Flowers on Main Page 6

  “I’ve rented a space downtown, and I’m opening up a flower shop, Flowers on Main,” Bree announced, then laughed. “Can you imagine? I’m going to have my own business, and I get to work with flowers all the time.”

  “No, I can’t imagine,” Abby said, in a way that told Bree she disapproved. “Why would you make a decision like this without talking it over with any of us? Good grief, Bree, you can’t have thought about it for more than an hour or two.”

  Bree scowled at her. “I thought about it long enough,” she said flatly. “And it was my decision to make. You said yourself, not five minutes ago, that I have the start-up money.”

  “Bree, sweetie,” Abby began with exaggerated patience. “I know you love flowers, and you’re obviously looking to make a big change in your life, but this is retail. You can’t hide out in the backroom all day. You’re going to have to put yourself out there, be friendly to everyone who comes in, no matter how idiotic their request might be. Are you sure you can do that?”

  It spoke volumes that Abby thought her social skills were wanting—in fact, it was downright insulting—but Bree could hardly deny it. “It will be good for me to learn to be more outgoing,” she insisted.

  “And what about business? Do you know anything at all about running a business of any kind, much less a flower shop?”

  Bree was getting annoyed with all the doubting questions. “I know as much as Jess did when she bought the inn,” she said heatedly. “And what I don’t know, I can learn. I’ll read books, visit other shops and ask questions. I’m not a complete moron.”

  “Of course you’re not,” Abby said, backing off at once. “I’m just saying this will be a huge change for you. You’ve always valued your privacy.”

  “After what happened tonight, can you blame me?” Bree snapped. “Put you, Gram, Mick and Jess in a room and it’s like a force of nature. I don’t stand a chance. I’m almost glad I didn’t tell everyone. If they’re all going to react like you, I don’t want to hear it. I won’t let any of you tear me down. I’ve had enough of that to last ten lifetimes.”

  With that, she took off running along the edge of the bay. This time, though, Abby didn’t follow.

  Mick looked up from his pie when Abby walked back into the kitchen alone. “Where’s your sister?”

  “On the beach,” Abby said. “She’s mad at me, at all of us, for that matter.”

  “Oh dear, this is my fault,” Gram said, looking stricken. “It’s exactly what I’d hoped to avoid. I should never have asked you all over here tonight. I should have been more persistent myself, gotten to the bottom of things.”

  “You were only trying to be supportive,” Jess said, reaching for her grandmother’s frail hand.

  “That’s right, Ma,” Mick told her. “Don’t blame yourself for caring.” He turned back to Abby. “Do you have any idea what’s going on with Bree?”

  “I do, but I’m thinking it might be best if you convince her to tell you. If I blab, it’ll just be one more thing she can hold against me.”

  Mick didn’t have the kind of patience it might take to wheedle the information out of Bree, but he knew Abby was right. She wouldn’t appreciate her big sister filling them all in. He pushed aside his plate, stood up, then leaned down to kiss Nell on the forehead. “Stop worrying, Ma. I’ll get to the bottom of this. I promise.” He glanced at his daughters. “Finish your dinner. I’ll sit outside until Bree gets back.”

  On the porch, he settled back to wait, lighting the pipe that he only rarely smoked these days. The scent of the tobacco still carried him back to the days when his father would take him along to a pub on one of their trips to Ireland to visit distant relatives. In those noisy, crowded neighborhood pubs, before Ireland’s laws changed, thick smoke filled the air, which usually made him cough, but he could always pick out the slightly sweet scent of his father’s pipe. Tonight he found the aroma oddly comforting.

  “Dad, you know perfectly well you shouldn’t be smoking, not even a pipe,” Bree said as she climbed the steps and settled into the rocking chair next to his. “You only do it when you’re upset or trying to recapture old memories. Which is it tonight?”

  He gave her a wry look. “Do you really need to ask?”

  “If you’re waiting for me to apologize for running off, I won’t,” she said.

