From the #1 New York Times bestselling author of Daughters of the Bride comes the charming tale about the problem with secrets, the power of love and the unbreakable bond between sisters

Kelly Murphy’s life as a tulip farmer is pretty routine—up at dawn, off to work, lather, rinse, repeat. But everything changes one sun-washed summer with two dramatic homecomings: Griffith Burnett—Tulpen Crossing’s prodigal son, who’s set his sights on Kelly—and Olivia, her beautiful, wayward and, as far as Kelly is concerned, unwelcome sister. Tempted by Griffith, annoyed by Olivia, Kelly is overwhelmed by the secrets that were so easy to keep when she was alone.

But Olivia’s return isn’t as triumphant as she pretends. Her job has no future, and ever since her dad sent her away from the bad boy she loved, she has felt cut off from her past. She’s determined to reclaim her man and her place in the family...whether her sister likes it or not. For ten years, she and Kelly have been strangers. Olivia will get by without her approval now.

While Kelly and Olivia butt heads, their secrets tumble out in a big hot mess, revealing some truths that will change everything they thought they knew. Can they forgive each other—and themselves—and redefine what it means to be sisters?

Told with Mallery’s trademark heart and humor, the Tulip Sisters are in for the most colorful summer of their lives...

Secrets of the Tulip Sisters

Susan Mallery

www.millsandboon.co.uk

My thanks to Lynn VL for her invaluable help when I was researching this novel. Lynn, you were fabulous and informative!! Thank you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Title Page

Dedication

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

chapter 9

chapter 10

chapter 11

chapter 12

chapter 13

chapter 14

chapter 15

chapter 16

chapter 17

chapter 18

chapter 19

chapter 20

chapter 21

chapter 22

chapter 23

chapter 24

chapter 25

chapter 26

chapter 27

chapter 28

chapter 29

chapter 30

chapter 31

chapter 32

chapter 33

epilogue

Secrets of the Tulip Sisters

Book Club Discussion Questions

Book Club Menu Suggestion

Extract

Copyright

1

Kelly Murphy was willing to accept certain injustices in the world. That brownies had more calories than celery. That wearing white pants meant getting her period—regardless of where she was in her cycle. That her car would be low on gas only on days when she was running late. What she did not appreciate or accept was the total unfairness of Griffith Burnett not only returning to Tulpen Crossing, Washington, nearly a year ago, but apparently waking up last month and deciding that stalking her was how he was going to spend his days.

The man was everywhere. Every. Where. He was the aphid swarm in the garden of her life. He was kudzu, he was rain at an outdoor wedding, someone spoiling the end of a movie just as you were getting to the good part, all rolled into one.

“You’re putting a lot of energy into the man,” Helen Sperry pointed out in a let’s-humor-the-crazy-girl tone.

“This isn’t about me,” Kelly told her. “I’m not the one who’s always there. I’m not the one lurking.”

“If you keep seeing him wherever you go, a case could be made that you’re stalking him.”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” Kelly muttered as she pulled in front of the craft mall and parked her truck.

“Did you know Griffith back in high school?” Helen asked. “You’re what? Three years younger? You couldn’t have had the same friends.”

“We didn’t. I was a sophomore when he was a senior,” Kelly admitted. “We didn’t have any classes together.”

But not having the same classes in no way meant she hadn’t known who he was. Everyone had known Griffith Burnett. He’d been one of those godlike figures blessed with good looks, a brain and athletic talent. She’d been the slightly weird girl he’d never noticed...until he’d broken her delicate, young girl’s heart.

“I’m sure him being everywhere you are is just one of those things,” Helen said. “I’m sorry to use logic, but we live in a tiny, little town. You and I cross paths with each other all the time. I see you like five hundred times a day.”

Kelly smiled. “But we’re friends and I like seeing you.”

“Back at you.” Helen looked at her. “You okay or is there something going on I don’t know about?”

“Nothing but Griffith,” Kelly told her. “I’m sure you’re right. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence that I can’t take two steps without seeing him.” Words that sounded great but that she didn’t believe for a second.

If she were anyone else, or if he weren’t who he was, she might think he was interested in her...in a boy-girl kind of way. He always spoke to her when he saw her, and smiled. His gaze seemed to linger. But there was no way he wanted anything like that from her. Kelly had proof.

Thirteen years and some odd months ago, she’d turned a corner and had run into Griffith. She’d been on her way to AP English and he’d been...well, she had no idea what he’d been doing. For less than a second, as her books had gone flying, she and Griffith had been plastered together from chest to thigh. She’d never been so close to a boy before. Never been so aware...so everything.

Then he’d stepped back. He’d helped her pick up her books, winked when she’d stuttered an apology, then had lightly, and oh so gently, squeezed her hand before she’d darted off to the safety of her class.

In those magic seconds, when his fingers had touched hers and their eyes had locked together, she’d fallen totally and completely in love with Griffith.

It had been the kind of true love born only of a pure and inexperienced heart. She’d never even been kissed. From that moment on, she dreamed only of Griffith.

Just a week later, she’d walked by him standing with his friends. One of the guys had called out something about her being “doable.” A gross and disgusting comment that had made her cringe, but that had been nothing compared to Griffith’s casually uttered, “I couldn’t be less interested.”

She’d been devastated and had immediately turned and run. She’d been so upset and hurt that she’d needed somewhere to put all that emotion. That evening she’d had a fight with her mother, the kind where things best left unsaid were spoken and lives altered forever. Kelly knew in her head that what had happened with Griffith had nothing to do with her mother walking out on their family less than twelve hours later, but for her, the two incidents were forever linked.

She shook off the memories and grabbed her copy of Eat, Pray, Love. Their book club was discussing it tonight—for the third time—and she vowed that from this second on, she wouldn’t think about Griffith ever again. At least not for the next three hours.

She followed Helen out of the truck and into Petal Pushers—the name du jour for the local craft mall the town hoped would be a tourist draw. There were booths where people could sell everything from handmade crafts to antiques to food. At the far end of the huge space was a big stage and reception area, along with a few community meeting rooms. All that was missing were the tourists. Vacationers loved to come to Tulpen Crossing for the tulip festival every spring, but beyond that, not so much.

Kelly wanted to say that wasn’t her problem, but as a member of the tourism development committee, she did have a vested interest in getting people back to their small slice of heaven.

It was early on Tuesday night and Petal Pushers was closed. The long corridor to the meeting rooms was dimly lit and their footsteps echoed on the worn linoleum—Kelly’s more than Helen’s, actually. Probably because while Helen wore cute flats, Kelly hadn’t bothered to change out of her work boots. Or her jeans. Or her slightly stained T-shirt.

One day, she promised herself. One day, she would care about clothes and buy a push-up bra and be, if not girlie, then at least vaguely feminine. She should let Helen inspire her.

Her friend was tall, with inky black hair that fell past her shoulders, and startlingly blue eyes. She had plenty of curves and always managed to look sexy, no matter what she wore. Helen worried about carrying a few extra pounds, but Kelly didn’t see that at all. Helen was lush while Kelly was...boring. She had brown hair she wore in a ponytail. Brown eyes. No curves, no noticeable features at all. She was plain.

She supposed she could try to be more Helen-like but who had the time? And even if every few months she swore she was going to do something about her appearance—like wear mascara—she quickly got distracted and forgot. Until the next time.

So here she was, clumping along in boots that might or might not have mud on them. At least book club would be fun. There was always good conversation and wine.

“Did you read it again?” Helen asked, holding up her copy of Eat, Pray, Love. “I didn’t. I figured twice was enough.”

“I read it.” Not reading it hadn’t been an option, Kelly thought. She always read the book and took notes. She was such a rule follower. How depressing. She needed to break out of her rut or something. Maybe it was time for her to renew the mascara vow.

They walked into the community room and greeted their friends. Paula, a pretty mother of three, had already opened the bottles of wine she’d brought. Someone else had set out plates of cookies and cupcakes. Kelly scanned the sign-up sheet and confirmed that she was in charge of wine next month, and that they would be reading a memoir of Eleanor Roosevelt.

She reached for a cupcake just as a few more members arrived. Sally, a fiftysomething avid quilter who had the biggest booth at Petal Pushers, announced, “Ladies, we have a new member. And guess what? He’s a man!”

Kelly looked at the cupcake she held. She wanted to take a big bite—or possibly run out the back exit. Or poke Helen in the arm while saying “I told you so” in a loud, taunting voice. Because she knew without turning around who she would find standing there. Like the Terminator, Griffith was back, and there was nothing she could do about it.

* * *

Griffith Burnett was used to being the center of attention—whether it was at a symposium on how micro housing could transform the poorest regions of Africa as well as answer the needs of the homeless in the urban centers of Europe and the United States, or at a black-tie fund-raiser for a children’s charity where he was the featured speaker. He was comfortable in front of a crowd, or so he’d thought. He found himself slightly less at ease in a room filled with nearly a dozen women, all staring at him with varying degrees of interest.

No, he thought as he scanned the faces. Nearly a dozen, less one. Kelly wasn’t looking at him at all.

“Everyone, this is Griffith Burnett. You should know him. He owns that tiny house company you’ve all seen off the highway. He grew up here. His folks are Mark and Melinda. They moved to New Mexico six months ago. Griffith here wants to join our book club.”

He waited for the inevitable, “Why?” but the women only smiled and nodded. Except for Kelly, who kept her attention firmly on the cupcake she held.

“Let me introduce you to everyone,” Sally said. They’d walked in together and somehow she’d assigned herself as his hostess for the evening.

She went around the room, spouting names faster than he could remember them, starting with a mother of three and ending with the reason he was here in the first place.

“This is Kelly Murphy.” Sally frowned. “Didn’t you two go to high school together? Or is she closer to your brother’s age? I can’t keep you kids straight. And what about Helen Sperry? You’re the same age, aren’t you?”

“I’m a year older,” Helen said, offering her hand. “Hi. I think we had a social studies class together.”

“I’m sure we did.” He waited until Kelly had no choice but to look at him. “Hello, Kelly.”

“Griffith.” The word was clipped, her tone less than friendly, matching the wary expression in her big, brown eyes.

She looked good. He supposed there were some men who would be put off by the absence of frills, but he liked that about her. The sharp edges, the lack of guile. What you saw and all that. She was smart, she was determined and she wasn’t going to make it easy. He’d always been the kind of guy who liked a challenge, so he was looking forward to the latter.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

Beside him, Sally stiffened. “Kelly, honey, what’s wrong? Griffith wants to join our book club.”

“And read Eat, Pray, Love? I find that hard to believe.”

