Flowers on Main Read online

  In some ways she was as plodding and careful as Abby, but in others she was as impulsive as Jess. She went with her gut more often than not, and this felt right. Maybe if she hadn’t been going over her options for days now, if the decision to stay here hadn’t already been made, she would have waited, taken some time to examine this from every angle. As it was, she felt certain that this was something that could work, something she’d be good at, something she’d enjoy.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, she reached for her cell phone and called the number of the management company listed on the discreet sign in the lower corner of the window. It was a number she should have known by heart, since her uncle had started the management company and one of her cousins was running it these days.

  When Susie answered, Bree almost faltered. Should her cousin know about this before anyone else in the family? The answer was tricky since there were still some hard feelings among the various branches of the O’Brien family that went back to the construction of Chesapeake Shores. She waved off her doubts.

  “Susie, it’s me, your cousin Bree.”

  “Well, hey there. I’d heard you were in town when Jess opened the inn, but I didn’t catch much more than a glimpse of you at the party.”

  Bree laughed. “Big bashes like that give me hives. I put in an appearance for family solidarity and all that, then hid out in the kitchen helping the chef.”

  “I thought you’d be back in Chicago by now.”

  “I decided to stick around. That’s why I’m calling, in fact. I’m interested in leasing the space that’s available on Main Street.”

  “Really?” Susie said, not even trying to hide her shock. “I thought you were doing so well with your plays.”

  “I was doing well enough,” Bree hedged. “But I want to do something different. How about I come by now and sign the paperwork?”

  “It’s a two-year lease,” Susie reminded her. “We don’t like instability downtown.”

  “I’m not crazy about instability myself,” Bree said. “Two years is fine.”

  “Do you mind if I ask what kind of business you’re planning to open?”

  “A flower shop,” Bree said, her voice brimming with excitement. “Flowers on Main.”

  “You even have a name for it?”

  Bree laughed. “And that’s about all I have at the moment. And a lease, if you’ll wait for me to get over to the office.”

  “I’ll wait,” Susie promised. “I want to hear all about why you’ve decided to come back home.”

  Mostly so she could report it to the rest of the family, Bree was certain. Still, word would get around soon enough. She just had to make sure that Gram, Mick, Abby and Jess heard about it from her before anyone else went running to them with the news.

  And by the time she talked to her family, she was going to have a whole lot more than a lease and some vague idea that she could reinvent herself as a florist. Otherwise they’d start worrying about her the same way they fretted about Jess, convinced that she’d jumped into something without thinking it through.

  Which, of course, was exactly what she was doing. But for the first time in months, she actually felt a stirring of excitement deep inside, a resurgence of self-confidence. Maybe her destiny had been to work with flowers all along. Or perhaps this was just a stopgap measure until she got her feet back under her. Either way it felt right for now.

  “You’re going to do what?” Marty demanded, his tone incredulous when Bree worked up the courage to call and tell him she wasn’t coming back to Chicago. “Surely you’re not serious. What can possibly have possessed you to even consider giving up the theater to open a flower shop? Are you having some kind of breakdown?”

  His scathing tone stiffened her resolve. That a man who’d claimed to love her could even ask such a question in that tone was proof that she’d made the right decision. Chicago was not the place for her, and he was most definitely not the right man.

  “Thank you,” she said wryly.

  “For what?” he asked, clearly confused.

  “For making it clear that I’m doing the right thing.”

  “What are you talking about? I certainly said no such thing.”

  “No, you said I must be having some kind of a breakdown.”

  “Well, aren’t you? No one in their right mind would give up the opportunity you’ve had here to stay in that little hick town playing with posies.”

  “I think I’m more suited to ‘playing with posies,’ as you put it, than to being demeaned at every turn by you.”

  “When have I ever demeaned you?” he demanded, sounding genuinely shocked by the accusation. “All I’ve ever done was to support your work and offer constructive criticism.”

  “Potato, potahto,” she said.

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Your version of constructive criticism is to tear me down until I’m no longer convinced I can write a coherent thought or a well-drawn character. Oh, I’ll admit, in the beginning I was so in awe of you that I took every word as a pearl of wisdom, but I see now that in taking your criticism to heart, in molding my stories to win your approval, I was losing myself. The voice that I brought to my first play faltered in the second one and disappeared completely by the third.”

  “You’re blaming me because your third play was a disaster?” he asked, incredulous.

  “No, absolutely not,” she said swiftly. “I blame myself, because I listened to you. Don’t get me wrong, Marty. You taught me a lot in the beginning. You’re an amazing playwright. But I can’t be a carbon copy of you. I needed to be myself, and somewhere along the way I forgot that.”

  He was silent for so long, she thought maybe he was too furious with her to speak. But then he said, “Maybe that’s true.”

  She was so stunned by the admission, she didn’t have a response.

