Love Blooms on Main Street (9 page)

W
hat the hell was he doing? He'd told himself to stay away from her. To let her be. To stop noticing that little lift of her nose and the funny way she pinched her full, rosy lips when he was talking.

But then she had to be here… in his brother's restaurant. In jeans that showed off those smooth, long legs and that sleeveless shirt that dipped low enough in the front for him to make out a hint of cleavage and crave a better view. He didn't want to let her out of his sight. Not yet. And thanks to the fundraiser, he didn't have to.

“Come on,” he said, tossing her a grin and pulling out the bar stool next to his. “First round's on me. I'm gonna owe you one by the end of tonight anyway.”

Her gaze narrowed in suspicion. “Why's that?”

He gave the seat a pat. “Saddle up and I'll explain.”

She hesitated, but only briefly, and then slid onto the chair next to his. God, she smelled as sweet as she looked. Honey and vanilla and something deeper, something fresher. The kind of perfume that didn't come in a bottle but no doubt came from the very air she breathed. He swore he hated the smell of flowers. The cold, visual reminder that things were dire, that people were helpless, and since there was nothing they could do, they did the one thing they could. Sent a bunch of brightly colored petals in place of a real solution.

He wanted to pull away, but something about her warmth, her nearness, and the little flick of her rich auburn hair over her shoulder made it impossible.

The bartender came over to them and cocked an eyebrow. Brett turned to Ivy. “What'll it be?”

“A club soda,” she told the man behind the counter. She was doing her finest not to look his way, and the more she resisted, the more he was determined to get her attention.

“Aw, come on. I offered you a drink; don't be shy.”

Her cheeks flushed, spreading a rash of pink down her neck. All at once Brett remembered and felt like the ass she clearly thought him to be. Of course. Her mother.

“A club soda for the lady, and I'll have whatever beer you have on tap.” He waited until the bartender had moved away to turn to Ivy. “Sorry about that.”

“It's okay. I don't like to drink much.”

Brett nodded. He knew that Ivy's mother had passed away last summer—and that not long afterward Henry had returned to town. He could still remember the passing comments Ivy's twin made back in high school, how he couldn't wait to get out of Briar Creek, couldn't wait to put this life behind him. That made two of them, Brett thought. But then Henry had gone and moved back to town, settled down with Jane Madison, and was now living in that cute little house and hosting barbeques for his friends. The American dream, Brett supposed.

And what was Brett doing? Saving lives, he'd once thought.

Or maybe losing them.

The bartender brought them their drinks, and Brett felt happy not to be on call. He needed something to take the edge off, something to banish the dark images that were fast encroaching. It would be another sleepless night—he'd learned to spot them. Another night plagued with guilt that bounced around, never leaving him. Guilt about his mother. His patient. The family who had lost a husband, father, brother… because of him.

He needed to distract himself. Have a few drinks. Have a few laughs.

He eyed Ivy, letting his gaze drift to the swell of her breasts and back up to the curves of her profile, his gut tightening.

Normally he'd say have a good time. There were plenty of women up for that sort of thing, happy to go out, enjoy a nice dinner, some light conversation, and spend the night. They knew where he stood, and even if they were disappointed that things didn't lead to more—and, admittedly, they usually were—he made no promises.

But Ivy wasn't one of those girls. And he didn't want her to be. He took a long slow sip of his beer, letting the foam roll back on his throat.

“That's a local draft, you know.” Ivy was looking at him pointedly, that cute little pinch on her lips again.

He held up the glass, perplexed. “I'm surprised you know that since—”

“Since I don't drink?” She shrugged. “I learned more than I should about these things growing up.”

Brett nodded. He'd always been closer to Henry growing up—they were both on the quiet side, both spent more time in the library than some of the other guys their age. Both seemed to be hiding out, seeking something in the peace and solitude of their studies or a good book. It helped, even then, for Brett to fill his mind with science, innovations, new concepts, than to think about his dad leaving, or later, his mom getting sick. Everyone, it seemed, was leaving him. Nothing was certain. But proven theories, facts… those were things he could count on, things he could build his life on.

