Love Blooms on Main Street (5 page)

“Sure,” she said now, swallowing back the disappointment that landed squarely in her chest. Her dreams had already waited this long. What was another couple of days?

“You're the best, Kara.” Anna grinned. “Seriously, look at this place. I'd never keep it afloat without everyone's help.”

Kara struggled to believe that. A chef was one thing, but a hostess could be easily replaced. She'd best remember that, lest she lose her nerve again.

“You're one of the only reasons I'm able to even consider setting a date for the wedding. It's hard to think of leaving this place behind for a day, much less a week or two.”

Kara all but stuck her fingers in her ears as her pulse began to race. She didn't need to hear this! Not now. Not when she needed to stand firm.

“You deserve a nice wedding. And a honeymoon,” she told her friend. The realization that she could be responsible for robbing this from Anna made her almost start to shake.

“I just hope you know how grateful I am. We have the best team, don't you think?” Anna grinned.

“We're all just doing our part,” Kara said through a tight smile. And that's what she was doing, her small, yet necessary and very uninspiring, part.

I
vy pulled up to Jane and Henry's house at seven sharp, noticing by the lack of cars on the street that she was probably the first to arrive. Holding the salad she'd brought as a side dish, she let herself in through the front screen door and called, “Hello!”

Henry came around the corner first, grinning and swiftly taking the serving bowl from her hands before giving her a peck on the cheek. She'd started having dinner with her brother and Jane on a regular basis, but she hadn't yet been able to let her guard down in the house, despite its cozy, lived-in feel. It was probably because of the ulterior motive she suspected her brother had for inviting her. Because of the way he and Jane eyed her over the table, watching every morsel she placed in her mouth. The way they never offered any dessert, no matter how much Sophie, Jane's six-year-old daughter, protested.

She reminded herself on each occasion that they only did this because they cared, but each time she left, each time she saw Grace or Kara, she was happy she'd continued to keep her secret. Once upon a time she'd kept it so that it didn't further separate her from the rest of the kids in town—thanks to their mother, she and Henry were already misfits, and she didn't need to fuel the fire. But now, as an adult in a town whose only population growth stemmed from the dozens of babies being born each year, for which she could recite every birth date, because she was the one making the celebratory floral arrangements, there were some things that she'd rather keep to herself. As it was, every person in Rosemary Hastings's book club probably knew who'd given her her first kiss. But did they know who gave her her last one?

Ivy pinched her lips. That was another thing she'd be keeping to herself. No one would know what happened between her and Brett. There was nothing to tell.

Jane was busy in the kitchen when they got to the back of the house. “Oh, a salad, great. Anna's bringing a dessert tray and Kara offered an appetizer. No clue about Grace.”

Ivy exchanged a knowing glance with her best friend's youngest sister. Grace was good at many things. She was a best-selling author after all, and she'd turned her father's bookstore around and made it a thriving success. But cooking? Or even baking? Nope, not high on Grace's priority list.

“I'm thinking ice cream, or maybe something store-bought disguised on one of her best platters.”

Jane laughed as she set some hamburger rolls in a basket. “I'm guessing cheese and crackers. But I think you're right about the plate. She does love putting her new registry items to use.”

Ivy washed her hands and plucked a knife from the block near the fridge. She'd assumed it would be a small party—the Madisons, Hastingses, and Birches, probably with an appearance of a few other girls they knew and, of course, much to Kara's chagrin and Rosemary's delight, Jackson and Sam. But still, Ivy always hoped that eventually someone new would make an appearance at one of these events. Someone they hadn't known since they were still eating sand off the playground in the town square.

“So, how's the wedding planning coming along?” She began slicing a tomato for the burgers while Jane washed the lettuce.

“Sophie is especially excited about her dress.”

“Pink and white. The sweetest color combination.” Ivy smiled. Jane's flowers were going to be gorgeous. Simple, but soft, and elegant but in an accessible sort of way. Just like Jane herself.

“I guess it's the ballerina in me.” Jane smiled. “Of course, I can't say Henry is as thrilled about it. He's worried it will all look like Pepto-Bismol.”

Ivy clucked her tongue. “You leave my brother to me. He'll love it when he sees it. And really, does he have a better suggestion?”

“Are you talking about this pink wedding again?” Henry came into the room, Sophie clinging to his back.

“Hey, I like pink!” Sophie cried.