  He went on in that same thoughtful tone. “Now that you understand that, though, this is exactly the wrong time to turn tail and run. You need to come back here and get back to work. I’ll still help you, if you want it, or I’ll leave you alone.” He turned on the familiar charm. “You’re good, Bree. Those last reviews aside, you can’t lose sight of that. Besides, I miss you. I need you back here with me.”

  That almost swayed her. Marty never admitted needing anyone. Then she remembered how quixotic his moods could be. He might need her today, but by tomorrow his ego would kick in, and he’d need no one, least of all her. Besides, if she was leaving Chicago at least in part because their relationship had turned toxic, then she could hardly go back because of some faint hope that it could change. She couldn’t allow him to charm her into forgetting how things between them had deteriorated.

  No, she decided firmly. She needed to stay right here in Chesapeake Shores, at least for now. She needed to tackle something new, get a fresh start. The thing about writing was that it could be done anytime, anywhere. If inspiration struck, she had her computer and she had her contacts in the theater. Staying here didn’t mean she’d never write another play, just that if she did, it would be hers from act one scene one right on through to the closing curtain.

  “It’s too late, Marty. I’m not coming back, at least not for the foreseeable future.”

  “I’ll come there. I’ll change your mind.”

  “Please don’t even try.” It might feed her ego a bit to have him come, but more worrisome was the possibility that she would succumb to his persuasion. She knew all too well how skilled he was when he wanted something. “If you care about me, even a little, you’ll let me make this change. Accept it and wish me well.”

  “A few months,” he said with obvious reluctance. “You’ll be going stir-crazy and you’ll call me begging to come back.”

  “Maybe I will,” she agreed.

  “I can’t promise you it won’t be too late,” he warned.

  “I can live with that.”

  “Bree, my darling, you’re making such a terrible mistake,” he said.
/>   “It’s mine to make.”

  “And there’s nothing—” He cut himself off with a heavy sigh. “No, I am familiar with your streak of Irish stubbornness. I can’t change your mind now, can I?”

  “No.”

  “Will you come if I send a ticket when the next play opens?”

  “It’s yours, isn’t it?” she said, remembering how thrilled the theater had been to get the play for its pre-Broadway run. Rehearsals had just begun when she’d left town.

  “The first in five years. I want you here. You were my inspiration, my muse, when I was writing it, after all.”

  The flattery was deliberate, she knew. She was also aware he’d probably said something similar to other women. Marty was like that, scattering little hints about his gratitude far and wide, so that everyone thought they owned a share of his success.

  “I’ll think about it,” she promised. In a few weeks, perhaps she could go back for a visit without feeling like a failure. She’d made friends there, people other than Marty she would miss. It would be a chance to catch up.

  By then, too, she’d have her business up and running. She’d have her fresh start, an exciting new beginning. Marty’s seductive charm wouldn’t be a match for that.

  “I’ll be in touch, then,” he said to her.

  Only after they’d hung up did she realize that not once in the entire conversation had she sensed even the slightest hint of surprise on Marty’s part that she was closing the door on their relationship. Unlike Jake, whose passions still ran high over their breakup after six long years, Marty had let her go with barely a whimper of regret. For all of his claim to miss her and need her, she didn’t doubt for an instant that he would move on by the end of the week, if he hadn’t already. He was the kind of man who couldn’t survive for long without the adulation of a woman.

  For the first time since she’d fallen, awestruck, into his orbit, she actually felt a little sorry for him. She didn’t miss the irony that it was seeing Jake again, hearing the anger in his voice and seeing the heat in his eyes, that showed her just how deep real love was supposed to run.

  And despite many good memories, just how shallow her relationship with Marty had truly been.

  4

  B ree glanced around the kitchen table where her father, Gram, Jess and even Abby were seated. It was such a rarity to have them all here at the same time these days—especially Mick—that she regarded them with suspicion.

  “This is a surprise,” she said carefully. “Jess, why aren’t you at the inn?”

  “Gram wanted to have a family dinner,” Jess replied casually, though she didn’t meet Bree’s gaze, which pretty much contradicted her attempt at innocence.

  Bree turned to her older sister. “If that’s so, where are the twins, Abby? Where’s Trace? He’s practically family now.”

  “Busy,” Abby said tersely. Her cheeks turned a guilty shade of pink, which immediately told Bree she was right to be suspicious. Her family was up to no good, and it had something to do with her.

  “Besides, the girls are always exhausted after a day on the beach,” Abby added a little too quickly. She had a telling habit of going on too long when she was nervous, which was exactly what she was doing now. “And you know how hard it is for the grown-ups to talk seriously when Carrie and Caitlyn are chattering nonstop.”

  “And just why would the grown-ups need to talk about something serious?” Bree inquired, turning her attention to Gram.

  Gram deliberately ignored the question and passed a bowl mounded high with mashed potatoes. “Mick, carve the chicken,” she ordered. “We’ll talk after we’ve eaten.”

  “About what?” Bree persisted. “Does everyone at this table know what this is about except me?”

  Mick reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. “It’s nothing for you to fret about, girl. Everyone here is family. We all care about you.”