“Is it my reading skills you doubt or my interest in the subject matter?”

The corner of her mouth twitched. He would guess annoyance rather than humor, not that he would mind seeing her smile.

“A woman’s journey to emotional and spiritual fulfillment hardly seems like something you’d enjoy,” she murmured.

“Do you think you know me well enough to decide that?”

Now everyone was watching and listening. He stepped closer to Kelly. Close enough that she had to tilt her head slightly to hold his gaze.

“I find everything about a woman’s journey interesting. I enjoy discovering how she’s different than I expected. I like the anticipation.”

Someone’s breath caught. Not Kelly’s. Her gaze narrowed. “Next month we’re reading an autobiography of Eleanor Roosevelt.”

“Lucky me. I’ve always been an admirer.”

Liar.

She didn’t say the word out loud, but she sure as hell thought it. Griffith held in a grin as he watched her struggle with her temper. He suspected she was imagining smashing the cupcake she held into his face, turning on her heel and walking away. Only she wouldn’t. She would restrain herself. He couldn’t wait to test that restraint in every way possible.

But not tonight. Tonight was simply the next step in his plan. He wanted someone in his life—he’d decided that serial monogamy was his road to happiness and he hoped he and Kelly could come to a mutual understanding.

“Did you think the author spent too much time deconstructing her divorce in the book?” she asked. “Should we have gotten right to the journey?”

He’d thought there might be a test, but he’d hoped it would be harder. “She doesn’t deconstruct her divorce. In fact there isn’t much detail as to what went wrong. She does make it clear the divorce was painful.”

Something he understood personally. Screwing up was never pleasant but to mess up something that fundamental sucked in a big way.

“And the part in Thailand?” Kelly asked.

“You mean Indonesia?”

She handled defeat with grace. Instead of saying something sarcastic, she flashed him an unexpected smile—one that hit him in the gut with the subtlety of a 2x4—and offered him her cupcake.

“Welcome to our book club.”

“Thank you.”

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a glass of wine.”

* * *

“He was nice,” Helen said as Kelly drove the handful of miles between Petal Pushers and their respective houses.

No need to ask who “he” was, Kelly thought. She’d just endured the longest three hours of her life in the same room as Griffith. She’d listened to him analyze the book, make jokes and generally charm every woman within earshot. Except her, of course. But then she was the only one to have survived being rejected by Griffith, so she was special.

“Incredibly nice,” Kelly murmured.

“Now you’re being sarcastic.”

“I can’t help it. Doesn’t it strike you as the least bit odd that he wanted to join our book club? There’s that mystery one in La Conner. Why doesn’t he join that one?”

“He’s local, like us.”

Griffith was many things but “like us” was not one of them. “Can you at least admit it’s slightly odd that he showed up?”

Helen considered the question. “It’s unexpected, yes. But it’s not a bad thing.”

“Not for you.”

Helen angled toward Kelly. “Come on. Griffith is gorgeous. You have to admit looking at him isn’t a hardship.”

No, it wasn’t, not that she wanted to admit anything of the kind. He’d always been one of those guys who captured the attention of every female in a three-block radius. Of course he was tall, with sandy-brown hair and brown eyes. But it wasn’t the individual features so much as how they came together into one incredibly appealing man.

“I still wish he’d gone to the mystery book club. There are guys there. He’d feel more comfortable.”

“Maybe you should tell him.”

Kelly heard the amusement in her friend’s voice and groaned. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“A little.” Helen shook her head. “Come on. Is it really so bad to have a guy like Griffith interested in you? It’s been six months since you and Sven broke up. It’s time to move on. Griffith is a great moving-on kind of guy.”

“So speaks the woman who hasn’t dated since her divorce six years ago.”

“I’m very comfortable in my ‘do as I say, not as I do’ role in our relationship. Come on. You can’t tell me you’re not the tiniest bit flattered. You have to be.”

“Why? Because he’s staring at me? I don’t know what he wants, but I doubt it’s what you’re thinking.”

“Why would you say that?”

Kelly turned at the corner and headed toward her friend’s house. “I’m very clear on my place in the universe.”

“Meaning?”

Kelly waved her hand in front of her midsection. “I’m average at best. Not beautiful, not pretty, not ugly. Just regular.”

If Griffith was looking for a fancier version of a Murphy, he should check out Olivia. Kelly hadn’t seen her sister in forever, but she would literally bet the farm on the fact that Olivia was still gorgeous and glamorous and wearing a designer something. Not cargo pants bought on sale from an online farm equipment supply outlet.

“It’s a family thing,” she continued. “I take after my dad. We’re sensible people. Hardworking. Ordinary. My mom and sister are the...”

“Exotic tulips in the garden that is your life?” Helen asked drily.

“Not the analogy I was going to use, but sure. It works.”

“You’re selling yourself short,” Helen told her. “Worse, you’re saying bad stuff about my friend and I don’t appreciate that. You’re not ordinary. You’re lovely and funny and hardworking.”

“It’s amazing you don’t want to have sex with me right now.”

“Stop. It.” Helen glared. “I mean it. Kelly, you’re great. Griffith finally got his head out of his ass long enough to notice you.”

“I thought you liked him.”

“I do. I used the phrase for effect. What did you think?”

“Well done.”

“Thank you.” She shifted to face Kelly. “I’m serious. You’re obviously over Sven. Take a chance on a great guy.”

“We don’t know he’s great.”

“I’ve heard rumors.”

Kelly had, too. The problem wasn’t Griffith. Not totally. Nor was it her still recovering from the end of a long-term relationship. She was embarrassed to admit that while Sven had surprised her when he’d said it was over, she really hadn’t missed him. Or felt all that upset. Which was sad because after five years, shouldn’t she have been at least a little crushed? What did it mean that she’d gone on without much more than a blink? Hadn’t she been emotionally engaged at all? And if she hadn’t been, what was the reason? Had he not been the one or was she somehow stunted?

Not a question she really wanted answered. Although Sven had pointed out that she’d never been in love with him. Which was true, if disconcerting to find out from a man.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Helen asked.

“If I slept with Griffith?” The list was really long—where was she supposed to start?

“Whoa, I was going to say if you talked to Griffith. I find it fascinating you jumped right into bed with him, so to speak.”

“Please don’t.”

“Too late now. You’ve subconsciously told me everything.”

“I haven’t, and it wasn’t subconscious anything. I spoke out loud.” Kelly pulled into Helen’s driveway.

“You’re trying to distract me with facts,” her friend said with a grin. “But I see you for what you are.”

“I’m afraid to ask what that is.”

“As you should be.” Helen lowered her voice. “You’re a sex-starved single woman who desperately wants to get involved with Griffith but you’re afraid.”

Words spoken in jest that were just a little too close to the truth. Not the sex-starved part. Sex was fine, if not the amazing, earth-shattering experience the media claimed, but still. She did find Griffith intriguing and attractive and...

“He’s annoying.”

“Liar, liar.”

“He can be annoying.”

“Better.”

“I want him to leave me alone.”

Helen sighed. “At the risk of repeating myself, liar, liar.”

Kelly growled in the back of her throat. “You’re annoying.”

“That is absolutely true. Just say it. You’re interested. Intrigued, even. He’s hot and you have no idea why he’s suddenly interested, but you don’t hate it.”

“What I hate is being that transparent.”

Helen hugged her, then opened the passenger door of the truck and slid to the ground. “Only to me, my sweet. Only to me. My advice is simple. Say yes.”

“He hasn’t asked me anything. In fact all he’s done is stare at me and be everywhere I am.”

“Then go find out why. Oh, and start keeping condoms in your purse. Just in case.”

With that, Helen waved and walked into her house. Kelly waited until the living room lights came on before backing out of the driveway and heading home.

Kelly had no plans to take the condom advice, but confronting Griffith might not be such a bad idea. Maybe she could find out what he was up to. Because as nice as it would be to think he was interested in her, she knew for a fact her luck wasn’t that good. Besides, he was Griffith Burnett. Even if she got him, she would have no idea what to do with him. Sad, but true.

2

Most people thought the main difference between a tiny house on wheels and one that wasn’t had to do with size. But Griffith Burnett knew differently. It was about weight. If you were going to be pulling your to-hundred-square-foot tiny home all over the place, you didn’t want to be weighed down. No granite countertops, no thick wooden flooring, no wrought iron railings on the upper deck. But if your two-hundred-square-foot home was going to stay in one place, then he knew a great hard-surfaces vendor who could hook you right up. And because your tiny home was...well...small, you could get first-class material at remnant prices.

He stood in the center of what could, in a pinch, be called his manufacturing facility. In truth it was two warehouses connected by a covered walkway, but not only was it a start—it was his.

The bigger of the buildings held six houses in progress. Two were headed for San Francisco, one to Portland, Oregon. Two were for a family compound in eastern Washington—or as a frustrated middle-aged woman had put it, “My sons are never leaving home. I just can’t stand stepping over them every day. I’ll accept that they’re staying put if I don’t have to deal with them and their mess.”

The last was going to be an elegant guest cottage at a quirky Texas B and B.

That side of GB Micro Housing made the money. Whether you wanted to spend thirty thousand or a hundred and thirty thousand, Griffith could build you a tiny home pretty much to your specifications. Single level, two levels, lofts, upper-story decks, high-end finishes or everything recovered from tear-downs. You name it. It was all about weight and how much money you were willing to spend.

He had orders for the next couple of years and the waiting list continued to grow. He’d hired two more full-time employees, bringing his total to ten.

He supposed a money person would tell him to use his other warehouse to fulfill the paying orders, but he wasn’t even tempted. That second, smaller space, well, that was where the real work happened.

In the smaller warehouse, he experimented, he played, he dreamed. He would never make a cent from that work, but it also meant at the end of the day, he could know he’d done what was right. That made sleeping at night a whole lot easier.

He went into the break room to pour himself some coffee only to find his brother sitting at one of the tables. Ryan leaned back in a chair, his feet up on a second one. His eyes were closed as he listened to something through earbuds.

Griffith resisted the urge to kick the chair out from under his brother’s feet. Maybe that would get his attention, although he had his doubts.

Ryan was currently unmotivated. The only reason his brother had come back to Tulpen Crossing was because he’d had nowhere else to go. When Ryan had blown out his shoulder, the Red Sox had cut him loose. After two years of paying more attention to baseball than college and nearly four years in the minor league, Ryan wasn’t exactly skilled labor. He’d needed a job and Griffith had offered him one—on the line, building tiny houses. It was a decision Griffith was beginning to regret.

