Flowers on Main Read online

  Sally made a note of it, then hesitated. “Look, maybe I shouldn’t say anything, because I have no idea what happened between you and Jake, but you should know that he, Will and Mack come in here every day at noon and sit in this booth. They’re regulars.”

  The words were innocuous, but the tone was heavy with implications. It amounted to a warning from the usually diplomatic Sally.

  “And you don’t want me chasing them away,” Bree concluded. “I understand. I’ll do my best to stay out of their way. I’ll probably be leaving town soon anyway.”

  But even as she said the words, knots of tension formed in her shoulders again. That ought to tell her something, she thought. She crawled out of the booth, aware that other customers were staring, friends of Jake’s no doubt, people who probably hated her as much as he did. She went to wait for her order by the register, paid Sally and fled.

  She took the meal to a picnic table in the park along the waterfront. While osprey and even the occasional eagle swooped high above her, she picked at the sandwich, then scattered the bread for the waiting seagulls.

  Now what? she wondered. The debate over whether to stay or go was raging inside her, turning her stomach queasy.

  Staying, which she’d only recently begun to consider, was rife with problems. It wasn’t as if this were Chicago, where she and Jake would never cross paths. Here in Chesapeake Shores they were bound to. How could she come back and disrupt his life after what she’d done to him? Obviously he still hated her, if he’d fled the café without even acknowledging her. Worse, she couldn’t really blame him. What she’d done was cruel.

  When she thought about all that, the guilt was overwhelming. How could she possibly stay here, especially when it was clear that Jake wasn’t the only one judging her? She’d squirmed under all those accusing eyes in the café, felt the sting of Sally’s disapproval. Chances were not one of them knew even half of what had happened, but they’d chosen sides anyway. Jake’s side. After all, he was the one who’d been left behind. She might be an O’Brien, with all that implied in this town, but she’d left. She was no longer one of them.

  Then, again, how could she allow what had happened so long ago to keep her from finding peace for herself? Over the past three weeks she’d increasingly come to believe that she belonged right here. She hadn’t figured out what she wanted to do with herself, much less any of the details, but when she thought of staying, she felt a kind of serenity that had eluded her for some time now.

  “I want to come home for good. I want to live in Chesapeake Shores,” she said aloud, while the waiting seagulls regarded her solemnly, hoping for more scraps. The words sounded right, convincing. Surprising.

  Like her sister Abby and her brothers, Bree had been only too eager to leave behind the town that had absorbed so much of her father’s time, then skyrocketed his career as an architect, developer and urban planner in a way that had taken him away from them. Now, it seemed, she was ready to come home. The decision, barely made, felt right.

  Except for its impact on Jake. If she decided to stay, first she had to find some way to coexist with the man whose heart she’d broken. Unfortunately, based on today’s reception, it seemed unlikely he’d make that easy for her.

  “Maybe it shouldn’t be easy,” she murmured as the seagulls watched her quizzically and a couple of weekday tourists regarded her curiously.

  She smiled wryly. She must present quite a sight, with no makeup, the sea breeze whipping strands of her hair out of the clasp meant to hold it atop her head and talking to herself. If she were a character in one of her own plays, there would be quite a story behind this scene.

  In fact, there was quite a story behind it. What she couldn’t quite predict for the real-life version was whether it would turn out to have a happy ending or wind up a tragedy.

  The crab-cake sandwich was sitting heavily in Jake’s stomach. One beer had turned into two before he’d cut himself off and returned to work. He planned to lock himself in his office at the nursery and spend the afternoon catching up on paperwork. As much as he hated that side of the landscaping business, at least it required concentration, which meant his mind wouldn’t be wandering to thoughts of Bree the way it had all during lunch, despite Will and Mack’s best attempts to talk about anything and everything else.

  They’d exhausted Orioles baseball, the upcoming football season with the Ravens, politics and even the usually lively recitation of Mack’s dating exploits. The latter, unfortunately, had cut a little too close to the unspoken topic of Bree, so Jake had cited a busy afternoon schedule and cut the meal short.

