when he was needed the most, and now, now she was changing her mind it seemed. Panic flickered when he considered the reasons why. Did she know something she wasn't sharing? About her health? Or had she wanted him back all this time but never dared to say it before? That thought was almost too much to bear. He'd convinced himself all these years that she'd wanted him to go, pursue his path. It was the only way he managed to sleep at night.

The doorbell rang, and before Sharon could even stand to answer it, his aunt Rosemary's voice called down the hall, “Yoo-hoo! Shar-on?”

“In here!” Sharon and Brett exchanged a knowing glance before Rosemary swept into the room. “Have you eaten? I'll fix you a plate.”

“Oh, don't mind me. I was just on my way back from Kara's and thought I'd stop in.”

“How's she doing these days?” Sharon asked as she opened the cupboard and brought out another plate. “Mark gave her a promotion, I hear.”

“Hmm, yes.” Rosemary didn't look pleased at this. Instead, she turned to Brett, giving him her full attention. “Brett, tell me, are there any single men at the hospital?”

Brett almost choked on his beer. “I haven't really paid attention to that.”

Rosemary's shoulders slumped. “That girl is never going to find a husband at this rate.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Brett asked, genuinely curious.

“It wouldn't be if she had any other direction in her life. I worry.” She shook her head and frowned down at her plate. “I really do.”

“What is it with me and worrywarts?” Sharon laughed, but her eyes crinkled when she met Brett's gaze across the table. “Brett worries about me too much,” she explained to Rosemary.

“Well, he's a doctor. And your son. And we all worry about you, Sharon.” Rosemary's look was pointed.

Sharon sighed. “What will be, will be, isn't that right?”

“Wrong,” Brett replied, setting down his fork. It wasn't his mentality—or his business—to let nature take its course. It was his job to fight it, to do whatever it took to intervene. Anger pulsed in his jaw when he considered his mother's attitude. She'd always been a fighter. Where was this coming from?

“I'm just saying, Brett, that there are some things in life we can't control. That's just a sad fact.” Her eyes held his a second longer until she blinked and looked away.

Brett stared at his plate, knowing she was right but still not wanting to accept it, either.

It's what his boss had told him that night, after the patient died. Nothing more could have been done. But he couldn't believe it. Didn't want to believe it.

His phone beeped in his pocket, and he pulled it out, forgetting for a moment that he wasn't back in Baltimore, and he wasn't even on call. He went to turn the device off, eager to tune out and unwind, when he saw the sender's email and the subject line pop up at the top of his screen.

It was from the hospital in DC.

His heart pounded as his finger hovered over the button. One click and he would know.

“Go ahead and take it if it's important,” his mother said. “Don't mind me.”

He looked up at her. At the unsuspecting ease to her smile as she fell back into conversation with Rosemary, and felt his stomach ball into a tight knot.

“It's not important,” he said, turning off the phone and sliding it back into his pocket. Not important at all.

T
he hospital benefit was held each year at an old winery nestled at the top of a large hill with sweeping views of the valley. Ivy had helped with at least a dozen weddings here over the years and knew the venue well. The building was a renovated barn with huge, beamed ceilings and a wall of French doors that led out onto a stone veranda, where guests could enjoy the view. Lanterns hung from the pergola overhead, and white-painted wood furniture was clustered in small groups.

“This is a good place to serve drinks before dinner,” she said, motioning to the large space at the end, where a bar could be set up. “It's casual, and the sun sets right over those hills there.” She pointed out to the horizon, and Brett came to stand next to her and follow her gaze.

“I suggest a few small arrangements on these end tables, and then on the bar tables if you choose to have any.”

Brett looked at her in alarm, and she couldn't help but laugh at his bewildered expression. “You want the bar tables. Five should do.”

He grinned. “Thanks.”

They walked back through the doors and into the main room. The smell of wood was sharp, warm, and inviting, cozy enough to make Ivy imagine what it would be like to host her own wedding in this space. She'd thought of it every time she'd been to an event here. And she'd imagined Brett by her side.

Ridiculous.

She crossed the room, pretending to assess the space, even though she already knew how to best fill it. A few plants in the corners, with some strings of lights for ambience. A centerpiece for each table, two for the bar, and tea lights scattered on all the surfaces. The hospital was on a budget, and she knew that whatever money wasn't spent on decorations could be put to better use. She'd make things pretty, but she wouldn't go overboard. Seasonal flowers like white hydrangeas should work just fine, especially with the rustic environment. She'd talk to the supplier tonight at the market, see if he'd cut her a deal.

“The tables and chairs they use here will be fine. As will the linens. I suggest white and green for the color scheme. Elegant but simple.”

“You're the expert,” Brett said.

Ivy frowned at him. She'd arranged to meet him here, telling herself it was the sensible, safe choice, but he'd seemed distant since she'd first climbed out of the car. “Is everything okay?”

His dark gaze traveled back to her. “Fine.”