He nudged his brother’s arm. Ryan opened his eyes and smiled.

“Hey, bro.”

“Hey, yourself. Break ended a half hour ago.”

“What?”

Ryan blinked and looked around, as if genuinely surprised to find everyone else was back at work. “Huh. Sorry. I was listening to the game. I guess I got distracted.”

Griffith could guess how the conversation had gone. One of the guys would have said break was over. Ryan would have said he would be there in a minute. Had the twenty-five-year-old been anyone else, the shop supervisor would have been notified. But Ryan was the boss’s brother. No one was sure if the rules applied—not even Griffith.

He briefly thought of his parents who had always insisted he look after his baby brother—no matter how inconvenient it might be—sucked in a breath and told himself he would deal with Ryan another time.

“Get back to work,” he said. “Now.”

“Sure thing.”

His brother got to his feet and ambled toward the door.

Griffith watched him go and told himself any annoyance was his own fault. Ryan had never hustled—unless he was on the baseball field. There he could be little more than a blur of activity, but in life, not so much with the speed.

* * *

“I love it!”

Olivia Murphy basked in the delighted tone and happy words of her client. Jenny was a sixtysomething recent widow who needed to sell the family home to fund the rest of her life. Getting top dollar was a priority.

The ranch-style three-bedroom, two-bath wasn’t anything fancy. In fact hundreds of them existed in the older neighborhoods of Phoenix. Adding to that challenge were the lack of updates and the time of year. June wasn’t exactly peak selling season in the desert—not when midday temperatures routinely topped a hundred degrees. No one wanted to be looking at homes if they didn’t have to be. Winter was far more active in the real estate market.

But Jenny couldn’t wait until winter, which meant making a splash on minimal budget. Olivia had spent hours on Pinterest, had haunted thrift stores and had begged and borrowed everything else. For less than five hundred dollars, she’d transformed the aging, very ordinary rambler into a cute, welcoming Cape Cod retreat.

“I just can’t believe it’s the same house,” Jenny crowed. “Look at what you’ve done.”

“I know,” Marilee Quedenfeld said, her tone a combination of modest pride and look-at-me. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it? The second you walk in, you feel the cool, ocean breeze.”

Olivia kept her smile firmly in place. There was no point in saying anything. Working for Marilee these past four years had taught her that. If there was praise to be had, it went to Marilee. If there was a complaint, well, that went anywhere else.

“You’re a genius,” Jenny told Marilee. “Everyone said you were the best, but I didn’t expect this. Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.” Marilee put her arm around her client. “I know what you’ve been through and this is the least I can do.”

Words Jenny would take at face value, Olivia thought, while Marilee was probably thinking something along the lines of Dear God, why doesn’t this woman take better care of herself?

The contrast in their appearances was startling. Jenny was short, frumpy and had obviously surrendered to the aging process. Marilee, by contrast, wore an Akris punto polka-dot A-line dress and Valentino pumps. Her hair was a sleek, shoulder-length, dark blond bob, her makeup emphasized large eyes and smooth skin. She was close to fifty, looked thirty-five and occasionally tried to pass herself off as even younger.

“Let’s go look at the rest of the house,” Marilee suggested. “You’re going to love everything I’ve done.”

“I know I will.”

Olivia stayed in the kitchen. It was safer there—she wouldn’t be tempted to blurt out a fact only the designer would know. While the momentary satisfaction would be great, she would pay for it later.

Olivia had joined Marilee’s successful real estate business right out of college. She’d started as a secretary and had worked her way up to designing all the company’s marketing. As that wasn’t a full-time gig, she’d tried her hand at selling homes, but had discovered she didn’t have the right kind of personality. Marilee didn’t, either, but she was better at faking it.

In an effort to keep from having to fill her day with secretarial duties, Olivia had started taking design classes. She quickly discovered she had a knack for more than putting together a great outfit on a budget and transforming a plain house into something wildly appealing. So far she was offering her staging services for only the cost of supplies, but she was toying with the idea of starting a real business and had the savings account to prove it. This house had been her biggest project by far. She might not be getting the credit, but she had plenty of before and after pictures for her portfolio.

Jenny and Marilee left the house to return to the office. Olivia stayed behind to lock up and look around one more time.

“Your assistant is such a pretty girl,” she heard Jenny say as they walked to Marilee’s Mercedes. “We should all be so young.”

Olivia winced. Marilee would not appreciate being lumped into Jenny’s over-sixty age group, nor would she like Olivia being complimented. But that was for later.

She checked that the rear slider was locked, pausing to admire the Adirondack chairs she’d found at a garage sale for all of ten bucks each. She’d set a thrift store tray on top of a ratty plastic end table. A few shells in an old mason jar with a little sand transformed the tired poolside into something beachy.

Inside she’d covered Jenny’s lumpy sofa with an off-white slipcover, then added throw pillows in gray, blue and pale aqua. A textured throw rug in beige and cream covered most of the 1980s floor tile.

In the master she’d recovered the headboard with striped gray-and-white sheets. She’d splurged on a new comforter, then had rearranged the furniture. A few accessories—starfish, a clock in the shape of a lighthouse and piece of driftwood—continued the theme.

The master bath was pure illusion. Rolled towels and pretty jars of bath salts distracted from the outdated tile. A quick coat of white paint added a sense of freshness. She’d found a darling silk flower arrangement and put it into a child’s sand bucket. The touch of whimsy drew the eye away from the ugly tub.

Her phone chirped. She glanced down and saw she had a text from Logan. They’d met over the weekend and he’d been trying to get together with her ever since. Honestly, Olivia just wasn’t in the mood. Yes, he was Kathy’s boyfriend and stealing him would be good fun, but for some reason the idea didn’t appeal.

She scrolled through other texts and paused when she saw the one that had really caught her attention.

You should come home for a visit. We could hang out. Miss you, babe.

Every woman had her weakness. For some it was brownies, for others it was shoes, for her it was Ryan Burnett.

The man made her crazy. She knew the reason—they’d never had their chance. She’d been cruelly ripped from his arms before they could become the most popular couple in high school. Later, at college, he’d been more interested in baseball than her, something he still had to pay for.

She wanted to forget him and couldn’t. He was the promise of what could have been, of what she could have been. When she was with him, she finally belonged. She needed that—needed him. Ever since he’d moved back to Tulpen Crossing three months ago, he’d been asking her to come up for a visit. Which was ridiculous. That was the last place she wanted to be. Except for Ryan...

She dropped her phone back in her bag and walked outside. After making sure the key was in the lockbox, she checked the front door, then drove back to the office. She arrived in time to hear Jenny raving about the marketing campaign Olivia had prepared.

“I don’t know how you do it all,” Jenny gushed. “Marilee, you’re amazing.” She turned to Olivia. “You must learn so much working for her.”

“I do. Every day.” She turned to Marilee. “The house is ready to go live. Shall I take care of that for you?”

“Please.”

Olivia retreated to her small, windowless office. She went online and uploaded the listing she’d already prepared. Then she checked on their other listings, which didn’t take very long. The number of houses they were selling would pick up again in September, but until then, they were in the real estate dead zone.

An hour later, Marilee buzzed for Olivia to come to her office. Olivia smoothed the front of her sleeveless dress before walking down the carpeted hallway. Marilee sat on the leather sofa in her large, corner office.

“That woman is so tiresome. I thought she would never leave. At least she liked the staging, although I have to say I was a little disappointed.” She wrinkled her nose as best she could, considering the Botox. “Really, Olivia? Starfish and a sand bucket? Is that the best you could do?”

Olivia felt herself flush. “I had a budget of five hundred dollars. There weren’t a lot of choices. I think the unique style will appeal to buyers.”

“We’ll see. Jenny was happy at least, although that’s not saying much.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “How hot is it out there? Over a hundred?”

“It’s close.”

“I can’t wait to get out of here. Roger’s place in Colorado is going to be heavenly. The views are amazing. You should go away for a few weeks, Olivia. There isn’t much business over the summer and it would save me having to cut your hours.”

The not-so-subtle hint wasn’t new. Marilee was forever threatening her employees with reduced wages or being fired. The fact that she owned the most successful real estate firm in the city gave her power and she knew it.

When she’d first joined the firm, Olivia had been immune to Marilee’s pettiness and whims, but lately that had changed. Maybe it was inevitable with the passage of time. Maybe it was the fact that Olivia had caught Roger staring at her legs. No matter how much Marilee did to slow the clichéd ravages of time, the truth was she would be fifty in a couple of years. Whatever the reason, Olivia wasn’t Marilee’s favorite anymore. She was just like everyone else.

A familiar ache filled her chest. It had started when she was twelve years old and her mother had simply left. Olivia had been devastated. She and her mother had been so close. They were the two who got each other. Kelly had always been Dad’s favorite and Olivia had been Mom’s, one each, the way it was supposed to be. But when Mom had left, Olivia had been alone.

Ever since then, nothing had been right. There had been moments when she’d felt safe, as if she belonged, but only moments. Except with Ryan. When she was with him, she always knew that she was going to be okay. With him, she could believe in herself, in the future.

She thought of the messages on her phone. The meaningless parties she could waste time on, the women she hung out with. They, like Marilee, were more frenemy than friend. What did she have keeping her here? Kathy’s boyfriend? A career that was going nowhere? She had no idea what she wanted, which meant she was never going to achieve anything. She needed time to think and maybe, just maybe, the chance to make her life perfect again.

She couldn’t go back to being that twelve-year-old girl again, but she could take Ryan up on his invitation. Go back to Tulpen Crossing. That would give Marilee something to chew on and wouldn’t that be fun? Plus she could finally get her man. Because with Ryan, everything was better.

“You know what, Mom? You’re right. I should take some time off.”

Marilee’s expression tightened. “I’ve told you not to call me that. Especially at the office. I’m nowhere near old enough to have a daughter your age.”

“Good thing Kelly doesn’t work for you. She’s even older than me.”

“I have to say I don’t care for your attitude.”

“Sorry. I should probably get out of here, then. I need to pack and close up my apartment.”

“You’re actually going somewhere?”

“Uh-huh. Home. I’m going home for the summer.”

Marilee sat up. “Home? To that backwater town? Are you crazy?”

“No. I think it will be fun. I haven’t visited in forever. I’ll let you know when I’m heading out. And I’ll make sure Kathy has all the information she needs for the listings we have.”

“You can’t simply leave me. You have responsibilities.”

“You’ll be fine, Mom. You always are.” Olivia smiled. “At least this way you don’t have to cut my hours.”