  “I’m not expecting you to. I would like it, though, if you’d tell me what’s going on. I’m your father. I’d like to fix things, if I can.”

  She laughed at that. “When have you ever been around to fix things?” she asked, then regarded him apologetically. “Sorry, that’s not fair. You were here when we were little, but this isn’t a scraped knee that needs a bandage and a kiss.”

  Mick felt a sharp stab of guilt at the accuracy of her assessment. He felt awkward and out of his element, but he’d resolved not long ago to try to fix things not just with Megan but with his entire family. He’d made strides with Abby and Jess, though there was still a long way to go. Now was as good a time as any to start with Bree.

  He puffed on his pipe, then met her gaze. “Fair enough,” he told her. “But I’d like to make up for all the times I wasn’t around, put the two of us on a new footing. At the very least I can listen. I’ll offer advice, if you want to hear it. You can always ignore it if you don’t like it. That would fit the family pattern. O’Briens seem to be genetically predisposed to carving out their own path in the world, regardless of the wisdom of those who’ve gone before. I respect that.”

  He waited for a response. She seemed to be weighing his offer, perhaps trying to decide if she could trust his promise to respect her decision.

  Maybe because he’d never been a patient man or maybe because he needed her to see that he had some insight that she might not be crediting him with, he finally cut into the silence.

  “You’ve left Demming, haven’t you?”

  Her eyes widened. “How did you know that? Did Abby tell you?”

  “Abby refused to say a word after she came back from the beach. And it wasn’t so much that I knew anything. I suppose I was just hoping that was the case.”

  She frowned at his statement. “You didn’t like him?”

  “Hated him, as a matter of fact.”

  She looked startled. “But you never said a word.”

  “You’re a grown woman. Some mistakes are yours to make.”

  “And you thought Marty was a mistake,” she said, still sounding just a little stunned. “Why?”

  “He was condescending to you,” he said simply. “No man has a right to talk to anyone the way he spoke to you. The only thing I found more offensive was that you took it as long as you did.”

  She sucked in a breath at the gentle scolding. “I admired him,” she admitted in a small, humiliated voice that made Mick want to draw her into his arms and tell her she was worth a thousand Martin Demmings. “And he wasn’t always like that. He taught me so much, Dad. He really did. And when he wanted to be charming, no one could possibly resist, least of all me. I suppose I craved the kind of attention he lavished on me at the beginning.”

  “And now you’ve seen him for what he is,” he told her. “Good for you.”

  She smiled then, and she was his little girl again, basking in his praise. Seeing the way her eyes lit up, he had to ask himself what the hell he’d been thinking by staying away so much that any of his kids had lost confidence in themselves. There wasn’t a one of them—even Jess with her ADD—who wasn’t smart and strong and talented, each in their own unique way.

  Unfortunately, Megan had taken off and he’d lost himself in work. He’d left it to his mother to teach the kids to value themselves. He knew without a doubt Nell O’Brien had done that in every way she knew how, but obviously it hadn’t been enough for Bree to counter being all but abandoned by both her parents during those critical early teen years. She’d been easy prey for a man like Demming.

  “So, is it just breaking up with Demming that has you so miserable?” he as
ked.

  “I’m not miserable,” she immediately said with a lightning-quick flash of heat.

  “Okay, you’re the expert when it comes to words. You tell me the right one to describe your mood.”

  She considered the question, her expression thoughtful. “Lost,” she said eventually. “Gram said that a few days ago and she got it exactly right.”

  “Why would a woman who’s making a name for herself in the career she chose be feeling lost?” he asked, trying to make sense of it.

  “Because the name I’m making isn’t that great anymore,” she admitted.

  “You got rave reviews for that first play of yours,” Mick reminded her. “There was even talk about taking it to New York.”

  “And then the second play didn’t do so well, and the third one bombed,” she said, her voice empty of emotion.

  “Then you’ll write a fourth,” he said confidently. “Better than the first one.”