She never knew
fine
to mean anything close to it, but she decided not to press the issue. He wasn't her boyfriend; he wasn't her brother or cousin.

But he was her friend, right? She looked out onto the hills, thinking about it. She might have agreed to be his friend, but she still wasn't so sure how she felt about it. A week had passed since the last time she'd seen him, not that she had been opposed to running into him around town. She'd even tried the treadmill at the gym one night, but he never appeared, and the sense of disappointment she carried with her on the walk home only confirmed the fact that she still wasn't over her crush. No matter how much she wished she could be.

She looked up at him, at the way the sun caught the chestnut highlights in his dark hair and how his hawklike gaze was set on the distance, and felt that little pang. Yep. Still there.

“Well, I should be getting back to the shop…”

“I thought you were closed on Sundays,” Brett said, turning to give her his full attention.

“Oh.” Ivy gulped. Couldn't she have thought of a better excuse? But she could barely think at all, not when Brett was staring at her like that, all moody and sexy and silent. “I'm closed to customers, but I have to catch up on some paperwork before the week hits. And of course, there's lots to do for this event.”

“The heat's let up a bit. Let's walk around,” Brett suggested.

She hesitated, and then, because for some reason she still couldn't quite resist him, she began following him down the gravel path that she knew led out to private gazebo near the edge of the property. Most brides came down here for the formal photos. She especially loved seeing it in the fall, when the leaves had just turned and the splash of color contrasted brightly with the white wood and dresses.

Today, though, despite the drop in temperature from last weekend, the sun beat down, and by the time the neared the end of the hill, Ivy was regretting the jeans she'd worn.

“Do you have anything to drink in your bag?” Brett asked as he leaned back against a post.

“Of course.” She reached inside and retrieved a bottle of water, but he just held up a hand.

“Drink it. It's hot.”

Ivy narrowed her gaze on him. “I can take care of myself.”

“Oh, I have no doubt about that. In fact, it's one of the things I admire most about you.”

Her hand froze on the water bottle cap. “Oh really? Go on,” she teased, grinning.

“I mean it. You've faced a lot of adversity in your life. Some people would let that kind of thing hold them back, define them. But you pressed on. You're a strong woman, Ivy.”

“I'm just a little sensitive when it comes to suggestions on how I should be taking care of myself.”

“I was just trying to be chivalrous,” he said, his brown eyes twinkling. “And I'm a doctor. It's hard to check that kind of thing at the door. Concern follows me wherever I go.”

She told herself not to feed into that even as a pleased smile teased her mouth. “I thought you didn't like to get emotionally involved with your patients.”

He shrugged. “Doesn't mean it doesn't happen.”

His frown deepened and Ivy stepped forward, worried she'd misspoken in her effort to defuse an awkward moment. “I'm sure you're an excellent doctor, Brett.”

“I could be better.” He scowled, looking down at his feet for a moment. “I messed up. In Baltimore. That's why I'm here.” His gaze was sharp when it caught hers, as if waiting for her to question him or judge him, the way he so clearly judged himself.

“Everyone messes up,” she said, feeling the familiar knot return when she thought of all the ways she'd let people down. Let herself down.

He shook his head. “I don't mess up. Every time I walk out of that ER, I know I did all I could. Whatever the outcome, I did everything, my best, and that's enough for me, even if some cases are rough. But this one night…” She waited, sensing the weight he carried. “I didn't do my best. I was distracted. Tired. God, I was so tired.” He paused, eyes on her as he hesitated. “No one knows this, but a few months ago my mom had a health scare. She thought… she thought she was sick again.”

“But she's not?” Ivy felt a flicker of alarm. Sharon Hastings had already been through so much. She was a good woman. Kind and friendly. Not the kind of person to let circumstances knock her down.

“No, no, it turned out to be nothing. But when she called and told me… asked for my opinion on some things… it was all I could think about. I offered to fly back, but she said to wait until they'd done more tests. I listened. For the second time in my life, I listened when she told me to put my career first and her second.” He gave a low, bitter laugh. “What kind of son does that make me?”

Ivy set her hand on his forearm, feeling the fine hair under her fingertips. His skin was warm and soft, and he didn't push her away, even though he seemed to be fighting something. “She wanted you to carry on with your life. Then. Now. She knew how much potential you had. She didn't want to hold you back. You're a brilliant surgeon, Brett. Everyone knows that.”

He turned to her sharply. The intensity in his gaze silenced her. “A patient died on my watch. Because I was distracted. Because I was only half present. It's my fault. Mine alone. It will settle, of course, but that doesn't change the cold, hard fact that I am responsible for a man losing his life.”

She wasn't sure she wanted to know the details, and she couldn't even believe what he was telling her. He was too hard on himself. “I'm sure you did everything you could,” she tried, but she knew her words weren't enough to ease the pain she saw in his eyes.