“I think brown would be better,” Henry said, and Sophie's face crumpled in confusion, as if trying to process whether he was joking or not. From the skittish glance she threw her mother, it was clear the jury was still out. “Tell me, what's so pretty about pink?”

“Well…” Sophie put a finger to her lips in thought and then smiled triumphantly. “It's the color of cotton candy!”

“Okay. You sold me.” Henry tossed Ivy a wink and jogged into the dining room, Sophie squealing in delight.

Ivy watched them wistfully, imagining what it might be like to have her own little family unit like this someday. Growing up, she and Henry only had each other, and they'd done the best they could without a proper role model. Their father was gone before they'd been born, and even when their mother was home, she couldn't be counted on to be sober. They were usually happier when she stayed away, knowing she'd gladly keep her seat warm at the local pub until the owner stopped refilling her glass. It was the Madisons who had shown Ivy how a real home should be. Full of laughter, and even tears, of people who were happy to see you, and lively dinner conversations over hot, home-cooked meals.

She was happy that her brother had found his way into the Madison family, that after years of drifting, he'd finally found a real home, the one they hadn't been able to make for themselves despite their efforts. It gave her hope that in time, she might be able to do the same.

“Should I cut up another tomato?” she asked Jane.

“Better make it two. Mark was able to cut his shift early tonight and he's picking up Brett.”

Ivy had the good sense to set down the knife. “Brett?” Her voice was so small, she wasn't even sure Jane caught the question.

But Jane just nodded and reached for a tomato. “Yeah, he moved back to town. Didn't you hear?”

Of course Ivy hadn't heard the news. And all she could hear now was the rushing of blood in her ears, and she had the sickening, horrifying realization that in a matter of minutes he would be walking through that door and that there was nowhere to hide. She couldn't even have a glass of wine to take the edge off. She eyed the patio doors greedily. The fence really wasn't so high… The walk back to town would do her good.

“Wait.” She paused to think about what Jane had said. It wasn't just tonight. It was…
Oh, no, no, no
. “You said he… moved back?”

“That's right.” Jane gathered the tomato slices onto a plate and started peeling a red onion. “Sharon must be so excited.”

The doorbell rang, and Ivy jumped. Her eyes darted for a place to run, anywhere she wasn't so… exposed. Anywhere she wouldn't be forced to make direct eye contact with the man who had kissed her and carried on, without so much as a glance back, much less a phone call in all these months to keep the spark alive.

That should have been your first clue, Ivy.

She watched helplessly as Jane walked to the front door, her ponytail swinging, and as her friend's hand reached for the handle, Ivy dashed around the counter and into the powder room, which she quickly locked with a firm click. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the door, straining her ear for the sound of his voice. That rich, smooth, sweet-talking voice.

Jane was laughing, and Sophie was talking incessantly, and Ivy held her breath, not wanting to miss a sound. But ah, there was Luke's voice—unmistakable—and Grace, who was already asking Jane about the wedding plans.

Ivy leaned into the mirror and gave herself a stern, silent scolding. Look at her. Hiding in the bathroom while her closest friends were out there enjoying themselves. Well, at least now that the house was filling up, her presence wouldn't be so obvious. She'd talk to Grace, help out a lot with Jane. She'd make an early departure. And tomorrow she would start an online dating profile. Or she'd ask Sam Logan out for coffee—wouldn't Kara be relieved! Yes, she'd do just that, because one thing was certain. She was not going to look like some gobsmacked schoolgirl who still had a crush on Brett and was still going to bed every night waiting for him to kiss her.

He
had
kissed her. So she could cross that dream off her bucket list.

And really, he hadn't been
that
good of a kisser.

She closed her eyes. Her body tingled.
Oh, stop it!

Ivy smoothed her hair and checked her teeth for lipstick, and then, with forced confidence, opened the door, already smiling at the thought of seeing Grace. Only the face she was smiling at wasn't her best friend's. It was Brett's. And he wasn't smiling back.

He stepped back, his jaw squared. “Sorry, didn't know it was occupied.”

Her cheeks flared. “I was just… brushing my hair.”

She gave an internal eye roll. Couldn't she have thought of something a little more casual? A little less obvious than primping in the bathroom?

She scooted to the side with a tight-lipped smile, stiffening as their bodies skimmed each other, and she wondered if he could feel the pounding of her heart as he drew close. Every nerve ending went on high alert, and a rush of warmth pooled deep inside her.