* * *

Reporting for work at 5:00 a.m. was not for sissies but there were a few things that could mitigate the horror. One was the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls hot out of the oven. The other was Billy Joel blasting at a volume just short of hearing loss.

Helen Sperry walked in the front door of The Parrot Café at two minutes to five. Being on time wasn’t difficult what with her basically living around the corner. She paused to inhale the glorious, gooey scent, then smiled when she heard the opening line to “Uptown Girl.”

“I’ll bet Billy can afford to buy all the pearls he wants now,” she called as she flipped on lights. “What do you think, Delja?”

There was no answer from the kitchen, but that was okay. Delja America wasn’t much of a talker. Instead she expressed herself through her amazing cooking and baking.

Helen hummed along with the song as she walked into the kitchen. “Morning. Everything okay?”

Delja had been with the diner since she graduated from high school nearly forty years before. She was barely five feet tall, but had the build of a linebacker. The muscles of one, too. She could flip a fifty-pound bag of flour onto the counter like it was a small baggie filled with grapes. And the things the woman could do with eggs bordered on miraculous. She was a widow, with one son—the current mayor of Tulpen Crossing—and a daughter who lived in Utah.

Delja looked up at Helen and smiled. Helen crossed the kitchen to receive her morning hug—the one that nearly squeezed the air out of her body. She hung on as tight as she could, trying to return the body crushing with equal force, but suspected Delja was not impressed by her upper body strength.

Delja released her, then held her at arm’s length.

“You good?”

The question was asked in a low, gruff voice. It was the same one Delja had asked every single morning for the past eight years—ever since Helen had taken over the diner from her aunt.

“I am. Did you talk to Lidiya? Are you going to stay with her this summer?”

Every year Delja visited her daughter for three weeks. The entire town wept as the supply of cinnamon rolls dried up. Tempers grew short and people counted the days until Delja’s return.

“September.”

“Okay, then. You’ll email me the dates?”

Delja nodded once, then turned back to frosting the rolls.

There was more they could discuss. Their personal lives, what supplies might be running low, whether or not the Mariners were going to have a winning baseball season, but they wouldn’t. Delja preferred a single-word response to actual conversation and did most of her communicating via email. If something had to be ordered, she would have already sent a note to their supplier.

As for checking on her work, Helen knew better. Delja started her day at two in the morning. By five there were biscuits in the oven, all the omelet extras had been prepped and oranges squeezed. At The Parrot Café, the back of house ran smoothly—all thanks to Delja.

Helen went to her office and tucked her handbag into the bottom drawer of her desk. She glanced in the small mirror over the sink by the door. Her black hair was pulled back in a French braid, her bangs were trimmed and her makeup was subtle. All as it should be. The fact that she couldn’t see below her shoulders meant she didn’t have to notice that her last diet had failed as spectacularly as the previous seventeen. Which was not her fault. Really. How could she be expected to eat Paleo while living in a world that contained Delja’s cinnamon rolls?

She returned to the front of the store and started the morning prep. There were place settings to be put out and sugar shakers to be filled. Silly, simple tasks that allowed her to collect herself for her day. And maybe, just maybe, give her a second so that the butterflies in her stomach calmed down from their current hip-hop to a more stately waltz.

The Parrot Café (named for parrot tulips, not the bird) had been around nearly as long as the town. Helen’s aunt had inherited it from her parents and when she’d married, her husband had joined the team. From what Helen could tell, the two of them had been very happy together. The café was open from 6:00 a.m. until 2:00 p.m., seven days a week. Until Helen had come along, the childless couple had shut down every August and had traveled the world. Then Helen’s parents had been killed in a car accident, leaving the only child an orphan. There had been no other family, so Helen had come to Tulpen Crossing.

She supposed her aunt and uncle had tried. As much as her world had been thrown into chaos, theirs had been, as well. They’d done what they could to make her feel welcome, but she’d known the truth. They hadn’t wanted children. It had been a choice—yet they were stuck with her.

She’d done her best to not be any trouble, and to learn the business. By the time she was thirteen, she was already waiting tables. The patrons loved her and no one knew that she cried herself to sleep every night for the first three years after her parents had died.

Her parents had been poor but happy—both musicians. That meant there hadn’t been any money for, well, anything. The only thing she still had of her parents’ was the piano they’d played and their wedding rings. She kept the former in her living room in her small house and had had the latter made into a pendant she wore every day. She hadn’t inherited much of their musical gifts, but like them, she did love Billy Joel. He was her connection to the past.

By five thirty Helen had the coffee brewing. The rest of the wait staff showed up at five forty-five and the first customer would walk through the door exactly at six. By seven thirty every booth would be full, as would the counter seats. There was always a lull around ten that lasted until the lunch crowd showed up. By then Delja had clocked out and the culinary students from the school up in Bellingham were hard at work in the kitchen, prepping for lunch.

It was a system that worked. The students got to practice in a real world restaurant, her customers had an opportunity to try new and fun food, along with traditional favorites, and she had a steady supply of labor. Many students signed up for weekend shifts and those who lived local often wanted a job with her for a couple of years to get experience for their résumés before moving on to somewhere a lot more elegant than The Parrot Café.

Helen glanced at the clock, then reached for a mug. She was still pouring coffee when she heard the front door open. Her butterflies started a quickstep and for one brief second, she thought her hands might actually shake. Which was ridiculous. And right on cue, the recorded sound of breaking glass was followed by the opening chords of “You May Be Right.”

“I may be crazy,” Helen whispered to herself before turning around and smiling as Jeff Murphy walked toward her. “Morning.”

“Hi, Helen.” Jeff winced slightly. “Does it have to be this loud?”

“Billy is my rock-and-roll boyfriend. A love like that demands volume.”

“Uh-huh.”

Jeff set paper-wrapped flowers on the counter before pulling out his phone and tapping the screen. It only took him a second to find the Sonos app and lower the volume to the level of background noise.

“One day Billy’s going to kick your ass for doing that,” she told him.

He grinned. “I’m willing to take the chance.”

It was a variation on the conversation they had nearly every day. One she looked forward to with ridiculous anticipation. Billy might be her rock-and-roll boyfriend, but Jeff was, well... Jeff was the reason her heart kept beating.

Stupid, but there it was. The truth. She was wildly, desperately in love with Jeff Murphy.

The man was gorgeous. He looked a little like the actor Jason Bateman, with shaggy hair and big brown eyes. He was tall, fit, funny, kind and he could play guitar like nobody’s business. In a word—irresistible.

He was also single, so what was the problem? Why couldn’t she simply tell him how she felt? Or ask him out to dinner? Or rip off her clothes and smile winningly? Jeff wasn’t a dummy. He would get the message.

Only three things stopped her. One, he was older. Sixteen years, to be exact. While she didn’t care, she thought he might. Two, the extra thirty pounds she carried. She was currently subscribing to the when-then philosophy—distant cousin to the if-then concept. When she lost weight, then she would be brave and throw herself at Jeff.

She acknowledged that pending moment of disaster might be the reason she seemed in no hurry to commit to a weight-loss plan but she wasn’t sure.

Reason number three—which was probably the most important and therefore should be the first—Jeff was her best friend’s father.

Yup, Jeff was Kelly’s dad, which added a whole layer of complicated to the situation. Because should she ever confess the truth to said best friend, there would be a conversation filled with “WTF” and “Are you kidding me?” All of which would be screamed rather than spoken.

Oh, wait. There was a fourth reason Helen hadn’t thrown herself at Jeff. He’d never once made a move in her direction. All the more reason to bury her unrequited love/lust in a warm cinnamon roll.

“Let me show you what I brought you today,” he said, unrolling the paper. “Havran.”

Helen stepped closer to study the beautiful tulips. They were deep purple with a slightly pointed petal. The stems were pale green and smooth.

“They’re lovely. Thank you.”

She knew better than to offer to pay for them. She’d tried a couple of times, but Jeff had simply shaken his head. “I grow tulips, Helen. I want to do this.”

She’d tried reading something into his words but weeks, then months, had passed with nary a change in their relationship. Not by a whisper, look or touch did he ever hint that he thought of her as more than a friend. She’d learned to accept the flowers as a kind gift. The man was a tulip farmer, after all. It wasn’t as if he’d bought them for her.

She collected a tray filled with small vases, along with clippers. Together they loaded the vases and put them on each table. When she returned to the counter, he held out a small wrapped package the size and shape of a single stem.

“For you. Don’t tell Kelly.”

Humor danced in his dark brown eyes. Eyes she would very much like to get lost in. Maybe while he slowly undressed and reached for her as they...

“Helen?”

“What? Oh, thanks. Although I’m not sure I should thank you for stealing from your daughter’s private greenhouse.”

“She’s not going to notice one flower missing.”

“You take one every week. At some point she’s going to catch on.”

He winked. “She hasn’t yet.”

No, she hadn’t. Because Kelly would have mentioned the thefts, had she spotted them.

Yes, it was true—father and daughter worked together on their tulip farm. In addition to growing millions of blooms for florists and grocery stores, Kelly had a small, private greenhouse where she cultivated special flowers. Flowers Jeff occasionally stole and brought to Helen.

Today’s offering was red with a yellow base. But what was most remarkable were the long, slender petals that came to a needlelike point. They were delicate and exotic and incredibly beautiful.

“Tulipa acuminata,” Jeff said.

Helen didn’t know if the words were Latin or just scientific, but hearing him say them made her girl parts sigh in unison.

“It’s stunning,” she said. “I’ll put it in my office and not tell my best friend, which makes me a bad person and it’s all your fault.”

“I do what I can.”

He took a seat at the counter. His regular seat. The one she thought of as Jeff’s chair. When she had a moment between customers, it was where she later sat. Sad, but true.

“Want to see a menu?” she asked.

He raised his eyebrows. “Is that your idea of humor?”

Because he’d been coming to the café all his adult life and knew everything they served.

“I’m trying to mix things up,” she said.

“I’ll have an omelet.”

“With bacon, avocado, cheese.” A statement, not a question.

“You know what I like.”

If only that were true. If only she knew the words or moves to get him to see her as more than a friend. Unless, of course, he wasn’t interested. Which he probably wasn’t, because he was a decisive man. So she should get over him and move on with her life. Only she didn’t want to get over Jeff. She wanted to get into him. Or have him get into her, or...

“I need more coffee,” she muttered. And a hormone transplant. Or maybe just some more Billy Joel.

3

Leo Meierotto, the fortysomething site supervisor, stuck his head in Griffith’s office. “Boss, you’ve got company.” Leo’s normally serious expression changed to one of amusement. “Kelly Murphy is here.”

