Flowers on Main

He trimmed back another boxwood in a bedraggled hedge so his equipment could get a better grip to yank it from the ground. His broad, tanned shoulders were slick with sweat and the bandanna tied around his forehead was damp. He was wearing a pair of cutoff jeans and work boots. Sunglasses, covered by protective goggles, shaded his eyes as he worked with the power saw to cut a few more branches. The noise was deafening. As the last branch snapped off, he turned off the saw. But even as silence fell, it seemed as if the air still vibrated. He whipped off his goggles and turned to find Bree standing a few feet away, her expression uncertain. She looked cool as a cucumber in another of those sundresses she favored, this one a pale green.

He was tired. He was dirty. And he was in no mood for this,whatever it was that had brought her here. If things had been different between them, he might have admired her audacity in tracking him down.

“Hello, Jake.”

“I’m busy,” he said, snapping the goggles back into place and turning on the saw.

He’d wait her out. Cut off every damn branch, every tiny twig if he had to. He was not having this conversation with her. He was never speaking to her again. He’d made that decision when he’d found her all cozy and friendly with Martin Demming years ago. That had been the last straw, the deathblow to his hope that they might still salvage their relationship. The mere fact that she’d come home and was standing right here, apparently intent on butting into his life, didn’t change any of that.

He kept on cutting, ignoring her, until he’d left the base of the very last bush barely sticking out of the ground. When he was through, pleased with himself for not caving in to his desire to drink in the sight of her, he looked up and found her still standing right there. Her patience had always been a stark contrast to his rush through life, but today he found it more annoying than ever.

“Go away, Bree.”

“Not until we’ve talked,” she said, her chin jutting up stubbornly.

He whirled around and scowled at her. “Now? You want to talk right now? Where the hell was that eagerness to have a conversation six years ago? You didn’t seem inclined to say two words to me back then. You just took off. Half the time you wouldn’t even answer my calls, so I had to come to Chicago. And what did I find when I got there? You and Demming sharing a bottle of wine.”

“Having a glass of wine with a friend is hardly a crime,” she said mildly.

He retreated from the accusation and tried to make himself clearer. “The wine wasn’t the problem and we both know it. It was the way he was looking at you.” He shook his head. “No, it was the way you were looking at him. That was the real problem. Anybody with twenty-twenty eyesight could tell you were infatuated with him. We’d been apart how long by then? Three months, as I recall.”

There was a flash of guilt in her eyes that told him he hadn’t mistaken anything that night. He’d gotten what was going on between them exactly right. And even now, dammit, it still mattered. It continued to hurt that she’d been able to forget about him, about the baby they’d lost and the plans they’d made. Worse, she’d done it so quickly, so easily, as if nothing between them had ever mattered.

“I’m sorry, Jake.”

“Yeah, well, so am I. You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t want to rehash things at this late date.”

He tried to stare her down. It would have worked at one time, but today she held her ground. He sighed. If she was intent on having her say about something, it would be easier in the long run to let her get on with it. After all, he didn’t have to listen. He could tune her out, think about … His imagination failed him. He couldn’t think of anything that would be compelling enough to keep his attention diverted from the words coming out of Bree’s mouth.

“Okay, two minutes,” he snapped. “What do you want?”

“I’m thinking of staying in Chesapeake Shores,” she began.

He tried not to let her words cut right through him, but they did. Just one more decision that had come too late to matter, one more way she could rip out his heart on a daily basis.

“Well, bully for you,” he said, because she was clearly waiting for a response.

She did wince then, but she didn’t back down. “I wanted to know if that would be okay with you, if we could at least try to get along.”

“We can stay the hell out of each other’s way,” he said. “That’s the best I can promise. Take it or leave it. Go or stay. It makes no difference to me.” The lie tripped off his tongue convincingly, he thought. At least he hoped it did. He would not let her see that she still got to him. It was one thing for Mack and Will and his own sister to see right through him, but not Bree. That would be too pathetic.

There was a quick flash of hurt in her eyes, but then she nodded slowly. “Okay, then,” she said softly, a quiver in her voice that told him she was near tears. He steeled himself against it. So what if he hurt her? It was nothing to the pain she’d caused him.

She turned on her heel and walked away, giving him a perfect view of her excellent backside. Just staring after her stirred him in ways it shouldn’t. What was wrong with him? Was he a total jerk? A glutton for punishment? Because he knew with every fiber of his being that given a chance, he would take her to bed. Not into his heart again. Never that. But sex? Oh, yeah.