Unlike Ivy, her twin had been tight-lipped about their home life. Ashamed, perhaps. But Ivy didn't seem to share the same feelings.

“Small-town life can be difficult,” he said.

“Is that why you stayed away for so long then?”

Brett rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I like city life. I like the more challenging cases you find in an urban environment and a major hospital.” There were personal reasons, too, but he didn't need to get into that.

“Then why move back?” she inquired.

He reached for his glass as he thought of an excuse. “I thought I'd change up the pace for a bit. Don't want to burn out too young.” He shrugged, realizing how much truth was in the statement, the fear he had that he'd done just that: burned out. He'd sworn he hadn't, insisted he was fine, that he just needed to work, stay working, work harder than ever. But what he really needed was a break. Even if he wasn't enjoying it, and even if he worried what it was costing him, the reality of what could happen if he didn't take a step back now was devastating.

His boss had been patient, let him stay on until he'd found something else, suggested he go home for a bit, to the sleepy town he'd grown up in. But he'd also put him on the easier cases or put another doctor in the room with him when it was something more severe, just in case his nerves caught up with him, just in case he slipped…

He cleared his throat, hoping to shift the conversation back to her. “Do you ever plan on getting out of town?”

“Nope.” The swiftness of her answer surprised him and sent a pang of something he'd almost call jealousy straight to his chest. When was the last time he'd be so sure of something? “I love Briar Creek. It's my home.”

Brett nodded slowly. “So… it doesn't bother you that you could probably name just about half the people in this town?”

“Half?” Her scoff was good-natured, and her eyes sparked. “Try three-quarters. I could probably tell you their birthdays, too.” She swiveled in her chair, and her thigh brushed his, sending a surge of heat straight to his belly. He waited to see if she'd realize and pull back, but instead she stayed put, taunting him with her nearness, the reminder of her touch, the temptation of those thighs, so close, he could reach out and touch her. He shifted slightly, feeling her leg slide along his, and tensed against his growing arousal.

“Oh, right. Flowers.” He reached for his drink.

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?” She looked at him expectantly, and Brett blinked, almost forgetting the reason he'd given her for joining him for a drink. It was too easy to get caught up in the gentle ring of her laugh, the slip of her smile, the way she kept tucking her hair behind the ear he'd had the pleasure of grazing between his teeth.

A steady need stirred deep in his groin and he shifted his gaze, getting back to the point of the conversation while he waited for Mark to finish up in the kitchen. “I was actually wondering if you could recommend a good caterer.”

She looked at him like he was half crazy. God, it was a cute look. Her eyebrows pinched, her head tipped, her mouth quirked. He swallowed hard.

“Why not ask your brother? Isn't that why you're here?”

He laughed with her. It felt good. Easy, natural, and right. Too right. It was the history, he told himself, the comfort that comes from being with people you've known all your life, even if he'd never really noticed her most of that time. As a boy, he was already buried in a book. As a teenager, when most of the other guys were hitting on girls or pumping themselves up for the courage to ask one on a date, he was sitting in a sterile hospital. And as an adult, well, he noticed them, but that didn't mean he had time for them.

“Can you tell I'm used to treating patients and not planning parties?” He grinned and was relieved when she smiled back. So she didn't hate him. But that didn't mean she liked him, either. And he couldn't remember the last time a girl hadn't liked him. “I actually just stopped in to pay my brother a visit. I hadn't even considered that he'd offer to cater with how busy he is here.”

“I'm sure Mark will help,” she said. “Dr. Kessler told me this year's proceeds go toward the oncology department. That must mean a lot to your family.”

Sobered, he turned sharply from her and took another sip of his drink. “It does. It also made it damn near impossible for me to turn down the request.” He slanted her a glance, giving a sheepish smile that he hoped would keep things light.