Because Leo was local and in a town the size of Tulpen Crossing, everyone knew everyone.

“Thanks.”

“Think she wants to buy a tiny home?”

Considering she lived in a house her family had owned for five generations, “Doubtful.”

Maybe she’d shown up to serve him with a restraining order. Or did that have to be delivered by someone official? He wasn’t sure. Avoiding interactions that required him to get on the wrong side of law enforcement had always been a goal.

He told himself whatever happened, he would deal, then walked out into the showroom of the larger warehouse. Kelly stood by a cross section of a display tiny home, studying the layout.

He took a second to enjoy looking at her. She was about five-five, fit, with narrow hips and straight shoulders. A farmer by birth and profession, Kelly dressed for her job. Jeans, work boots and a long sleeved T-shirt. It might be early June, but in the Pacific Northwest, that frequently meant showers. Today was gray with an expected high of sixty-five. Not exactly beach weather.

Kelly’s wavy hair fell just past her shoulders. She wore it pulled back in a simple ponytail. She didn’t wear makeup or bother with a manicure. She was completely no-frills. He supposed that was one of the things he liked about her. There wasn’t any artifice. No pretense. With Kelly you wouldn’t find out that she was one thing on the surface and something completely different underneath. At least that was what he hoped.

“Hey, Kelly.”

She turned. He saw something flash through her eyes. Discomfort? Nerves? Determination? Was she here to tell him to back off? He couldn’t blame her. He’d been too enthused about his plan when he should have been more subtle. She was going to tell him to leave her alone.

Not willing to lose without a fight, he decided he needed a distraction and how convenient they were standing right next to one.

“You’ve never been to my office before,” he went on. “Why is that?”

“I don’t know. You’ve been back about a year. I guess I should have been by.” She turned toward the tiny homes. “You build these?”

“I do. Have you seen one before?”

“Only on TV.”

He grinned. “Gotta love the free advertising.” He gestured to the model next to the cross section. “Micro housing is defined as being less than five hundred square feet. They serve different purposes for different people. In sub-Saharan Africa, micro housing provides sturdy, relatively inexpensive shelter that can be tailored to the needs of the community.” He pointed to the roof. “For example, we can install solar panels, giving the owners access to electricity. In urban settings, modified homes can be an alternative to expensive apartments. They can also offer shelter to the homeless. For everyone else, they fill a need. You can get a single-story house for an in-law or a guest cottage with a loft. You can take it on the road, even live off the grid, if you want.”

She studied him intently as he spoke, as if absorbing every word. “I like living on the grid, but that’s just me.”

“I’m with you on that. Creature comforts are good. Come on. I’ll show you where we build them.”

He led her around the divider and into the back of the warehouse where the actual construction was done. Nearly half a dozen guys swarmed over the homes. Griffith saw that Ryan was leaning against a workbench, talking rather than working. No surprise there. He ignored the surge of frustration and turned his attention to Kelly.

“Clients can pick from plans we have on hand or create their own. If it’s the latter, I work with them to make sure the structure will be sound. A house that’s going to stay in one place has different requirements from one that will be towed.”

She nodded slowly. “You’d have to make sure it was balanced on the trailer. Plus it can’t be too high. Bridges and overpasses would be a problem. Maybe weight, as well.”

“Exactly. A lot of people think they want a tiny home but when they actually see what it looks like, they’re surprised at the size.”

“Or lack of size?” She smiled. “I can’t imagine living in five hundred square feet.”

“Or less. It takes compromise and creative thinking.”

“Plus not a lot of stuff.”

They walked back to the show area. She went through a completed tiny house waiting to be picked up.

“I can’t believe you fit in a washer-dryer unit,” she called from inside.

“Clothes get dirty.”

“But still. It’s a washer-dryer.” She stepped back into the showroom. “It’s nice that you have this setup for your clients. They get to see rather than just imagine.”

He nodded as he looked around. There were photos of completed projects on the wall, along with the cross section. He had a small selection of samples for roofing, siding and hard surfaces. All the basics.

“What?” she asked.

“It’s okay,” he admitted. “I want to make it better, but I don’t know how to do the finishing touches.” He could design the hell out of three hundred square feet, but when it came to things like paint and throw pillows, he was as lost as the average guy in a housewares department.

“I wish I could help, but I can’t.” She flashed him a smile. “I’m totally hopeless at that kind of thing, too. Now if you want to know the Pantone color of the year, that I can do.”

“The what?”

“The color of the year. Every year the design world picks colors that are expected to be popular. You know, for clothes and decorating.”

“Why would you know that?”

“Um, Griffith, I grow tulips for a living. If I don’t get the colors right, nobody wants them at their wedding or on their coffee tables.”

“Oh, right. I didn’t think of that.” He frowned. “Don’t you have to order bulbs before you plant them? What if you get the colors wrong?”

“Then I’m screwed and we lose the farm. Which is why I pay attention to things like the Pantone colors of the year. It’s not so much that people won’t buy yellow tulips regardless of what’s popular, it’s that I’ll lose sales by not having the right colors available when my customers want them. I like being their go-to vendor when they need something.”

He’d known she cared about her business, but he hadn’t thought of her as competitive. Better and better.

“Do you focus on having the right colors in the field flowers as well as those you grow indoors?”

She studied him for a second, as if surprised by the question.

“They’re different,” she admitted. “What we have for the annual tulip festival are more focused on popular colors as well as types of tulips. I use the greenhouses for wedding seasons as well as for the more exotics. It’s easier to control the process when you don’t have to deal with Mother Nature.”

“I hear she can be a real bitch.”

Kelly laughed. “If there’s a spring hailstorm, I won’t disagree. Ten minutes of hail can ruin an entire crop.”

He winced. “That sucks.”

“Tell me about it.”

They smiled at each other. He had a feeling she’d forgotten about why she’d come to see him, which was how he wanted things.

He’d known who Kelly was since high school. She’d been a couple of years behind him, but he’d seen her around. She’d been relatively quiet. Pretty, but not in a flashy way. Her freshman year, they’d worked on the yearbook together and he’d gotten to know her. Still, he’d been that guy and she’d been younger. He hadn’t known if he wanted to make his move or not. Then things had blown up with her mother and he’d hurt Kelly’s feelings and, before he could figure out what to say or do, he’d graduated and gone off to college.

To be honest, he hadn’t thought about her all that much until he’d moved back to Tulpen Crossing, but now that he was here, he found her on his mind a lot. Her five-year relationship had conveniently ended six months ago. He figured there’d been enough time for her to have moved on. Now all he needed was to get her to buy into the plan. And if the lady said no, well then he would back off.

“Come on,” he said, motioning to the door leading to the walkway between the warehouses. “I want to show you something.”

Her expression immediately turned wary. “Etchings?” she muttered, then flushed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply...” She cleared her throat and stared at the floor, then back at him. She sucked in a deep breath, then asked brightly, “What did you want to show me?”

“Just the other warehouse.”

“Okay.”

Her voice was doubtful, but she followed him along the covered walkway, then into the second building.

It was smaller and currently unoccupied. There were piles of material around the perimeter, plans tacked to the walls and empty pallets next to a small forklift.

“Is this for overflow when you get really busy?” she asked as she walked over to a stack of boxed solar panels.

“No. This is why I do the other work.” He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy designing homes for people. They’re so excited and enthusiastic. It’s just there are other places, other people, who are desperate for shelter. That’s the work I do here.”

Her brown eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“I work with several nonprofits. They collect materials and ship them to me. When I have enough, I ask for volunteers and we put together micro housing in kit form. It’s then sent to wherever it’s needed most.” He pointed to the solar panels. “Those are for sub-Saharan Africa. They’ll be self-sufficient as far as electricity. I’m working with a guy I know in Oklahoma who’s experimenting with different ways to purify water. Right now the units are too big and too expensive, but eventually we’ll be able to send them with the houses. These are more basic than what I sell here, but they’re still shelter.”

He walked over to the designs on the wall. “One of the organizations has me build tiny houses for homeless shelters. Same premise, different materials, depending on which part of the country they’re for. A couple of times a year, they send me interns to coordinate everything. We’re getting ready for a build next month. I’ll be putting the word out for volunteers.”

Her mouth wasn’t exactly hanging open, but it was close. Good. Griffith didn’t do the work for the attention, but he wasn’t above using it to impress Kelly. Because when it came to a woman like her, a guy had to be willing to take advantage of whatever the gods offered.

“I’d like that,” she told him. “To help. This is a great project. All of it. I had no idea you were doing this.” She shifted her gaze from the materials to his face. “It’s amazing. Everyone always says they want to make a difference, but so few of us have the opportunity to do so directly. With this, there’ll be homes for families when there weren’t homes before. That could mean the difference between life and death—literally.”

“You get it,” he said before he could stop himself.

She smiled. “Doesn’t everyone?”

No. Jane hadn’t. His ex-wife had gone along with him when he’d moved to Africa to work with his mentor, but she hadn’t liked it one bit. She’d made that clear on a daily basis. He supposed he had culpability in the problem. He’d been the one who was supposed to join an international architectural firm and design museums and elegant skyscrapers. Instead he’d fallen hard for micro housing. Jane hadn’t approved.

“You’d be surprised how many only want to write a check,” he said instead. “Not that I’m knocking the check writers. They provide the funds.”

“It takes both sides of the equation. Without your work, the check would be meaningless.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

She stood a comfortable distance from him. Her posture was relaxed and open. She’d forgotten why she’d come to see him. Which probably meant it was time to remind her.

“What did you want to talk to me about?”

She blinked in surprise, then her whole body changed as she remembered her mission. “Oh, right.” She cleared her throat. “I, ah... Well, the thing is...”

He waited patiently. “Yes?”

“You are, um, around a lot. Around me.”

Around was better than stalking. A lot better. He gave her his best smile again, hoping it would help.

“You’re not imagining things,” he said quietly. “I’ve been trying to get to know you without being too obvious. I guess I suck at the spy thing, huh?”

She relaxed. “Kind of.”

“Sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to.” Now it was his turn to be nervous. Kelly didn’t play games so he wasn’t going to, either. He was going to put it out there.

“When I moved back, I noticed you right away. You were with Sven, so I figured I had to let it go. Then you two broke up. It’s been six months, so I’m hoping you’re over him.”

Her eyes widened. “Okay.” The word was drawn out to three syllables.