“No. I was tired. I wasn't focused. My shift was almost over, and I just wanted to finish up and go home. I wasn't thinking about anything but my mother, my personal problems, not the professional ones I was there to deal with.” He dropped down onto the steps, and after a beat, she joined him.

“It was a young man. Forty years old. Triage said the chief complaint was fever and cough. He was sweaty, but it was attributed to the other symptoms. I had another case in the next room—a boy with a distal femur fracture. A broken leg,” he explained wryly. “Normally, I'd reduce the fracture and have a nurse set the cast, but I was almost grateful for the task—doing something with my hands, something simple and routine. It cleared my mind, took my worry off my mom for a bit. I sent the kid home, went in to check on the other patient and… It was too late. Pulmonary embolism. Blood clot.”

“Oh, Brett.” Ivy grimaced. “But… how could you have known?”

“Because I'm a doctor,” he ground out, clenching a fist on his thigh. “That's how I should have known. Because I'm trained to spot these things. To stop them. To… help.”

“But certainly other people were involved.”

“The triage nurse, yeah. But he was my patient. Mine.” He swore under his breath. “I've gone over it and over it. If I'd just been more thorough, taken more time. Been less distracted. Prioritized the right patient.” He cursed.

“You did the best you could at the time,” Ivy insisted.

“And the worst of it… The wife was pregnant. And now she's alone. And that baby will never know its father.”

Ivy moved her hand to his and gave it a squeeze, but she stiffened when he gripped it tight and held it close in his. His palm was warm, and she could feel the steady beat of his pulse against her skin.

“I've held this in for so long.”

Ivy nodded, wishing she could ease the weight. He said he didn't care, that he didn't connect with patients, but it wasn't true. The hurt in his eyes confirmed it. The softness in his voice, the way he struggled to forgive himself. He cared. About his mother. His family. His patients.

About her.

His face was close, his eyes searching hers as he leaned in. Ivy gasped as his mouth met hers. So gentle. So familiar. She opened her mouth as every nerve ending in her body zipped with awareness, wanting so much to recapture the sensation, but her mind began to spin with warning.

He didn't want a relationship. He didn't want anything from her. He'd said it. After their first amazing kiss. And chances were, he'd be saying it again after this one.

She pulled back and freed her hand from his. “I… I should really go.”

She stood, leaving him sitting on the steps of the gazebo, and ran all the way up the path to where her station wagon was parked next to Brett's sleek black sedan.

Brett didn't want what she wanted. Not the quiet, small-town life. Not the simple pleasures. Not a human connection.

And most of all, he didn't want her.

Henry was in his office when Ivy finally left the shop that night, hoping some fresh air would clear her muddled thoughts and the image of Brett sitting on those stairs, his expression unreadable as she broke their kiss.

The office of the
Briar Creek Gazette
was tucked in an old brick building just off Main at the other edge of town, so she and Henry rarely crossed paths during the day unless they arranged to meet. The door was locked, but when she tapped on the window, Henry looked up from his laptop screen and smiled in surprise.

“How'd you know I'd be here?” he asked after letting her in.

“I'm your twin,” she replied, dropping into a rickety wooden chair near his desk. “I can sense these things.”

“So can I.” Henry closed the laptop and gave her his full attention. “Which is why I know something is wrong.”

“Nothing's wrong!” But she knew it was no use. Like it or not, Henry knew her. Inside and out. She wouldn't have it any other way.

She smiled at him, her heart filling with gratitude that he was here, that she could stop by his office like this, connect with someone who'd known and loved her all her life, pop over for a family dinner whenever she wanted. He'd been out of her life for too long, and she'd never said a word, because she'd loved him and wanted him to be happy, even if that was far from Briar Creek. She'd never make him feel guilty for those years he was gone, but oh, it really was amazing to have him back again. For good.

Henry gave her a long look. “You can't hide from me, Ivy. I know you. What's up?”

Where did she even begin? She longed to tell Henry everything that happened, but it bordered on girl talk, and besides, Henry and Brett were sort of friends. And what was there to even say? If Henry found out that Brett had tried to kiss her again just to… comfort himself? Distract himself? Have a little fun? Well, it certainly wouldn't go over well at all. Henry was protective of her, and she didn't need him punching anyone on her behalf. The thought of it almost made her giggle.

“What's so funny?” Henry asked, a small smile curving his mouth.

She brushed away the question. “It's nothing. I just… I was imagining you coming to my defense.”

He arched a brow. “Do your defenses need protecting?”

“No.” She patted his arm. “But it's nice to know you have my back if I do.”

“Always,” he confirmed.

She leaned back, the warm, fuzzy feeling suddenly replaced with a twinge of dread. Still, the conversation had to happen. “I wanted to talk to you about the money you lent me,” she said.

Henry leaned back in his chair and groaned. He raked his hands down his face and glanced at her through parted fingers. “You're not still hung up on this, are you? I told you, Ivy. It wasn't a loan; it was a gift.”