Summer on Blossom Street (17 page)

“Okay,” she said.

Okay.
That was it?

“Would you like to do that?” Brad asked. Like me, he’d anticipated some sort of reaction—something other than the bland response she’d given us.

“I guess so,” she said. I thought she sounded almost indifferent, and that stung a bit.

Somehow Brad and I managed to hide our disappointment until we climbed into bed that night. We both sat up, leaning against a pile of pillows, our books in our hands.

“I thought she’d act a little happier than that,” Brad said.

He didn’t need to clarify what—or rather, whom—he was talking about.

“I know, but I think we’re making headway.” Improvement came in small doses. I’d noticed a few days ago that she’d replaced the toilet paper in the hall closet. I wasn’t sure if she still had the soda crackers and the other food. Regardless, Casey was beginning to trust us.

“How do you mean?”

Needless to say, Brad wasn’t around her as much as I was. “Well, for one thing, she baked cookies this afternoon.” I’d never mentioned the hoarding to him.

“And nearly burned down the house.”

“Brad, be fair. That could’ve happened to anyone.”

He grinned. “I suppose you’re right.”

“She’s not a bad kid, you know.”

“I agree with you. I see glimmers every now and then of the kid she
could
be.”

I set my book on the nightstand and reached for the lamp beside my bed. As I turned off the light, I whispered, “You’ve been very patient, husband of mine.”

“Patient enough to earn a reward?” he whispered back.

“I’d say so,” I said, raising my eyebrows.

Brad put down his own book and turned off his light. A moment later, I was in my husband’s arms, feeling loved and cherished.

Ah, yes, this had been a good day indeed.

Phoebe Rylander

“A
nother flower delivery for you,” Claudia said when Phoebe returned from her lunch-time walk. These short outings had become part of her everyday routine; they helped revive her and refresh her.

Claudia pointed to a huge floral arrangement made up entirely of roses. They were stunning, exquisite. Red and white, surrounded by ferns and other delicate greenery in a crystal vase. Phoebe had to hand it to Clark. He never seemed to quit.

“Either take them home yourself or give them away.” She was not letting Clark Snowden back in her life. He could send her a dozen roses every day for the next fifty years and it wouldn’t shake her determination. Especially after the wonderful time she’d had with Hutch over the Fourth of July weekend.

She smiled thinking about their biking adventure in the Skagit Valley. The tulip fields were long past blooming but the countryside was still beautiful. Phoebe couldn’t remember ever having that much fun with anyone. She’d laughed at his silly comments—he didn’t worry about looking foolish—and exchanged views on all kinds of issues, from politics to household ecology. Hutch was completely unpretentious. Unassuming. And honest.

“Before you toss these roses,” Claudia was saying, “you’d better read the card.”

Phoebe shook her head. “Nothing Clark has to say is going to change my mind.”

Claudia waved her index finger at Phoebe. “Maybe they aren’t from Clark.”

Phoebe stared at her. “They aren’t?”

Claudia grinned and held up the card, sighing loudly. “I don’t know how you managed to get two handsome men sending you flowers when I haven’t found even one.”

“Give me that!” Phoebe pretended to be annoyed with the receptionist. “Did Hutch send the flowers?”

Claudia smiled and handed her the card. Unlike Clark’s notes, which were always romantic, Hutch’s card read simply THANK YOU. HUTCH. Straightforward and unpretentious.

Unlike Clark, Hutch hadn’t tried to impress her, hadn’t taken her to a fancy restaurant with a celebrity chef. Instead, he’d brought a picnic, including a bottle of local wine. And to her surprise he hadn’t attempted to kiss her, although Phoebe would’ve welcomed it.

She waited until three that afternoon, when she had a break and called Hutch at his office. She was put directly through by his assistant.

“This is Bryan Hutchinson,” he said.

“Are you sure it isn’t Lance Armstrong?” she teased.

“Oh, sorry. Lance speaking.”

Phoebe laughed. “Thank you for the roses.”

“I wanted you to have them on Monday, but Susannah said she preferred to wait until she had a fresh supply.”

“Susannah from Susannah’s Garden?” The shop was next to the yarn store and had the most gorgeous display of arrangements and bouquets. Phoebe found herself mesmerized every Wednesday as she gazed into the flower shop window before class.

“I hadn’t heard of Susannah’s Garden until I signed up for the Knit to Quit class,” Hutch said. “Her flowers are exceptional.”

“I think so, too. Thank you again.”

Hutch hesitated. “I wanted you to know how much I enjoyed being with you last weekend.”

“I had an absolutely fabulous time.”