“So here’s the thing. I want us to get to know each other. I think we could have fun together. If I’m right, I’d like us to take things to the next level.” He looked into her eyes. “I’m a decent guy. I believe in serial monogamy. I’m not looking for love or marriage or happily ever after. But I am looking for a long-term girlfriend. I’m hoping you feel the same way and we can work something out.”

Her mouth dropped open. She closed it before taking a step back. “Friends with benefits?”

“Something like that, although I was thinking more lovers who are friends.”

“You want to have sex with me?”

He grinned. “Kelly, pretty much every guy who sees you wants to have sex with you, but to be clear, yes. I would like that very much.”

“I don’t understand.” She held up her hand. “I take that back. I understand what you said. It’s just... Wow.”

Wow was better than drop dead or hell, no so he would take it. “You probably want some time to think about it.”

“Yeah. That would be great.” She looked more than a little shell-shocked. “You read Eat, Pray, Love to get me into bed?”

“No. I read it because your book club was reading it and I thought it would be something we could talk about. I don’t just want to sleep with you, Kelly. I meant what I said. I’m looking for a relationship.”

“But not love or marriage.”

“Right.”

“You’re very up front and honest.”

“That’s the goal. You’ll think about what I said?”

“I would imagine it’s going to be hard to think about anything else.”

“No means no. If you decide to break my heart, I won’t bother you again.” Not that he wanted her to say no, but nothing about his invitation was supposed to scare her.

She nodded slowly, as if stunned.

“Why don’t I walk you to your truck?”

She nodded again and began walking. He fell into step with her. “Thanks for coming by.”

“Uh-huh.”

They went outside. Kelly glanced around as if she wasn’t sure where she was. He pointed to her truck.

“Over there.”

She glared at him. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Just a little. Wouldn’t you if you were me?”

“Maybe.” Her brown eyes turned wary. “This isn’t a joke, is it?”

The softly worded question cut him more deeply than he would have expected.

“Kelly, no.” He moved close and took her hand in his. “I’m not kidding. I meant what I said. About wanting to get to know you, about us having potential together, about no meaning no. All of it. I swear. Please believe me. I have no reason to want to hurt you.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

She got in her truck and backed out of the parking lot. It was only after she’d turned onto the highway that he remembered what had happened in high school. How he’d dissed her in front of all his friends. He’d done it for the best possible reason but at the end of the day she’d been humiliated and it was all his fault.

Well, hell. No wonder she didn’t want to trust him now.

* * *

It was rare for anything to keep Kelly from a good night’s sleep, but her conversation with Griffith had done that and more. The man had made it clear he wanted to sleep with her. In a way more troubling, he wanted her to be his girlfriend.

Who talked like that? She’d never had a guy come up and baldly state his intentions. Not that she had huge experience with men. She wasn’t exactly a guy magnet. She’d had the requisite college boyfriend where she’d lost her virginity and had doodled Mrs. Elijah Mellon in her notes, but by her senior year, she’d realized she was more excited about returning to the farm than getting married.

A couple of years after graduation, she and Sven had started seeing each other. Their relationship had started slowly. They’d been friends for nearly a year before they’d taken things “to the next level.” After becoming lovers, they’d settled into a comfortable, albeit not very exciting, relationship. She’d never pushed for more, nor had he. Still, she’d been surprised when he’d ended things six months ago. Not heartbroken but surprised. Which was too bad because on paper, she and Sven were well suited. She grew tulips, he grew plants for nurseries up and down the West Coast.

So that was her romantic past—Elijah and Sven. Did she want Griffith as her third? And what did it say about her that Griffith thought she would be okay as only a girlfriend with no promise of more? Which she was, but why did he know that?

She finished making her bed, then walked back into the Jack and Jill bathroom she’d shared with her sister growing up. After brushing her wavy hair into submission, she pulled it back in her usual ponytail, then studied herself in the mirror.

Why her? She wasn’t pretty or glamorous. Now if she were her sister, Olivia, she could understand Griffith’s interest. Of course if she were Olivia, Griffith would have to get in line because there were always men interested in her younger sister.

Not that Kelly was interested in that kind of attention. She didn’t want passion or the drama that came with it. She’d seen what uncontrolled passion did in the form of her mother’s destruction of their family. Kelly wanted something different. Not quiet and not sensible, just...safe. She wanted to feel safe. In her mind that was way more important than some fleeting hormone-induced excuse to destroy and abandon.

She left her bedroom and walked down the hallway to the kitchen. The Murphy house was nearly a hundred years old, built when the land was originally homesteaded. All remnants of the classic farmhouse had been remodeled away until what remained was a U-shaped rambler.

The front of the house had a big family room, a large kitchen and formal dining room. To the left was the study her dad used, and beyond that were the master bedroom and an en suite guest room. To the right of the main living quarters was another, shorter hallway, leading to two good-sized bedrooms with the Jack and Jill bathroom at the end of the hall.

Funny how she and her sister had never fought over that shared bathroom, or much of anything else. At least not when they’d been younger. Despite their parents’ troubled marriage, the constant fighting and the way each parent had claimed one child as his or her favorite, Kelly and Olivia had been buddies. They’d played together, hung out together and had been close. That had changed. Kelly wasn’t sure when exactly, but by the time their mother had left, Olivia was different. Or maybe Marilee’s departure had caused the shift—which meant Kelly had even more responsibility for what had happened.

She could tell herself she’d been a kid and it wasn’t her fault, but she knew the truth. Her fight with her mother had pushed Marilee into leaving and Kelly was the reason Olivia had been sent away.

“Deep thoughts for a weekday morning,” she murmured as she crossed to the coffeepot.

The coffee was already brewed—her father would have started it before he left for the diner. She poured a mug and inhaled the delicious scent before taking her first sip. In a matter of minutes caffeine would flow through her veins and her world would slowly right itself.

She took another swallow before starting her breakfast. While the instant oatmeal heated in the microwave, she made a protein shake with frozen berries. When her cereal was ready, she stirred in a few walnuts and a spoonful of brown sugar and carried everything to the kitchen table. She got her tablet from the shelf by the window and checked her email while she ate.

By the time she’d finished, she’d scanned the digital headlines, browsed two farm equipment ads, and had chuckled at a kitten playing with a laser dot on a Facebook video.

She rinsed her dishes and put them in the dishwasher, then poured a second mug of coffee. She had to figure out what she was going to cook on her days this week. She and her father alternated that particular chore.

They’d come to terms with their unusual living arrangement fairly easily. They each had a wing in the house. He went out for breakfast at Helen’s diner five days a week, they had someone in to clean the house, and they traded off cooking the evening meal. Their schedules were posted on a large wall calendar in the oversize pantry, so each would know when the other wasn’t going to be around for dinner. Every now and then Kelly thought that maybe she should move out and get her own place, but each time she mentioned it, her father told her he liked having her around. As for her, well, she didn’t seem to be in a big hurry to go anywhere.

The back door opened and Jeff Murphy walked in.

“Hey, Kitten.”

“Hi, Dad. How was breakfast?”

“Delja cooks a mean omelet. If I thought I was man enough, I would marry her in a second.”

Kelly laughed. “I don’t think she’s your type.”

“Probably not, but a guy can dream.” He hung his jacket on the hook by the back door and crossed to her for a quick hug. He poured himself coffee, then leaned against the counter.

“We have two more Christmas orders,” he said. “If this keeps up, we’re going to be shipping half a million tulips in December. Plus you know some idiot’s going to call in November and ask if we have any extras.”

“I’m ready. We can go as high as six hundred thousand, then we’re out.”

“I’ll be sure to let our distributors know. Also, that fancy yellow one is selling real well in Los Angeles. Connie wants to know if you can make those in any other colors.”

“Da-ad. Those yellow ones? Is that really what we’re reduced to these days?”

“You go ahead and use their fancy names. I’ll stick with yellow.”

Jeff knew the names better than she did. He’d been growing tulips since he was a teenager. When Kelly had graduated college and joined the farm full-time, they’d talked about how to handle things. Jeff was tired of being responsible for all the growing and Kelly had no interest in dealing with distributors or clients, so they’d split the duties. Like their living arrangements, it was a system that worked for them.

Sometimes she wondered if he’d ever wanted more than life in a small town. He was a relatively young man—not yet fifty—but he hadn’t remarried after his divorce. As far as everyone was concerned, he’d never even dated. Every few months he disappeared to Seattle for a long weekend. Kelly assumed he met someone for a brief affair, but that was it.

As for herself, she had no idea what she was going to do about Griffith. Being someone’s girlfriend again sounded nice, but shouldn’t she want more? Shouldn’t she want to fall in love and have babies and live happily ever after?

She supposed the problem was she didn’t believe in happily ever after anymore. If she ever had.

4

Jammin’ Madame Lefeber—named for the tulip, not a person—took up about a third of what had once been a grocery store, long since defunct. The other two-thirds were a bowling alley, with both businesses sharing the ample parking lot. On the upside, neither business cared if the other made noise. On the downside, despite thick layers of insulation and sound-deadening drywall, the crack of bowling balls hitting the pins could still be heard. It was a low and arrhythmic beat and could distract even the most professional of musicians.

Helen walked into the foyer a couple of minutes early. Pictures of former students covered the walls. Some were classic studio poses while others showed bands playing live at a venue. She smiled when she saw Jeff and herself in the background of many of the band shots.

JML was a music school that focused more on guitar and drums than the more classical instruments. As part of the services, students could put together a band. An instructor would help them learn a handful of songs, then arrange for a showcase onstage at Petal Pushers or somewhere else. To help the fledgling bandmates get their sound together, near professional-level musicians played along.

The work didn’t pay much. Helen did it for the fun and to get the chance to play keyboard every now and then. The bands were interesting, although rarely gifted. Still, it was better than playing piano alone in her living room. Adding to the pleasure was the fact that she and Jeff frequently worked as a team. The man played a mean guitar. More than one fourteen-year-old had been left slack-jawed at Jeff’s rendition of “Stairway to Heaven.”

Thinking about Jeff got her chest to fluttering. She reminded herself of the importance of appearing cool, even if she didn’t feel it, despite the fact that her feelings for the man bordered on a rock-star crush.

She knew that he’d played in a rock band in high school, then had quit after he’d gotten married. She wasn’t sure when he’d taken up the guitar again. She’d started working with the students at JML years ago—shortly after her divorce. In fact, that was where she’d first noticed Jeff. She’d fallen for him during an off-key Beatles retrospective—specifically “Hard Day’s Night.”

Before she could dig up more swoon-worthy memories, Jeff appeared in the foyer. Her throat immediately tightened and speech became impossible. What was it about a man in a plaid shirt? Okay—not any man—just this one. Or maybe it was the worn jeans that hugged his narrow hips and long legs. Or the way he held his guitar case with such confidence.

