The Wedding Dance (7 page)

There were so many possible answers to that question, starting with a simple
You
and going from there. For now though, Patrick settled for pointing to the remains of the tree.

“I’d love some help getting this into the wheelbarrow.”

Phoebe didn’t hesitate. So many of the women he’d been out with would have hated the idea of doing that kind of hard manual labor. Most wouldn’t have stayed for the day’s work so far, but she was only too happy to help at one side of the stump while Patrick got the other. Even Angela didn’t balk for too long, and he suddenly realized where Phoebe had gotten her strength from. Angela wasn’t an easy woman, perhaps, but in the end she was a survivor.

Between the three of them, they managed to lift what was left of the tree stump into the wheelbarrow. As Patrick wheeled it away, he stole a glance back and saw Phoebe smiling over at her mother. It was obvious how much Angela mattered to her, but then, it had been obvious all day.

And what a lucky woman Angela was, to be loved by Phoebe.

Chapter Ten

By the end of the day, Phoebe was so exhausted from working on the garden that she felt like she could sleep for a week. Yet as she looked around, seeing the difference that she had made to the flower garden along with her mother, it was easy to think that it had all been worth the effort.

“So,” Patrick asked, coming back from getting rid of the last of the tree stump, “did you have fun today?”

Phoebe was surprised to find that she had. It had been fun spending the day doing something worthwhile, even if it had taken a lot of effort.

Maybe
because
it had taken so much effort.

“I did,” she said with a small smile, suddenly feeling shy around Patrick.

“How about you, Angela?”

“Just as long as I don’t have to do it all over again tomorrow,” her mother replied, but she was smiling too.

Phoebe hadn’t seen many smiles from her since she showed up at her apartment. Clearly, a day out in the fresh air had done her some good. That or a day around Patrick.

She had been impressed with the way Patrick had persuaded her mother to help, and coaxed her into assisting with the remains of the tree. He’d made a real effort, but he hadn’t intruded on a situation it would have been easy to make worse.

“RJ tells me there’s a small party for the volunteers over by the tent. It would be great if you could both come after putting so much effort in.”

“We’d love to, wouldn’t we, Phoebe?” her mother said before Phoebe could make up an excuse to leave.

Knowing there wasn’t much of a chance of stopping her mother now, she settled for putting away her gardening gear in the car before she headed over to the tent. Patrick did the same, walking over to his brother’s waiting truck with the axe and the shovel he’d been using.

“Will your mother be okay?” he asked.

“Oh, she’ll be fine,” she said, even though the truth was her mother had never been able to hold her liquor...which was made worse by the fact that she thought she could.

Knowing it wouldn’t look good if she sprinted over to check on her mother, Phoebe briskly walked across the lawn, glad for her hiking boots. In the tent the volunteers were enjoying themselves with BBQ chicken and drinks from a couple of large coolers.

RJ intercepted them. “Thanks for coming out today. You’ve made a real difference to that flower garden.”

“It wasn’t just me,” Phoebe said, looking past RJ to see if she could spot her mother.

“Your mom seems great, by the way.”

Phoebe tried to smile. “She is great, thanks. Have you seen her?”

RJ turned to look for Angela. “She was just here a second ago. Is everything okay?”

What could she do but nod? “Sure.”

“Why don’t you relax and have something to eat?” he said and before she knew it she found herself eating a BBQ chicken sandwich while caught up in a conversation with a couple who were just in the middle of landscaping their own garden and had heard she was a plant expert.

“What kind of flowers would you recommend for a deer tolerant yard?” the woman asked. “We keep trying things that people have recommended, but they don’t always do that well.”

“Honestly, the best advice I can give you is to take a look in your neighbors’ gardens. Nine times out of ten, what works has as much to do with the soil and the general location as anything else.”

A few minutes later, she spotted Patrick at the entrance to the tent, waving her over. “Sorry,” she said, “I think I’m needed.”

She hurried over to Patrick, who looked worried. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve found your mother.”

“It’s bad?”

Patrick didn’t reply immediately. “I think you should come and look.”