A short silence followed. Hutch wasn’t good at small talk, and it always seemed to take him a while to feel comfortable with her. That didn’t bother Phoebe. Actually, she liked the contrast with her ex-fiancé. Hutch wasn’t smooth like Clark, who could talk his way into or out of anything.

“We have class tomorrow night,” she said. She felt a pleasant sense of anticipation about seeing him again.

“Oh, yes, class. Have you done your homework yet?” Their weekly assignment was to finish the current section of the sampler scarf so they’d be ready for the next lesson.

“Yes. What about you?”

“I’m knitting furiously as we speak.”

Phoebe laughed. She seemed to do that a lot with Hutch.

“How would you feel…I mean, I know it’d be early, unless you wanted to wait until after. Would that be too late?” He paused as if expecting a response.

“Are you asking me to meet you for dinner?” she speculated. “If so, the answer is yes.”

Again that short pause. “Really?” he said. “Great!”

Hearing the pleasure in his voice made her smile.

“Why did you sound so shocked when I agreed?”

“Did I? Tell me, what woman in her right mind would turn down an invitation from Lance Armstrong?”

“Not me, that’s for sure, especially when he’s sent me roses.”

“That’s what I thought. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“What time?”

“I guess that depends on you. Would you rather eat early or late?”

“Early.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Any particular reason you prefer an early meal?” she asked.

“That way I won’t have to wait so long to see you again.”

Coming from anyone else, that would have sounded phony. But when Hutch said it, she knew he meant every word.

“That’s very romantic,” she murmured. She could practically see him blush.

“What about…” He stumbled on the question. “Are you busy, um, tonight?”

Phoebe wondered why that hadn’t occurred to her. “No, as a matter of fact I’m not.”

“Would you like to meet this evening instead? No, not instead because I’d be disappointed if you didn’t show up for class tomorrow night, but—”

“I’ll be at class.”

“Good. At dinner with me tonight, too?”

“Of course.”

“Really? I mean, that’s terrific.” His voice was exuberant, like that of a child who’d been granted an unexpected gift.

“No, I was just saying that,” she teased. “Hutch, I’d love to meet you tonight. I hated the thought of rushing through our dinner and hurrying to class and afterward… Well, we both have to work in the morning, right?”

“Right. This is much better.” They set a time, then Phoebe ended the conversation; she had a client at three-fifteen. “Bye, Hutch,” she said quickly. “See you at six.”

“Goodbye, Phoebe, and thanks.”

She wasn’t sure why he was thanking her. She felt
she
was the one who owed him thanks—for the weekend, the roses, tonight. And for making her laugh.

As she hung up the phone, it occurred to Phoebe that she didn’t even know what Hutch’s business was. Their conversations had been interesting but not personal. She hadn’t spoken much about her job, either—or her ex-fiancé. The fiancé Hutch believed was dead….

She supposed it didn’t really matter what his family’s company manufactured or what service they provided, as long as it wasn’t immoral or unethical. Which it couldn’t possibly be, knowing Hutch. She amused herself by guessing—shoelaces? Tractor parts? Toilets? The subject hadn’t really arisen, but it wasn’t as if he’d
deliberately hidden anything from her. The number he’d given her was a direct line and his assistant had answered the phone, “Bryan Hutchinson’s office.” Nevertheless it was slightly mysterious. She’d ask him over dinner.

Phoebe dressed carefully that evening because she wanted to look attractive, not because she was worried about impressing Hutch with her wardrobe or sense of style. He was a comfortable person, conscious of others’ needs. While biking he’d stopped to help a couple who’d been lost and needed directions. Later he’d purchased a sandwich and a coffee for a homeless man. He hadn’t done it for show; he was a genuinely caring person.

Hutch arrived a few minutes early as she was still brushing her hair. Phoebe thought she heard someone outside her condo door and when she went to look through the peephole, she saw him pacing the hallway, checking his watch.

“Hutch,” she said, opening the door. “Why didn’t you knock?”

He shrugged, his expression embarrassed, as he stepped inside her apartment. “The book said I wasn’t supposed to appear too eager.”

“What book?”

He came in, sat down on her sofa and exhaled noisily. Right away, Princess, her cat, jumped onto his lap.

Phoebe stared in wonder. Princess had detested Clark and hissed at him the very first time he entered her condo. After that Princess had consistently avoided him. Apparently her cat was a better judge of character than she was.

Hutch gently stroked Princess, who purred contentedly. “In case you hadn’t guessed, I’ve been out of the dating scene for a while.” He grinned wryly. “I got a book about dating. It said I shouldn’t arrive too early or I’d seem overeager and that, according to the book, is something women find off-putting.”

“Seriously?” Phoebe nearly laughed. “
That’s
why you were waiting outside my door?”