  En route to his desk, he kicked his trash can across the office, then threw a stack of seed catalogs on the floor. It was when a chair hit the wall that his sister came flying into the room.

  “What on earth has gotten into you?” Connie demanded, ducking behind the door when an empty soda can came flying in her direction.

  “If you have an ounce of sense, you’ll get the hell out of here,” Jake growled, turning his back on her to stare out the window at rows of shrubs and trees currently being examined by an elderly couple at the behest of one of his best salesmen. He recognized the Whitcombs. He’d been working for them since his days of cutting grass as a teenager. They’d been asking lately about crepe myrtles to fill in their landscaping. The trees that flowered in late summer came in an increasing range of colors now. Molly Whitcomb had her heart set on a dark purple one, while Walter liked the more traditional pink. Jake wondered idly who was winning the battle.

  He heard his office door click shut and turned around expecting to find himself alone, but his sister was calmly sitting on the chair opposite his desk, her expression patient.

  “So, you don’t have an ounce of sense?” he asked, amused despite his sour mood.

  “That’s what I hear,” she said. “I certainly don’t run from trouble, the way you apparently do.”

  Jake bristled. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “You and Bree—just about face-to-face at Sally’s, and you turn around and take off. Sound familiar?”

  He scowled at her. “How did you hear about that?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, did you honestly think that news wouldn’t be all over town within five minutes? That’s the joy of cell phones, little brother. The local grapevine works at lightning speed these days.”

  “More’s the pity.”

  “So, do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  She shrugged. “What else is new? You haven’t wanted to talk about Bree for six years. Now, personally, I think you’d get her out of your system a whole lot faster if you’d rant and rave and tell the universe exactly what you think about her.”

  “Bree is out of my system,” he insisted. And what he thought of her wasn’t fit for saying aloud. “I broke up with her, remember?”

  Connie gave him a sympathetic look, the kind that made him want to break things.

  “You may have said the words, Jake, but she broke your heart long before that. Don’t even try to deny it. I was here. I saw what it did to you when she left for Chicago. And something tells me there was a whole lot more to the story than you’ve ever admitted.”

  “I do not want to discuss this,” he reminded her fiercely. “I mean it, Connie. The subject of Bree is off-limits. If you bring up her name again, I’ll fire you.”

  “No, you won’t,” she said serenely. “But I’ll drop it for now. Or at least I will after you’ve answered one question for me. What are you going to do if she’s back here to stay?”

  “Bree’s a hotshot playwright in Chicago. She’s not staying, so it’s not going to be an issue.” Please God, let me be right about that.

  “I’m just asking, what if—”

  Jake cut her off. “Drop it, Connie. I mean it.”

  She sighed. “Consider it dropped, for now anyway. Are you coming for dinner tonight?”

  Ever since her divorce five years ago, he usually had d
inner with Connie and his seventeen-year-old niece two or three times a week. A good deal for him, Jake acknowledged, because his sister’s cooking was a whole lot better than his. So was their company most of the time. It seemed best to steer clear tonight, though, with the whole conversation about Bree still a little too fresh. If Connie could pester the daylights out of him, his niece was worse. Jenny Louise thought his love life “sucked,” and considered it her own personal mission to point that out to him on a regular basis. If she’d caught wind of the incident at Sally’s, he’d never hear the end of it.

  “No,” he told Connie flatly.

  “I’m fixing your favorite—meat loaf and mashed potatoes and fresh green beans.”

  Jake almost regretted turning her down. Not only was the meal his all-time favorite, but nobody made it better than his sister. She used their mom’s old meat-loaf recipe, complete with mushroom gravy. Unfortunately, he knew in this instance, it also came with a scoop of sisterly advice and a side of meddling from Jenny Louise.

  “No, thanks,” he said.