  Bree shook her head. “Not now. My heart’s just not in it. I need to start over, try something new.” Her gaze met his. “Which is why I rented a space on Main Street and plan to open a flower shop in it.”

  Mick couldn’t have been more stunned or dismayed if she’d announced an intention to take up pole dancing. Not that there was anything at all wrong with owning a flower shop—or pole dancing, for that matter, if one was so inclined—but Bree’s talents lay elsewhere. So did her heart, no matter how wounded she was feeling at the moment.

  He knew, though, that he had to tread carefully. After all, he’d promised to limit his advice and to accept her decisions.

  “Are you sure you want to make such a drastic change?”

  She nodded, her expression eager. “I really do.” She must have seen the skeptical look he hadn’t been able to hide, because she added, “I know what you’re thinking, but I can keep my laptop in the back room, write whenever I have some free time.”

  “Bree, honey, I know those Main Street leases are for two years. That’s a long time to be tied down.”

  “I prefer to think of it as having some stability in my life,” she countered.

  “Flowers,” he said, then shook his head. “You’re sure you’ll be happy fiddling with a bunch of posies?”

  “Marty asked the exact same thing,” she said, giving him a pointed look that made him cringe. “And the answer is that I think so. There’s only one way to find out for certain.”

  “Okay, then,” he said, concluding she needed support and practical thinking, not criticism, right now. “How much of your trust-fund money are you putting into this? I don’t want to see you lose that nest egg.”

  She frowned at that. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “Yes, you did,” she said. “And it’s okay. It just makes me want to work harder to prove you wrong. Besides, I thought you always said that you put the money into those funds so we’d be able to buy a house or start a business when the time came. That’s all I’m doing.”

  “Then I don’t have a leg to stand on, do I?” he said, relenting. “You’ll tell me what I can do to help. I’ll come down there with you tomorrow, if you want me to. I can help you figure out any construction you’ll need, custom cabinets for supplies, a front desk, an island workspace in back. Whatever you want, that’ll be my gift to you.”

  “The trust fund was more than enough,” she objected.

  “I bought that fancy stove for Jess. A few cabinets and storage nooks and crannies is the least I can do for you. Or would you rather have me buy you one of those big coolers that they keep the flowers in?”

  She hesitated, then asked, “Would you build the cabinets yourself?”

  He recognized what she was really asking. Would he be right there, spending time with her, making himself a part of this crazy new project of hers?

  “I have crews that are better at this than I am,” he told her. Her immediate expression of dismay told him he’d been right about what she really wanted, so he quickly added, “But if you don’t mind that things might be less than perfect, I suppose I can still find my way around with a few tools and some wood.”

  She jumped up and threw her arms around him, the way she had when she was little and he’d just come home from a business trip. “I want you to do it,” she said, giving him an exuberant kiss on the cheek. “Then I’ll be able to tell everyone who comes in that the interior was hand-built by the famed architect Mick O’Brien. If you’re involved, it’s going to be amazing, I just know it. Heck, one of these days my shop could qualify to be put on the National Register of Historic Places.”

  “More like a few hundred years,” he retorted. “And that’s assuming someone doesn’t come along after the two of us are dead and tear them out so they can sell hot dogs.”

  She laughed at that, her entire demeanor suddenly carefree. Mick didn’t kid himself that it would be that easy to wipe away all the hits she’d taken in Chicago, but if opening a flower shop could put that kind of sparkle in her eyes even for a little while, he was not going to be the one to question it.

  Jake, Will and Mack were having lunch at Sally’s when he noticed his friends exchanging meaningful looks, which could only mean they had something to say about Bree and they weren’t sure how he was going to react.

  He set down his BLT and frowned at them. “Just say it,” he ordered. “What have you heard about Bree that you think I haven’t?”

  “She’s staying in town,” Will said, his expression sympathetic. “Sorry, pal. I know that’s going to be tough on you.”

  Jake shrugged as if it were of no importance. “Yeah, she mentioned something about that when I talked to her.”