The bathroom door closed, followed by an abrupt click of the lock, and Ivy gritted her teeth against the sinking of her heart as she walked over to Grace and started commenting on the food trays, certain that her friend would notice the wild look in her eyes, the way her voice was unnaturally high even to her own ears, or that she wasn't retaining anything Grace was saying to her.

Somehow she made it to the backyard, even opened a can of diet soda, and was soon fully immersed in a conversation with all three Madison sisters, who were poking fun at Grace's rather impressive cheese platter. She kept her back firmly to the house, refusing to give in to temptation, even to steal a look.

So Brett wanted to pretend they hadn't spent hours laughing and talking, that he hadn't slid his hand over her hip, and down, around, and under the hem of her dress and up her bare thigh, until she'd gasped from pleasure as his mouth nibbled her earlobe?

She could, too. And she would. Because it was time to put this crush to rest for good.

Brett eyed the bucket of ice cold beer and, begrudgingly, reached for a soda instead. If he was a gambling man, he'd pin every dime to his name that he wouldn't be getting a call from the hospital tonight, but he wasn't a betting man. Or a risk-taking one. He played it safe. Always had. With his head. And his heart.

“Not drinking tonight?” Mark chided.

“On call.”

“Has that ever stopped you before?” Mark cracked the top on his own bottle.

“I never drink when I'm on call,” Brett said, his temper rising.

The amusement vanished from his brother's dark eyes. “Whoa. I was just joking. Lighten up.”

“Sorry.” Brett shook his head. He was still tense. Still jumpy. Still mentally back in Baltimore, even if physically he was here in sleepy Briar Creek. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Care to talk about it?” Mark tipped his head.

Brett tried to push back the unease he felt, but knew he couldn't. “Do you think Mom's working too hard?”

Mark pulled the bottle from his mouth, his expression turning quizzical. “At the diner? She loves that place.”

“Yes, but she's on her feet for all those hours…”

“So?” Mark shrugged, but a flicker of worry soon replaced his earlier attitude. He stared at Brett closely, looking for any hint of reaction. “Why? Do you think something is wrong?”

Brett felt like an ass for worrying his brother, who had no idea about their mother's health scare earlier in the year. He told himself to calm down, to stop looking for problems where none existed. The test results had come back negative. Why couldn't he focus on that, celebrate it even? “I just worry. That's all.”

“It's probably because you haven't seen her in a while,” Mark said.

Brett nodded away the guilt and sipped his soda. “Yeah, probably.” He was back now. He'd make up the time, if such a thing were possible.

Mark grinned at him, then slapped him on the back. “Relax, Brett. She's fine. If she wasn't, I'd know. And I'd have told you.”

It was true, all true, but the anxiety continued to gnaw at him. Normally, he had the high-stress pace of his job to distract his mind from traveling down these worried roads, but tonight, there was nothing to take his mind off his troubles. Not even a drink.

Brett glanced around the backyard, noticing he wasn't the only one taking it easy tonight. Ivy Birch sat at a picnic table near the edge of the deck, her back firmly to him, as it had been all evening, holding a half-empty bottle of water while her friends sipped white wine.

He remembered teasing her over dessert at the wedding, when she passed up a slice of cake, slipping in a chance to compliment her figure, which had very nicely filled out that red bridesmaid dress. She'd blushed and set her hand on his wrist. That touch… It had been all he needed to crave more, and he'd fought the urge all night, telling himself that words were one thing, that a little flirtation at a wedding helped pass the time, that he deserved a little fun. Only he couldn't stop there. Not when her smile sent a fire to his groin and her quick wit kept him eager, wanting more, needing more.

He'd been reckless. Selfish, really.

But he wouldn't take it back. Still, he wouldn't repeat it, either.

From across the lawn he watched as Ivy tossed her head, laughing at something one of the other girls had said. His skin prickled with awareness at the sound and he suddenly had the urge to cross the lawn, to settle himself down at the knotty pine table at the edge of the deck, to immerse himself in that laughter, that banter, and forget about his troubles for a while.

Ivy glanced at him, for the second time that night, and Brett had the uneasy feeling that she was looking for something, no doubt more than he could give.

He excused himself from the guys, leaving them to hash out the latest baseball scores, and began the long, slow walk across the grass. If life had taught him one thing, it was that taking control of a situation was always best. And he was going to take control of this awkwardness right now, before it got worse.