  Connie studied him for what seemed like an eternity, then nodded. “Okay, then, I’ll save you some and bring it in tomorrow,” she said at last. “You can have it for dinner tomorrow night.”

  “I won’t turn that down.” He walked around the desk and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Thanks, sis.”

  “I could bring enough for two,” she said, her expression innocent. “You know, in case you wanted to have someone over.”

  Jake frowned. “I’m not talking about Bree, I’m not talking to Bree, so I’m sure as hell not inviting her over for dinner.”

  A satisfied grin spread across Connie’s face. “Did I say a single word about Bree?” she inquired, then answered her own question. “I did not. The fact that you immediately leaped to that conclusion speaks volumes not only about your obsession with her, but the absence of any other woman in your life.”

  On that note, she sashayed out the door, apparently very pleased with herself. Jake would have thrown something after her, but he figured she’d just take that as more proof that she was right.

  Which she was, damn it all to hell.

  There was a big, noisy deli on the corner a few blocks down the street from Megan’s condo. She made it a point to stop there on her way home from work whenever the prospect of the silence in her apartment didn’t appeal to her. With Abby and the twins now living in Chesapeake Shores instead of just a few dozen blocks away here in New York, she was at loose ends more often than she liked.

  She was almost to the deli’s door when she glanced through the window and spotted Mick sitting at a table sipping coffee. Shock stopped her in her tracks. Her heart flipped over in her chest, just the way it had the first time she’d met him more than thirty-five years ago. How was it possible to still feel that rush of emotion after all these years, especially with a bitter divorce and fifteen years of separation behind them?

  When she’d felt a little twinge of affection—okay, more than a twinge and more than affection—a few weeks ago, she’d blamed it on being back in Chesapeake Shores surrounded by family, if only for a few days. Of course she’d felt a little sentimental. Today, right here in New York where she’d made a new life for herself, the rush of emotion caught her completely off guard. It was also a whole lot more worrisome. She’d never tried to deny that she still loved Mick. But she also knew it was folly to consider going back to him. No matter what Abby believed, Megan knew he hadn’t changed, not enough anyway.

  As she debated with herself whether to go or stay, he glanced up and caught sight of her. A smile broke across his face and in that instant, she was lost. No one had ever looked at her the way Mick did, as if the sun rose and set with her.

  She gave him a little wave, then went inside. Drawing in a deep, calming breath, she prepared herself to face him without losing control of her emotions or the situation. She was a smart, accomplished woman. It ought to be easy enough.

  Ever the gentleman, Mick stood as she approached. His kiss grazed her cheek, but then he pulled back, looking as embarrassed as a schoolboy caught stealing a kiss in the cloakroom.

  “Sorry,” he murmured as he slid into the booth opposite her.

  She regarded him with amusement. “It’s okay, Mick. There’s nothing inappropriate about giving your ex-wife an innocent peck on the cheek. Now tell me, of all the delis in New York, what brings you to the one in my neighborhood?”

  He gestured toward the cell phone in the middle of the table. “I was going to call you. I thought maybe we could grab dinner, if you don’t have plans.”

  So he had come to see her, she thought, not sure whether she was pleased by that or more terrified than ever.

  When she still hadn’t responded after a couple of minutes of silence, he regarded her with an impatient expression. “Do you have plans?”

  She shook her head, determined not to make it easy for him or maybe struggling to decide if spending more time with him was wise.

  He obviously had some idea of what she was up to because he frowned. “Then will you have dinner with me?” he inquired with exaggerated patience.

  Since she’d planned to eat right here anyway, she finally nodded. “Sure, we can grab a bite here.”

  He glanced around the deli with its rush of customers and clattering silverware, with its legion of abrasive waitresses and waiters. “Here? I was thinking someplace, you know, a little classier than this.”

  “I eat here a lot,” she said. “The food’s good. Besides, we’re already here.”