He frowned. “I probably shouldn’t have told you.”

“Probably not,” she said with a smile, “but I love it that you did.”

Her comment seemed to surprise him.

She sat beside Hutch, and Princess leaped effortlessly from his lap to hers. “What else did the book have to say?”

“Plenty. I’ve read it three times in the last six days.”

Phoebe laughed outright. “Oh, Hutch, you’re so sweet and funny.”

His brows drew together. “I’m glad you find me amusing.”

“And refreshing. And just plain wonderful.”

That brought up a question. “When you say I’m
sweet,
do you mean sweet as in delightful and charming? Or sweet the way young people use it—as in cool, intriguing and
very
satisfactory?” He did a more-than-passable imitation of Bogart.

Phoebe’s eyes widened. “Bogart’s my hero.
The African Queen
is my all-time favorite movie.”

Hutch went still for a moment. “Mine, too.”

Phoebe knew he hadn’t just invented that to flatter her; it wasn’t the sort of thing he did. She got up to feed Princess, then collected her purse. Hutch had made a reservation for six-thirty at a Thai restaurant; Phoebe
had immediately agreed when he suggested it. She hadn’t eaten Thai in years. Clark felt that Asian restaurants didn’t attract the “upscale” clientele he wanted to be seen with. He would never have patronized a place like Basil, which Hutch had chosen for their dinner.

It was obvious that he was acquainted with the owners, who insisted on making the menu selections for them. Phoebe could barely restrain herself from asking Hutch about his background. She waited until they’d been served glasses of icy cold beer.

“I realized after we hung up this afternoon that I don’t know very much about you,” she began.

“You mean other than my superior biking skills?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling. “Other than that and your movie preferences and political views and—”

“What would you like to know?”

“Well… You’re an executive with your family’s business, but what exactly is it?”

He hesitated. “Ever heard of Mount Rainier Chocolates?”

Phoebe nearly choked on her beer. “You’ve got to be kidding! I
love
those chocolates.”

“Thank you. My grandfather started the company shortly after the Second World War. He used a recipe passed down from his mother.”

“I like the caramels best.”

“Almost everyone does.”

“How come you’re only mentioning this now?”

“We were talking about other things,” he said with a shrug. “I enjoyed our discussions and I saw no reason to bore you with details about my job.”

She didn’t doubt the sincerity of his answer.
“Aren’t you a bit young to be at the company helm?” she asked next.

Pain showed briefly in his face. “My father died of a heart attack. He was fifty-eight.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yes, we all were. The company was everything to Dad. I felt a responsibility to follow in his footsteps. Unfortunately I wasn’t ready to assume the role of CEO, so I had a lot to learn in a short amount of time.” He went on to tell her about the new candy bar the company was introducing, which sounded tempting to Phoebe. “I’ll bring a few to class soon,” he promised.

Their food came in several courses and dinner couldn’t have been more delicious. At nine o’clock, after coffee and a dessert of fresh fruit and coconut ice cream, they left with profuse thanks to the owners and staff.

They’d walked to the restaurant, and when they stepped outside, they noticed the evening had cooled considerably. Phoebe had brought a sweater; Hutch held it politely as she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

“That was a divine dinner.”

“It always is,” Hutch said. “That’s why I chose this restaurant.”

They walked side by side in silence, and then Hutch reached for her hand. “The book said hand-holding is acceptable after the second date,” he told her.

“I see,” she said with a nod.

“There’s quite a list of rules, you know.”

“I guess I didn’t,” she said. “What other rules are there?”

“For one thing…” He paused. “Hey, I’m not giving away
all
my secrets.”

Phoebe laughed.

“Why do you want to know?” he asked.

“Just curious,” she said.

They strolled down the well-lit street, holding hands, swinging them slightly.

“Anything in particular that’s arousing your curiosity?”

“Actually, yes,” she replied.

Hutch stopped walking and looked down at her. They’d come to a side street where traffic was light.

“I wondered what the book had to say about kissing.”

“Kissing,” he repeated. “According to the rules, it would be within the scope of respectable behavior to…”

“To do what?”

“To kiss you on the third date.”

“The
third
date? When was this book published?”

“1952. I picked it up at a secondhand bookstore—after reading
Dating for Dummies.
I happen to love old books and I found the advice in the older one more to my liking.”

They had so many of the same likes and dislikes, and she kept discovering new similarities between them. “I love old books, too. I’ve collected them for years.”

He shook his head, as if nothing she said would surprise him. “Me, too. I like old sci-fi novels.”

“Old biographies for me,” she said.

They continued walking, and Hutch escorted Phoebe to her door. “I had a great time,” she told him, turning to smile up at him.

“I did, too.”