What Should Have Been

“Among others.”

“Riley Walsh?”

“It would be unethical for me to say anything else.”

“Let me worry about my mother,” he said, nodding to the pad. “Take the order or I’ll figure some other way to do this.”

Why? Did he even know? No, he seemed stable enough; she wouldn’t listen to gossip. But even so, fear gripped her. Was this incredible gesture the sign that he intended to continue with the mind-set that he’d broached last night? She couldn’t let him. On the other hand, losing the sale and explaining the reason to Lavender would be no party, either.

Devan decided to total his bill, then she took the cash to make change. “Thank you.” She kept her eyes on what she was doing. “Really. This is…lovely.”

“You’re welcome. When can I see you again?”

He was going to scrape her insides raw. “Mead, I’m so shaken, I’m about to lose the breakfast I barely ate.”

Confusion shadowed those dark eyes. “I’ve made you sick?”

“Oh, no! It’s because—” how did she make him understand? “—I did an extra good job convincing myself that I’d never see you again. And then there’s the man you were. I don’t believe he…you would be doing this.”

“But I am.” He leaned closer to force her to meet his gaze. “Would you be hoping I would?”

She couldn’t bring herself to answer.

That won a real smile from Mead and he dropped the bulk of the cash she’d returned to him onto her copy of the invoice. “Add the yellow roses.”

“Oh, no, Mead, please—”

“Think about me, not who you think I should be, or the people you keep looking at outside. Not my mother.”

As he left, Lavender burst through the French doors with her usual energy and curiosity. “Who was that? Whoa—long legs, tight butt and shoulders so wide he wouldn’t notice if I ate a pint of ice cream every night. Did he place an order?”

“Does the word Rhys ring a bell with you?” Devan said, a little exasperated.

“Of course.” Lavender set a glorious purple orchid on the counter. “I’m just asking.”

“Yes, he placed an order.”

“Super, so we’ve got his phone number.”

“We already have it on file.”

“We do?

“It’s the same as Pamela Regan’s.”

“Oh. Oh…wow.”

Devan sighed. “You can say that again.”

Chapter Five

I t was a relief that Dreamscapes’ business increased by the day to help keep Devan preoccupied. While Lavender continued to tend to the floral orders, she and her team were forced to spread themselves thin to fulfill all of the requests to create holiday porches and scenescapes, and still finish landscaping yards for Riley Walsh’s new houses. That entailed longer hours and, as a result, the necessity to take up the Andersons’ offer to pick up Blakeley from day care and feed her dinner. Yesterday had been so grueling she even had to let them keep her overnight; it was healthier and kinder to let the child stay warm and get good rest than to drag her in and out of the SUV in the damp, chilly night air.

Today, however, they’d managed to finish in time for Devan to spend the evening with her child. Nevertheless, it was all she could do to get Blakeley bathed and tuck her into bed before feeling ready to collapse, too.

“’Night, sweetheart.”

“You didn’t read me a story, Mommy. Nana has been reading me a story every time.”

“So do I, remember? But Mommy’s throat is a little raw tonight.”

“Are you catching a cold from chasing the all mighty?”

Her hand on the light switch, Devan paused. “What?”

“Gramps told Nana that’s what you’ve been doing. He said that it would be better if you stayed home and didn’t chase it. All mighty what, Mommy? I heard that name in Sunday school, but that was God. I thought God was in heaven. Did he move to Mount Vance?”

Did she need this? Devan wondered. She certainly didn’t feel she deserved such a remark behind her back. It didn’t surprise her, though. Connie was quite good about accepting that their generation’s lifestyles were different than today’s. Or at least she didn’t force her opinion on people. For some reason Jerrold seemed obliged to protect his son’s memory, maybe males in general, and he didn’t care for her to be a businesswoman.

It was true that Jay had been a good provider and hard worker. The profit from selling the three dry-cleaning stores had been safely invested to guarantee Blakeley her future. His life insurance had paid off the mortgage on the house and still could take care of them on a day-to-day basis, too. But what about her? Didn’t she deserve to challenge herself and pursue goals?

Sighing, she smiled at Blakeley and gave her a last kiss before turning off the light. “Gramps was just sharing an opinion with Nana. He didn’t mean for you to hear.”

“Because it’s secret stuff? He didn’t whisper.”

Devan bet he didn’t. “No, boring grown up stuff about work. Sweet dreams, darlin’.”

Returning to the kitchen to load the dishwasher, tears burned in her eyes, and that wasn’t because virtually every muscle in her body screamed with fatigue. Afraid she was going to burst into tears, she buried her face in her hands.

She couldn’t let what Blakeley told her pull her down. Mind-sets like Jerrold’s were steeped in generations of Southern living. It didn’t mean he disapproved of her or had been pretending to care about her all this time.

You’ve got to be hormonal.

Knowing that as tired as she was, she would just lie there and watch the numbers on her digital clock change, she poured herself a glass of Shiraz, switched off the TV, and put on a CD of New Age music Lavender had asked her to listen to. They were considering carrying some romantic CDs to offer in their gift baskets and arrangements.

By the stereo was one of the vases with the white roses Mead had insisted on giving her the other day. There were vases in both her bedroom and Blakeley’s as well as on the dining room table, and their scent continued to fill the house and stir her emotions. She couldn’t get over what he’d done, or stop staring at the blossoms wondering why life was taking this latest twist.

Two years ago this would be the time of night when Jay would flip the TV remote through the financial shows, then the sports channels while she would polish the kitchen whether it needed it or not. Afterward, she would soak in the tub with a steamy novel that soon had her aching and wishing he wasn’t such a robot about their relationship. Their marriage hadn’t been a failure—there was an easiness, a tenderness that others said they’d envied—but she couldn’t deny that sometimes she was bored to desperation with its predictability.

Well, she thought yet again, who said life was supposed to be the Fourth of July every day?

How about one night a month? At least one night a year?

She knew uncontrollable passion existed. Sweet heaven, did she.

Heat rose in Devan like a furnace switched to full blast. She took a sip of wine, pulled one of the roses out of the vase and slipped out the back door to cool off. It was either that or ditch the wisteria-blue tunic-sweater she wore over a white turtleneck.

The porch light was off, but the rising moon illuminated the yard adequately for the minute or two she would be out here. Her rose looked all the more magical in that light and she stroked the velvety petals against her cheek.