  The last place she wanted to be with her ex-husband was some cozy, romantic restaurant with expensive wine, an even pricier menu and candlelight. That was the kind of place a man took a woman he was courting. Casual was good, safer. She could pretend this was nothing more than a chance meeting of two longtime acquaintances.

  Acquaintances who happened to share five children, she amended wryly.

  Mick shrugged eventually. “Whatever you want.” He beckoned for a waiter, an older man who beamed at Megan.

  “Your Monday usual, Ms. O’Brien?” he asked with the familiarity she’d come to expect from the staff. “Iced tea, the corned-beef brisket and parsley potatoes?”

  “Sounds perfect, Joe. How’s your wife?”

  “Back to her old self,” he said. “Thanks for asking.”

  “And Mary? Did she get her grade on her exam?”

  The man’s smile spread. “An A plus,” he told her proudly.

  Megan turned to Mick, who was listening to the exchange with obvious surprise. “Joe’s granddaughter is studying to be a doctor at Columbia.”

  “Congratulations!” Mick said. “That’s quite an accomplishment.”

  “She’s the smartest one in the family,” Joe said. “Now, tell me what I can get for you.”

  Mick didn’t bother with the menu. “I’ll have whatever she’s having and more coffee.”

  Joe nodded and left.

  “That man did not say two words to me when he took my order earlier,” Mick said. “You had him chattering like a magpie.”

  She laughed. “I come here a lot. Joe treats me like family.”

  “So even in a city the size of New York, you’ve created a small-town atmosphere for yourself,” he said.

  “I had to work at it,” she admitted. “At first I was too intimidated to talk to anyone except the people I worked with and then Abby once she moved here. Then I discovered that if you ask a few questions, show an interest in people, they behave exactly the way they would in Chesapeake Shores.”

  Joe returned and set another cup of coffee in front of Mick and gave her a tall glass of iced tea, then discreetly vanished with a wink, suggesting he’d have a lot of questions for her tomorrow about the man sitting across from her now. For years now, he’d clucked over her lack of a social life like a protective father.

  Because she wanted a few answers for herself and not just to be prepared for Joe’s interrogation, she looked Mick in the eye.
“You never did tell me what you’re doing in New York. Do you have business here?”

  He shook his head, looking surprisingly uneasy for a man of his accomplishments and confidence. “I had business in Seattle last week, then in Minneapolis. I decided to take a little side trip on the way home.”

  “You never liked New York,” she said. It was one of the reasons she’d chosen it after the divorce. She’d wanted to be someplace where they’d shared no memories and where it was unlikely Mick would be popping up too frequently.

  “Still don’t,” he admitted. “But you’re here.”

  She swallowed hard at the glint in his eye. The simple comment held a world of meaning. “Mick, don’t.”

  His gaze held hers. “Don’t what? Don’t be honest with you?”

  “Don’t say things like that. You and me, we had our chance. It’s best to leave it like that.”

  His expression remained solemn. “I don’t think I can do that.”

  “Of course you can. We haven’t crossed paths in years, not even when I came home to see the kids when they were younger. There’s no reason for that to change.”

  Again, he looked directly into her eyes, the gaze bold, disconcerting. “I think there is. The sparks are still there, Meggie. Just because I was a damn fool doesn’t mean they’ve gone away.”

  She reached for a packet of sweetener, not because she wanted it but because she needed something to do with her hands. When she started to tear it open, it flew from her grasp, spreading powdery sweetener everywhere. She would have cleaned it up, but Mick covered her hand.

  “Don’t,” he said. “Leave it.” Again, he beckoned for Joe, who was there in an instant with a damp cloth and a questioning look.

  She forced a smile for him. “Thanks. I’m all thumbs tonight.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Joe said. He glanced at another waiter heading their way. “Here come your meals. You’ll let me know if you need anything.”

  “Thanks,” Mick told him. When Joe and the other waiter had left, Mick pushed the plate aside and turned in her direction. “Does it really bother you, me being here?”