He led the way outside, round to the back of the marquee. There, Phoebe’s mother was sitting on the grass, a bottle of champagne in her hand. It was nearly empty. She looked up as they approached.

“There you both are. I thought you’d run off, Patrick.”

“I just went to get Phoebe, Angela.”

“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had left me here,” she continued. “Men are always running off on me. It’s like there’s something wrong with me.”

“No, there isn’t,” Patrick said as they got closer. Very gently, he took the champagne bottle out of her hand and put it aside.

Phoebe moved to kneel beside her mother who looked more stricken by the second. “What kind of example am I…am I—” she paused for a moment, as though trying to remember the word “—
setting
?”

Phoebe hooked an arm under her mother’s. “Let’s get you home.”

“I don’t have a home anymore. Not since me and your father split up.” She was crying by that point.

“Here,” Patrick said, “let me.”

He lifted her mother easily, carrying her over to Phoebe’s car and helping her into the back seat before sliding into the passenger seat.

“What are you doing?” Phoebe asked.

“You’ll need help getting her to your apartment.”

She didn’t bother to argue with him. Not when the thought of trying to carry her mother up the long flight of stairs made Phoebe a hundred times more tired than she already was.

“Thanks,” she said at last, and started to drive. When they reached her apartment, Patrick helped her mother out of the car, wrapping her arm around his shoulders to support her.

“I’ve made such a mess of things,” her mother murmured as they got to the door and Phoebe unlocked it.

Knowing Angela wouldn’t remember their conversation in the morning, Phoebe murmured something comforting as she tried to help her inside, but in the end Patrick just picked her mother up completely.

“Nice apartment,” he said with a nod to the flowers and plants occupying every surface. “Where should I take Angela?”

“Right through here.” She led the way to her bedroom, trying not to think about how differently this might have gone with Patrick the other night if it had been just the two of them.

Patrick laid her mother down on her bed and Angela crooned, “It’s been years since a strong young man carried me to bed.”

Phoebe winced. Apparently, her mother was determined to be as embarrassing as possible tonight.

Angela immediately curled an arm around the extra pillow and held on tight to it. “I love you, Cally.”

“I love you, too, Mom.”

As she headed back out into the living room with Patrick, he admired the flowers again before saying, “You obviously believe in bringing your work home with you.” He paused. “Cally?”

She’d been hoping Patrick wouldn’t pick up on that. She should have known better. He noticed everything.

Especially the things she didn’t want anyone to see.

“It’s my middle name.”

“Phoebe Cally Davis?”

Phoebe moved over to the sofa and sat down next to the pile of folded sheets. She might as well get comfortable. It was where she was going to be spending the night again, after all.

“It’s short for Caladenia. It’s a type of orchid.”

Patrick sat next to her, and Phoebe wasn’t sure how she felt about having him that close.

No, that was a lie. She was very sure how she felt about him being so close.

Far too good for her peace of mind.

“Caladenia,” he repeated, and she loved the way it sounded when he said it. “It’s a very beautiful name. You got your love of flowers from your mother, didn’t you?”

Phoebe nodded, swallowing hard at the lump in her throat that had grown bigger and bigger as he was kinder and kinder. “She loves orchids. The Caladenia orchid is her favorite. When I was a kid, she used to try to grow them, because she said they were the most beautiful of all the orchids. The most precious.”

It was just what she’d always said about Phoebe.
You’re my beautiful, precious little girl, Cally
.

“It’s one of the things she used to let me help with, but it never worked that well.”

“You have such a green thumb that I take it the flower is hard to grow?”

“Almost impossible. The roots are too easily displaced. You have to care for it more than almost any other flower.”

Why was she fighting back tears? She never cried.
Never.

“The crazy thing is, regardless of how much time you put in, it still dies after a couple of years.”

“It must be a very beautiful flower for people to want to put in all that work,” Patrick said softly. “A small miracle.”

Phoebe nodded. “It is.”

The one time they’d been able to get one to grow, her mother had said just that same thing as Patrick:
It’s a miracle, sweetie. Right here in front of us. Let’s appreciate every second of its bloom.