Jeff smiled as he approached. “Heard anything about our latest bandmates?”

“Isaak said they’re fifteen-year-old twins who got guitars for their birthday.”

Jeff winced. “Why do parents do that?”

“Someone has to be the next generation of rock music.”

Isaak, a tall, curly-haired man of mixed heritage, walked into the foyer. “You’re here,” he said, sounding grateful. “Adults. Thank God.”

“How are the new students?”

“You honestly don’t want to know. They’re arguing about whether to play Atreyu or Pop Evil.”

“Are those bands or songs?” Jeff asked.

“Bands,” Helen told him. “You really have to pay attention to music from this century.”

“I like Coldplay.”

“They started in the nineties.”

“But they have songs out this century.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“Probably.” Jeff turned to Isaak. “Give them the approved music list.”

“That’s less of a problem than them having trouble grasping what a chord is. Can you give me a few minutes?”

Jeff looked at Helen who nodded.

“We’ll wait,” Jeff told him.

The music director retreated to one of the practice rooms. Jeff and Helen walked to the break room in the back. Jeff pulled several dollar bills out of his pocket and walked to the soda machine.

“Diet Coke?” he asked.

“Thanks.”

He got them each a can, then joined her at the round table by the window. One wall thumped from uneven drumming while another vibrated with an overly enthusiastic bass guitar.

“We should have brought earplugs,” he told her.

“You always say that. The students get better.”

“Not today.”

The table was small, forcing them to sit close enough for their knees to bump. With every casual contact, Helen felt a jolt of awareness zip up her leg. Talk about stupid.

“I can’t believe you mocked Coldplay,” he said.

“I didn’t. I simply pointed out you’re not a fan of contemporary music.”

“No one’s better than the Rolling Stones.”

“Billy Joel is better.”

He looked at her over the can. “You have a thing for him so you can’t be impartial.”

“My thing for Billy is nothing when compared to your slavish devotion to that British band.”

“Mine doesn’t have a sexual component. That makes it more honest.”

“Because sex isn’t honest?” she asked with a laugh.

“You know what I mean. I’m not blinded by lust.”

“It’s not lust.” Of that she was sure. Her love for Billy Joel was different than her feelings for Jeff. Now if he really wanted to talk lust, she was all in.

“Next time he’s in Seattle, I should take you to a concert,” he said. “Unless you’re going to throw yourself at the stage. I’m not sure how I’d feel about that.”

There was so much unexpected information in that brief statement, she didn’t know what to say. Was Jeff asking her out? No, it was a friendly invitation, but still. But there was something... Or was that just wishful thinking on her part?

She clutched her can of soda for courage and decided to go with it. “Wouldn’t that cramp your style?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your trips to Seattle. When you go to...” She made air quotes. “A Mariners game.”

He put down his can, then picked it up again. “I do go to games. I like baseball.”

“Uh-huh. No one is fooled. You go in for a long weekend to see a game, but sometimes the Mariners aren’t even in town. There’s a woman. Or women. I’m not sure.”

Nor did she want to be talking about this, only it was going to be hard to change the subject now. Plus, she couldn’t help thinking that if they could get into something slightly more personal he might see her as more than just a buddy.

“What do you mean everybody knows?”

“It’s understood,” she said. “I don’t talk about it with your daughter, if that’s what you’re asking, but she’s a bright girl.” She met his wary gaze. “It’s not a bad thing, Jeff. You’ve been divorced a long time. It’s nice that you have someone.”

No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t nice at all. It ate her up inside. It made her want to scream and beg and wish she had the courage to say “What about me?”

Jeff swore under his breath. “I didn’t think anyone knew.” He swore again. “It’s not like however you’re thinking. It’s just sometimes a man—”

Had needs? Because she could help with that. But before she could figure out how to offer, Isaak joined them.

“This is going to take a while. Are you two willing to come back in a couple of hours or do you want to call it a night?”

Jeff glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly six.

“Buy you a burger?” he asked Helen.

“That would be great. Thanks.”

Jeff returned his attention to Isaak. “We’ll be across the street.”

“Great. I’ll come get you there.”

Jeff locked his guitar in his truck before they headed across the highway to the Tulip Burger restaurant. While Helen didn’t mind that their town was all things tulip, she felt the new owners of Tulip Burger had taken things too far. There were stencils on the wall, a tulip-shaped blackboard with specials and tulip-printed napkins. Cute, but not necessary. Tourists already knew where they were—there was no reason to drill home the point.

They took a seat at a booth in the back. Helen knew better than to read too much into the dinner invitation. New band disagreements were frequent, which meant she and Jeff often had time to kill between sessions. What she didn’t know was whether or not she wanted to return to the previous topic. While it might help get her closer to her goal of being his love slave, there was also the risk of him saying something like, “I will only ever see you as my friend.”

Helen stared at the menu. They had a really nice grilled chicken salad. If she asked for dressing on the side, she would have made it nearly twelve hours on her new low-carb, low-fat diet and wouldn’t that be special.

“Want to split the bacon cheeseburger?” Jeff asked.

Because while the decorations might be tacky, the food was amazing and the bacon cheeseburgers were huge and delicious and, well, damn.

Helen’s stomach grumbled, which she took as a vote of “yes, please.” Oh, why did she have to be weak? Or fat?

“Sure,” she murmured, then waited for the wave of guilt.

Their server came over. Jeff ordered for them, asking for extra fries and suggesting a chocolate milk shake. In deference to the now broken diet, she said she would just have water.

“We’re getting Christmas orders,” Jeff said when their server had left. “It’s June. What are they thinking, waiting so long? We have to grow the tulips from bulbs, which we have to order. It’s not like we can put on an extra shift in the factory.”

“Maybe if you put up inspirational posters they’d grow faster.”

“Are you sassing me?”

“Actually I believe I was sassing the tulips.” She sipped her water. “I get that you’re growing flowers, but it’s still strange to me that flower distributors have to order flowers so far in advance. The most I have to do is make sure my food orders are done two weeks out. What if the bulbs don’t work?”

“They’ll be fine.”

“Still, it seems risky. You put a bulb in the ground and expect there to be a flower. You even know exactly which one it is. That’s a lot of trust.”

“It’s farming, Helen. Don’t make it into magic.”

“I think there’s an element of magic. I mean, come on. Eggplants. Who saw that coming?”

* * *

A burger and more fries than Weight Watchers would approve of later, Helen pushed her plate away. The chef had tossed a little avocado on their burger, taking it from delicious to heavenly. She would, she swore, start her diet tomorrow. Again.

Jeff moved his glass of iced tea in a circle on the table. He looked at her, down at his drink, then back at her.

“Before you were asking me about the women I sleep with.”

Had Helen been drinking, she would have choked. As it was, she tried not to flinch and still had to clear her throat before speaking.

“That’s one way of putting it,” she murmured. “I was just wondering about, you know...”

“Not really.”

She tried desperately to think up something to say. If she wasn’t desperately in love with him, what would she want to know?

“How do you do it?” she asked, then held up a hand. “The logistics of finding someone. I know how to have sex.”

He smiled. “I would hope so.”

“It’s the other stuff.”

“Why are you asking?”

Because I want you desperately and I’m hoping you’ll make the jump from friends to more than friends, pull me close and ravish me with a fiery passion. She glanced around the diner. Okay, maybe you’ll just suggest we go back to my place.

“Helen? Why are you asking?”

“I’ve been divorced for years and I need to do something.”

“You don’t want to date anyone in town?”

“Um, well, that’s hard to say. There aren’t a lot of single guys. Sven is Kelly’s ex, so that would never work. Griffith is into Kelly, so again, a problem. Now that I think about it, your daughter is creating trouble in my personal life.”

“You want to date Sven and Griffith?”

“No, but blaming Kelly means it’s not my fault.”

“I respect that. There’s Ryan.”

Helen wrinkled her nose. “Thanks, but no. He’s flaky and not my type.”

“Plus he’s too young for you.”

She glared at him. “Excuse me? He’s what, five years younger than me? That’s a perfectly acceptable age gap.” Jeez, if Jeff didn’t think five years was okay, what was he going to say about their sixteen-year difference?

“You’re an old soul. Ryan isn’t.”

“That’s amazingly similar to calling me old.”

“You know I didn’t mean that. You’re on a tear tonight.”

“Not really. Just sassing you.”

“You said it was the tulips.”

She grinned. “I lied.”

“You don’t have to sound so cheerful about it.”

“Why not? I’m a cheerful person. Now about your women... How does it happen? Do you go to bars? Is there a website? And why haven’t you ever brought someone home? Don’t you want to get married again? I know things with Marilee weren’t great, but it’s been forever. You’re still a relatively young man. Don’t you ever want more? Someone to care about you and be a part of your life?”

His steady gaze warned her that she might have gone too far with that last bit, but she figured Jeff would chalk it up to enthusiasm rather than a plea for attention.

“Helen,” he began, then stopped. His tense expression relaxed.

She turned and saw Isaak walking toward them.

“Timing bites,” she muttered.

“Depends on how you look at it.”

“You would say that.”

Isaak slid in next to her and reached for a fry. “We have made our musical selections.”

“Great.” Jeff was already standing. “Can’t wait to hear what they are.”

“Someone’s enthused.”

Isaak grabbed two more fries, then rose. Helen followed, then moved close to Jeff.

“Chick, chick, chicken,” she chanted softly.

“You know it.”

* * *

Kelly spun back and forth on the stool at the counter. Helen stood at the cash register, making change for her last customer of the day. It was a little after two and the diner was quiet. The kitchen staff had cleaned up and gone for the day.

Helen walked Mrs. Pritchard to the door and held it open, then closed and locked it. She turned to Kelly.

“You could have texted me or something. I can’t believe you confronted Griffith and waited all this time to tell me.”

“It’s been less than two days.”

Helen put her hands on her hips. “That’s like eight years in best-friend time. Are you mad at me or something?”

The question was more teasing than serious. Helen always had a dramatic flair. She was so alive and present in her life. Not in a scary way, like Kelly’s mother or sister, but from a place of positive energy. Being around Helen always made Kelly feel better about everything.

“I’m not mad and you know it. I just needed to process.”

“Let me grab us drinks, then you’re going to tell me everything. You’ll start with you said hi and he said hi and go from there. Remember, no detail is too small.”

“I promise you will hear them all.”

Kelly moved to a booth. Helen got herself a diet soda at the dispenser, then made Kelly an Arnold Palmer and carried both to the booth.