  “You talked to her?” Mack said incredulously. “You had an actual conversation with Bree O’Brien, the woman of your dreams, the woman you’ve never gotten out of your head?”

  “And you never said a word to us?” Will added, radiating indignation. “Didn’t you think it was worth a mention, at least?”

  “Not really.”

  “When did this happen?” Mack asked.

  “What did she say?” Will wanted to know.

  “And what did you say to her?” Mack asked.

  Jake shook his head. “You two sound like a couple of amateur reporters for the local weekly. It was no big deal.” Which, of course, was the biggest whopper he’d ever uttered as an adult.

  “Do you believe him?” Will asked Mack.

  “Not for one second. He’s either delusional or putting on a show for our benefit.”

  “I thought Will was the shrink,” Jake said irritably to Mack. “Now you’re one, too?”

  “I’m as intuitive as the next guy,” Mack responded.

  “Which means not at all,” Jake snapped back. “Can we drop this?”

  “Since you and Bree are so chummy again all of a sudden, do you know what she’s planning to do?” Will asked Jake.

  “She mentioned she might stick around. That was the sum total of the conversation. Believe me, I had no interest in having a long heart-to-heart with her.” Sleeping with her, now that interested him, but he was pretty sure this was the worst possible time to mention that.

  “I might know something,” Mack admitted. “I was with Susie the other night.”

  Jake and Will both stared at him with shock.

  “You and Susie O’Brien? Since when?” Will demanded.

  “It wasn’t a big deal,” Mack said, though the faint reddening of his ears said otherwise. “I ran into her. We had a couple of drinks.”

  “Well, well, well,” Jake began, amused. “And you two thought I was holding out. Last time I checked, Susie O’Brien had told you hell would freeze over before she ever accepted a date with the likes of you.”

  “Which is why this wasn’t a date,” Mack explained patiently. “It was a couple of drinks. Not a date.”

  “Who paid?” Will asked.

  “I did,” Mack said. “What kind of man do you think I am?”<
br />
  Jake lifted a brow at that, but Will was grinning.

  “Sounds like a date to me,” Will said. He glanced at Jake. “You?”

  “I’d call it a date,” Jake concurred, so happy to have the attention shifted to another of the O’Brien women he would have called it anything anyone wanted him to just to prolong the conversation.

  Mack glared at both of them. “Do you want to hear what I found out about Bree or not?”

  “Not,” Jake said at once.

  “Don’t listen to him,” Will commanded. “Talk. He needs to know what’s going on, whether he’ll admit that or not.”

  “Bree rented the empty space two doors down from here. For two years.”

  Jake swallowed hard and tried not to let his immediate sense of panic show. Two years? A lease? This couldn’t be good. He’d reconciled himself to running into her for a few more weeks, maybe even a couple of months, but he’d convinced himself she’d go running back to Chicago and her boyfriend there sooner or later. He’d banked on sooner. Later was bad. Very, very bad. Two years was an eternity of keeping his defenses up.

  He bolted from the booth. “I need to get back to work,” he declared, throwing a handful of bills on the table. “I’ll catch you guys later.”

  “Well, he took that news well,” Will said loudly as Jake was fleeing.

  Mack’s voice carried even more clearly. “No big deal, wasn’t that what he said?” He laughed. “I told you the man was delusional.”

  Jake sighed. He wasn’t delusional. He was in more trouble than he’d been in for six long years, and the only way he could think to get out of it was to get a red-headed vixen out of town before she drove him out of what was left of his ever-loving mind.

  5

  M egan found herself worrying about Bree for several days after Mick left. It was par for the course that after not getting his way about luring her back to Chesapeake Shores, he’d forgotten all about the fact that he’d used their daughter’s problems as bait. She supposed he’d call again or turn up in New York whenever it suited him, oblivious to his lack of consideration in not checking in to reassure her about Bree. Or maybe he’d assumed she would call, if she cared. It would be just like him to wait her out as some kind of perverse test.