Oh God. She
was
going to cry.

No. She couldn’t. Not now. Not tonight.

And definitely not in front of Patrick.

“There are other beautiful flowers out there,” she made herself say. “Why put in all that effort waiting for a miracle when the odds are it probably won’t happen?”

“Because sometimes the rewards are worth the risk,” Patrick said so gently, so sweetly, she almost felt as if the words were more of a caress than anything else. “Even if the odds aren’t great, they’re still so much better than if we never take a risk at all.”

He was silent for a few seconds after that, and Phoebe half expected him to lean across and kiss her. To finally make the move that she was sure he had wanted to make all day.

Yet, Patrick didn’t close that gap. Instead, he stood.

“I’m glad we got your mother back safely. And I hope you enjoyed the day in the park. Good night, Phoebe.”

He left, then, shutting the door behind him, leaving Phoebe to stare after him, trying to make sense of her very confusing feelings for Patrick Knight.

Chapter Eleven

Phoebe woke up to the sound of her phone ringing. What time was it? And what was she doing on her couch?

It took a moment or two for memories of the previous day to seep in, while at the same time her phone kept ringing, leaving her scrambling to locate it. She finally found it under one of the cushions of the couch. How exactly it had gotten there she didn’t know.

The number on the screen was for Lisa Harding, a local florist Phoebe occasionally ran into down at the flower market and often met for coffee to catch up on flower business gossip. Lisa had even helped to source a couple of more unusual blooms for Phoebe, on occasion, through some friends of hers who liked to grow rarer species in their greenhouses.

“Hi Phoebe. I’ve just had an order in for a bouquet, and I thought I should probably let you know.”

Phoebe frowned slightly. “Why?”

“It’s to be sent to your address.” Before Phoebe could push past her surprise to respond in any way, the other woman said, “It’s one of my best arrangements.”

Phoebe’s heart fluttered with something that felt too much like hope. Moving over to the small kitchen area of her apartment, she started making coffee, a strong brew that would help her wake up and get her head back on straight. The morning would definitely look better after coffee, and her mother would undoubtedly need it too.

Patrick knew
exactly
how she felt about flower deliveries. So why had he done this?

Phoebe took a deep breath, then let it out slowly before asking, “Do you mind if I come by your shop in a bit?”

“Sure, but don’t you even want to know who ordered it?”

“I can guess.”

There was silence on the other end of the line and Phoebe figured her friend was confused by her reaction to the news. And rightly so. Most people loved getting flowers. Phoebe might have too.

If only they didn’t mean what she was afraid they meant.

“Lisa,” she asked before they disconnected, “if you wouldn’t mind, could you not start on it until I get there?”

Phoebe had been so sure the other day that Patrick understood how they stood. That he’d finally decided just to be a good friend to her. The whole day had been about as far from a date as it was possible to get, and then, when he’d helped to bring in her mother and they’d had the kind of opportunity for a kiss that no guy she’d dated would ever have passed up…he’d just left. Yet now he was sending her flowers?

Phoebe quickly showered and dressed without waking her mother, wrote a note saying she was heading in to work if Angela needed her, then set out for Lisa’s flower shop. It was a tiny place wedged between a small boutique and a store selling furniture, with a small front space tastefully put together with a few flower arrangements on display next to a couple of awards. Bouquets from Lisa didn’t come cheap, which made it all the more worrying that Patrick had ordered one for her.

Lisa smiled as Phoebe came in. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here since I’ve been wondering about the message on the card.”

Her friend hunted behind the counter for a moment then handed Phoebe a card which read,
It’s not every day I get to carry a woman home. I hope you’re feeling better today.

Relief and disappointment warred with each other inside of her as she told her friend, “These flowers aren’t for me. They’re for my mother.”

Of course she was glad that Patrick intended to send flowers to her mother rather than her, and it was incredibly sweet of him. Not a lot of guys would do that. And yet, for a moment Phoebe had almost felt as if he was going to push past her walls, no matter what, by giving
her
a bouquet of flowers, whether she wanted them or not.