After her uncomfortable—okay, awful—confrontation with Jake, Bree sat in an Adirondack chair on the front porch, her feet propped up on a post, a notebook in her lap. She was making a list, something that was more like Abby than her. She had to get a handle on what she could do if she stayed here, because if she didn’t have a solid plan in mind, it would be too easy to drift back to the life she knew in Chicago, lousy as it was. So far she hadn’t written down one single thing, maybe because she couldn’t stop thinking about Jake and the way he’d looked at her.

Had she hurt him again for no good reason? If she couldn’t come up with a plan, then she couldn’t stay, and that whole ugly scene would have been for nothing. Hearing the anger and disdain in his voice had dredged up the way she’d felt on the night he’d walked out of her apartment and out of her life. She’d known then, just as she had today, that she deserved every bitter word. Why she’d expected anything different was beyond her. Had she honestly expected him to welcome her home with his familiar crooked smile and a solid, reassuring hug? The idea was ludicrous. Men didn’t just forgive and forget. Most of them wanted to get even. If that was his goal, to hurt her as she’d hurt him, he was well on his way.

A hint of forgiveness would have been nice, she admitted to herself with a sigh. Jake had been more than the man she’d loved six years ago. He’d been her best friend. He’d been the one she would have talked to about this crossroad in her life. Now they couldn’t even exchange a civil word.

When her cell phone rang, she answered eagerly. Any distraction was better than this sudden rootlessness she was feeling.

“Bree, thank goodness,” Jess said, sounding frantic. “Can you get over to the inn right now?”

“Sure. What’s going on?”

“I have a wedding here in three hours. The florist who’s supposed to be doing the flowers is in the hospital. He didn’t have a backup, so the wholesaler just dumped boxes and boxes of flowers on my doorstep. I have no idea what to do with them.”

“Give me ten minutes,” Bree said at once. “Do you have vases, wire, ribbons, anything for making arrangements?”

“I have vases. That’s it.”

“Are the bouquets made, at least?”

“Not that I can see.”

“Okay, make it a half hour. I’ll pick up some supplies on the way. Is there any way you can call the bride’s mother or a bridesmaid and find out what they had in mind without starting a panic?”

“I’ll try. The matron of honor is actually upstairs. Lauren’s a lot calmer and more practical than Mrs. Hilliard. I’ll ask her to meet us in a half hour.”

“Perfect.”

Rather than risking a wasted trip to Ethel’s Emporium for supplies they might not have, Bree raided her grandmother’s greenhouse and sewing room. She arrived at the inn with ribbon in a variety of colors, some scraps of lace and everything else she thought she might need.

She found Jess and Lauren Jackson, who’d been in Abby’s class at school, waiting for her, surrounded by open boxes of long-stemmed white roses, white snapdragons, white orchids and white lilacs. There was one box filled with trailing ivy.

“Hey, Lauren,” she said, looking over what they had to work with. “Any idea what the bride had in mind?”

“Simple. Her bouquet was going to be white orchids and lilacs. There are three attendants, and we’re supposed to have a single white rose with some long white ribbons.” She glanced at Jess. “I think there are supposed to be stands with vases of roses and snapdragons up by the minister, and then small arrangements on the tables. It’s not a huge wedding, just family and a few friends, so there are only four tables, maybe. Is that right?”

Jess nodded. “She said something about the ivy going across the table from the centerpieces.”

“Okay, then. I think that gives me enough to work with. Are the groom and best man and ushers supposed to have flowers for their lapels?”

Jess and Lauren regarded her blankly.

“I have no idea,” Lauren admitted. “I’ll call Tom, that’s the groom, and ask him.” She took out her cell phone and dialed. When he answered, she explained the situation and asked about the flowers, then shook her head for Bree’s benefit. She lowered her voice. “There is no need to panic, Tom. I swear it. Someone’s here right now, and we have it all under control. Whatever you do, do not say anything about this to Diana. She’ll freak out. Bye.”

She stuck her phone back in her pocket. “Everything set here?” she asked Bree. “Do you need me to stay and help?”

“No. I can take it from here. I’ll do the bouquets first, if you want to send someone down in an hour to get them. If they’re not right, we’ll have time for adjustments.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Bree. I’ll make sure Diana knows about this.” She grinned. “After the ceremony, anyway.”

When Lauren and Jess were gone, Bree took stock of the flowers and went to work. The bouquets were easy enough, thanks to the bride’s desire for simplicity. She held them up for Jess’s approval when she came back from checking on things in the kitchen to make sure the food for the reception was on track.

“What do you think?” she asked her sister.