  Bree stared at him long enough for the words to really register, then shoved back her chair to stand. She was trembling so badly her knees wobbled, so she clung to the edge of the old oak table. Even if she hadn’t been a private person who kept her problems to herself, she would have been deeply offended by what was happening.

  “Then this isn’t a pleasant family dinner at all, is it?” she said, scowling at everyone there. “It’s some kind of weird O’Brien intervention. Well, I don’t want any part of it. I don’t need your questions or your sympathy.”

  She ran from the room and made it all the way out the front door before she allowed the tears gathering in her eyes to fall. She brushed at them impatiently so she could see well enough to make her way down the steps and across the lawn. She was at the edge of the grass and at the top of the steps down to the beach before Abby caught up with her.

  “Bree, wait!” her big sister pleaded. “I’m so sorry we ambushed you. I think we all agreed to it for Gram as much as for you. You have her worried.”

  “I’m old enough to figure things out for myself,” Bree said with a sniff, accepting a tissue that Abby handed her. Maybe because Abby was the mother of twins, she always seemed to have some in her pockets, while Bree never did.

  “Of course you are,” Abby said, accompanying her down to the beach.

  There was still plenty of light to see clearly, though shadows were starting to fall. In an hour or so the sun would drop below the horizon behind them, setting the water on fire before it went. For now, though, the sky was mostly puffs of white and bits of mauve against the blue-gray of twilight.

  Bree dug her feet into the cool sand at the water’s edge, allowing the gentle waves to wash over them. She sucked in a deep breath of sea air and waited for the calming effect to kick in. This wasn’t Abby’s fault. It wasn’t Gram’s, either. Or even Mick’s or Jess’s. If anyone’s, it was hers, for expecting to keep her turmoil to herself, to find her own way without anyone’s help or interference. She should have known that sooner or later it would come to this.

  “Want to hear the biggest irony of all?” she asked Abby.

  “What’s that?”

  “I figured everything out today, made a decision about what I’m doing next. An hour ago I could hardly wait to share that news with everyone. I was so excited.” She sighed. “And then I walked into the kitchen and there you all were, ready to pounce.”

  Abby nudged her in the ribs. “Don’t be so dramatic, Ms. Playwright. Nobody was going to pounce.”

  “Ha,” Bree scoffed. She hesitated, then added, “You got the rest of that wrong, too. I’m not a playwright anymore.”

  Abby’s step faltered, but she kept her expression neutral. Bree had to give her credit for that. She’d make a fine actress if she ever decided to change careers. Then, again, maybe that’s what made her an outstanding stockbroker, the ability to maintain a calm facade when the market was falling apart around her.

  “What happened?” Abby asked eventually.

  “It wasn’t working for me anymore,” Bree said simply. “Not the work, not Chicago, not my relationship with Marty. I think when I came home for the opening at the inn, I already knew I wouldn’t be going back. It just took me a few weeks to sort through everything and figure out what was going to come next. I knew the only way to keep all of you from worrying would be to have a concrete plan.”

  Abby stared at her, her expression stricken. “But Bree, writing plays is all you’ve ever wanted to do,” she protested. “You can’t give that up just because you’ve hit a rough patch or because your relationship with Marty isn’t working. Take some time, get your feet back under you if that’s what you need, but don’t give up your career just like that. You have money in the bank, thanks to the trust fund Dad set up for each of us. You can take all the time you need to write your next play. You don’t have to do that in Chicago or go back to Marty. Do it here, if you want.”

  “I can’t. I don’t have any confidence in myself right now. Maybe I will in a few weeks or a few months. If so, then I’ll certainly start writing again. But in the
meantime, I need to focus on something completely new. I need a challenge that will be fun at the same time.”

  “Such as?” Abby asked, her skepticism plain that such an option existed or that Bree would be happy doing anything other than writing.

  “Did Jess mention that I was at the inn earlier?” Bree asked.

  Abby shook her head, looking confused by the apparent change in topic. “I got to dinner just before you did. I’d barely sat down when you showed up.”

  “Well, I was there. She called me because the florist had sent flowers for a wedding, but no one to arrange them. She was in a real bind.”

  Abby looked even more confused. “And she called you? Why?”

  Bree frowned at the suggestion that working with flowers was somehow beyond her. “Who do you think worked side by side with Gram all these years to make the arrangements for our house? She taught me everything she knows. She used to say I was a natural.”

  “All I remember is you yanking flowers and weeds indiscriminately out of her garden and getting yelled at a lot,” Abby said lightly.

  “Which was why she decided to teach me the difference and to appreciate everything in her garden,” Bree explained patiently. “Anyway, apparently I saved the day for the bride and groom’s big ceremony and reception,” she said, then faced her sister. “And you know what? I loved every minute of it. Despite the stress and having almost no time to pull it off, it was the most fun I’d had in ages.”

  “Okay,” Abby said, her tone still cautious. “So, now what?”