“I wish my interest were as noble as yours,” Ivy admitted on a sigh. “But I'm afraid it's a plain and simple business move for me.”

“No ulterior motives?” He winked, but the way her eyes darkened and her face blanched made him realize he'd upset her somehow.

Her easy smile was all at once replaced by that prim pinch, and she began fumbling through her oversized bag, the contents of which seemed to include everything from fruit snacks to piles of receipts. “As I said, strictly business. And on that note, I really should be getting back to the shop.” She slid off her bar stool, her jeans pulling tight at her long legs.

Okay, so he'd offended her. He seemed to be good at that. “Wait. Sit down. You haven't even finished your… water.”

She locked his gaze for a split second, and he could see her waver, see her eyes soften and the set of her jaw loosen into something that could almost pass for a smile.

Her wallet was tight in her grip, and after a clear hesitation, she set it back in the bag. “It's club soda, actually, but I may as well finish it.” She inched past him, using the bar to leverage herself onto the stool, a little farther from him this time.

“Okay, look, I can tell you're still mad at me about…” He lowered his head and whispered, “
You know
.”

Her eyes were sharp on his. Flat. And bored. And entirely unimpressed. “No, I don't, actually, because I can think of about ten different things to be mad at you about right now.”

He sputtered on the sip of his drink. “
Ten
?”

“Yes, ten. Maybe eleven, but at least ten.” She sniffed and hugged her handbag tighter in her lap as she stared at the mirrored backsplash behind the bar. He stared at her profile, the slight upturn of her nose, the purse of that mouth, his own jaw slack.

“Are you going to enlighten me?”

She slid him a glance from the corner of her eye. “Aren't doctors supposed to be smart?”

So now she was insulting his intelligence. But considering he had no clue what he'd done to so massively piss her off, other than the obvious disappointment, he supposed he deserved it.

“I shouldn't have said that,” she added quickly. “You are smart. But for someone so smart, you are awfully stupid when it comes to women.” She gave him a pitying look and shook her head on a little sigh.

Brett blinked, unable to even find words to match the emotions that were stirring within him. Confusion. Annoyance. Frustration. Maybe she was right. Maybe he didn't know much about women.

But one thing he did know was that Ivy Birch was like no other girl he'd met before. Usually one kiss was all it took for a woman to be sending him texts, suggesting drinks, or hanging around the break room or hospital lobby, hoping for a chance to talk. But Ivy was doing none of those things, and the few times he had seen her since letting her down, she'd seemed more annoyed than disappointed.

This was new territory. And one he couldn't resist exploring.

Ivy didn't know what had come over her. She took another sip of her soda, just to make sure the bartender hadn't accidentally given her something stronger, like, say, a tumbler of vodka on the rocks. But nope, tasted just like the same boring club soda she drank at every function, except this one was missing a much-needed wedge of lime.

Beside her, Brett ran his hand through his hair, tousling it in a mess of directions and succeeding in making himself look even more adorable than he had two minutes ago, if such a thing were even possible.

Her heart did that little dance it was hell-bent on doing every time she saw that face, but her head replayed his words, over and over. The insinuation that maybe she wasn't doing the fundraiser for a professional reason or even out of charity, but out of something so much worse.

The egomaniac thought she was doing it to get close to him.

And it didn't matter that his nut-brown hair conjured up all sorts of images of what he must look like when he rolled out of bed in the morning, or that his deep-set eyes were a notch wider than usual and more earnest looking, too, or that his mouth…
Oh, that mouth
. No, none of it mattered. Because a man could be handsome off good looks alone, but a man couldn't be attractive without personality to back it up.

“Forget I said anything,” she said, wishing she'd never said anything at all. She knew the type. The inflated egos that came with good looks and female attention. Engaging would just stoke that fire.

“But now I'm curious,” Brett insisted.

She drained her club soda, plucked a five-dollar bill from her wallet, and set it on the bar.