Her dark blue Parrot Café shirt brought out the deep blue of her eyes while her black jeans emphasized her curvy hips. Her long black hair was pulled back in a French braid. She was sexy and voluptuous and by comparison, Kelly felt practically two dimensional.

Helen rested her elbows on the table. “Start talking.”

Kelly drew in a breath before exhaling slowly. “I went to see Griffith, which was, by the way, your suggestion.”

“Yes, I’m the brilliant friend. Go on.”

“He said...” She still had trouble wrapping her mind around what he’d said, let alone repeating it. “He wants us to get to know each other with the idea of entering into a long-term relationship. But he doesn’t want to fall in love or get married. So we’d be friends having sex in a committed way.” She sipped her drink. “Committed to each other, not the sex.”

“You don’t actually know that,” Helen said, before leaning back. “He really said all that? Just blurted it out?”

“He didn’t blurt as much as explain. He’s not interested in getting married again and he’s not a one-night-stand kind of guy. He wants a long-term monogamous relationship. With me.”

“Of course with you. You’re amazing. He’d be an idiot to pick anyone else, but jeez. Nobody just says that.”

“I know.”

“It’s interesting.”

Kelly could have come up with about twenty-seven other words. “Interesting? How?”

“It’s kind of your thing. You were with Sven for five years and you never once thought of taking things further.” Helen stared at her intently. “You never did think of it, did you? Because I asked all the time and you kept saying you didn’t want to marry him.”

“I didn’t, I swear. He was great and all, it’s just, I wonder if maybe I wasn’t exactly in love with him.” A thought that had haunted her since the breakup. They’d been together five years. Shouldn’t she have been crushed when he ended things?

“Not everyone has to fall in love and get married. People have wonderfully happy relationships without going that route. And some of us who do get married choose incredibly badly and end up divorced.” She smiled. “What did you say?”

“That I would think about it.”

“And?”

“It’s been less than forty-eight hours. I don’t know what to do or think or say.” She picked up her drink. “What do you think?”

“What went wrong with Sven? Why wasn’t he the one?”

Kelly blinked at the question. She’d thought they would be discussing the pros and cons of Griffith.

“I’m not sure. On paper we were the perfect couple. We have similar interests and all but there wasn’t any spark.” Sven had been way too into sex. “He liked to walk around naked. That didn’t make me comfortable.”

“Just randomly naked?”

“After sex.”

“Well, sure. He has the body for it. You couldn’t appreciate the show?”

“Not my style.” She shrugged. “He was nice and all but there wasn’t anything special between us. Not that Griffith is offering me magic, either.”

“Do you want magic? You’re always so careful when it comes to guys.”

An excellent point, Kelly thought. “I guess I want more than I had with Sven. I want to be intrigued and have fun.” All within the careful confines of being sensible. “I should tell Griffith no.”

“Why? Don’t say that. He might be exactly your style. Maybe he dresses after sex. Come on, don’t give up without trying. You need someone in your life.”

“Why? You don’t date.”

Helen reached for a napkin from the holder and began to wipe the table. “That’s different. I was devastated by the end of my marriage. Not because he broke my heart, but because I was an idiot to trust him the way I did. Griffith is a great guy. Aren’t you the least bit tempted?”

“Maybe a little.” More than a little, she thought. If she were being honest.

“Then at least continue the conversation. What have you got to lose?”

“You’re right.”

“My two favorite words ever.”

Kelly laughed. Maybe she should talk to Griffith again and figure out if he meant what he said. She supposed there was no harm in that. As for what had happened in high school—she couldn’t hold that against him forever. It didn’t speak well of her.

“Maybe it’s time for you to start dating, too,” she said. “Sven’s available.”

“Let me think about that.” Helen tilted her head. “No. Did I say no? No. He’s your ex. That would take us places neither of us wants to go.” She raised her voice. “And that little mole on his inner thigh. Isn’t it darling?” Her voice returned to its normal pitch. “I love you like a sister, but there are some things we simply aren’t meant to share. Although I could totally get into Sven being naked. When it gets hot and he takes his shirt off...” She sighed. “You could bounce a quarter off his stomach.”

“I never tried.”

Helen pointed at her. “See, if you’d been in love with him, I’m sure you would have tried. It’s a sign. Go take advantage of Griffith, then tell me all about it. I want to live vicariously through your exciting life.”

“It’s not exciting yet.”

“That is just a detail.”

5

Kelly left the diner and drove back to work. She passed the acres of tulip farmland long before she reached the main offices. Only a few weeks before, the blooming flowers had been a sea of color. After the harvest, there was nothing left but dark soil and the promise of flowers next spring.

It was a ridiculous waste of land, she thought as she turned into the driveway. Not only was the crop uneatable, the ground lay fallow nearly nine months out of the year. Still, the Murphys had grown tulips for five generations. The flowers were in her blood, so to speak, and she had no interest in doing anything else.

She pulled into the parking lot and saw Griffith’s truck in the spot next to the one she generally used. The man himself leaned against the driver’s door. As she pulled to a stop, he straightened and walked around to greet her.

In the few seconds it took him to make the trip, she found herself feeling oddly flustered and out of breath. Did he expect her to make a decision right that second? She needed time to know what on earth she was going to do.

He pulled open her door and smiled. “Kelly.”

“Griffith.”

“You had an overnight package.” He held out a small box. “It was delivered to me by mistake. I thought it might be important.”

She stared into his brown eyes and found herself oddly unable to speak. What on earth? No. No way. She might be interested in dating Griffith and possibly sleeping with him, but there was no way she was going to fall for him. That would be the complete definition of stupid.

She took the box from him and recognized the mailing label and return address. Her nerves immediately calmed and her throat unconstricted.

“I have no idea how this got to you, but thank you for dropping it by.”

“It’s important?”

She smiled. “It is to me, but I doubt you’d agree.”

“Now I’m intrigued.”

He stepped back so she could get out of the truck, then he followed her into the building.

The farm offices were in front of one of the largest greenhouses. They were basic at best, with only a half-dozen offices and a small waiting area. The real work was done elsewhere. At least Kelly’s was. Her dad handled sales and scheduled deliveries, so he spent plenty of time in his office, while she did her best to always be out in one of the greenhouses or in the fields.

They didn’t employ a receptionist, nor did they have a company phone system. If someone needed her, they called her cell phone. The same with her dad. Most of their orders were done online. Only special orders or panicked begging happened on the phone.

She dropped her battered, woven handbag on the counter and reached for a pair of scissors sticking up from a juice can of pencils. She slit the tape on the box and opened it.

Inside lay a half-dozen bulbs. They were on the small side and nestled in cotton. There was nothing special about them, nothing to indicate what they would be. A card had been taped to the inside of the box: 8756-43.

“That’s a letdown,” Griffith told her.

“For you. I’m all aquiver.”

“Seriously? Over bulbs?”

“Not just any bulbs, Griffith. These are special. A hybrid or maybe a new color or shape.”

“You don’t know?”

She showed him the card. “That’s as much information as I have.” She picked up the box and nodded toward the back of the office. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

She led him through to the big wooden door in the rear, then out along a gravel path. When they reached the smallest of the greenhouses, the one that was hers alone, they went inside.

The temperature was warmer, the air thicker and more humid. The scent of plants and life and water filled every breath. There were tables lined with square trays and in each tray were rows of bulbs.

“In the main greenhouses, each of these can hold up to a hundred and fifty bulbs,” she said. “We only have a single level of planting here, but there are farms where they have tall buildings with roofs that open and close and machines that raise and lower pallets of plants.”

“Somebody has greenhouse envy.”

“You know it.” She motioned to the various trays. “These are all experimental tulips. Different horticulturists develop them, then send them to me to grow them. I keep track of everything that happens to them—from how much water, to the nutrients used, to the amount of light and ambient temperature. I document the life cycle and report back my findings.”

He pointed to the box she held. “What is that going to be?”

“I have no idea.”

“They don’t tell you?”

“No.” She laughed. “That’s part of the fun. I haven’t got a clue. It’s like unwrapping a present.”

“Only it takes a couple of months to get to the good part.”

“That’s okay.” She touched the bulbs. “They email me basic instructions, letting me know how long they think I should refrigerate the bulb before bringing it out to root, but that’s it.”

“You refrigerate the bulbs?”

“They have to think it’s winter before they can think it’s spring.”

They left the greenhouse and walked into one of the barns. There were huge cooling rooms filled with thousands and thousands of bulbs.

“Holy crap,” he said as he looked around. “You’re going to grow all these?”

“In less than a year. I have a computer inventory program that helps me track when the bulbs are put into cold storage and when they’ll be ready to come out. Depending on the type of bulb, I know how long for them to root and from then, how long until they flower. We work backward to fill our orders. Some of the tulips—the kind you can get at any grocery store or florist year-round—are always in production. We vary the volume based on the season.”

She pointed to labeled boxes of bulbs. “Those are red and white tulips for the holidays.”

“Now you’re messing with me.”

She laughed. “I swear. Come back in five months and I’ll prove it.”

She put the new bulbs from the box into a square dish on a shelf by the door. After writing down the date on the card, she tucked it next to the dish. They walked back outside.

“Impressive,” he told her.

“It’s not housing for the homeless, but I like to think my flowers will make someone happy.”

“They will.”

They stood facing each other. There was a confidence about him, as if he knew his place in the world and was happy about it. Sven was plenty confident, too, so that couldn’t be what made Griffith feel different.

“I’m sorry about what happened in high school,” he said quietly.

The words were so at odds with what she’d been thinking that at first she had no idea what he was talking about. When she managed to find context and remembered that horrible day, she flushed and wanted to run away. Instead she forced herself to stay where she was. Her chin came up.

“All right.”

He looked at her. “I panicked. I knew your mom was in her room with Coach and I was pretty sure I knew what they were doing. I didn’t want you to walk in on that.”

Because her mother had been having an affair with the football coach, along with countless other men. Everyone had pretended not to know, all the while being acutely aware of what was happening—Kelly most of all.

As a teacher at the high school, Marilee had had a permanent classroom. One where the door was often locked at lunch. Kelly hadn’t even been thinking as she’d approached. She’d been too distracted by seeing Griffith with his friends.

“I was stupid to say what I did,” he continued. “I know it was a long time ago, and this is late, but I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it.”

“You couldn’t just ask me a question about homework? You had to announce you weren’t the least bit interested in me?”

“I totally blanked, which is the truth, not an excuse.”

She liked that he continued to hold her gaze, as if he wanted her to know he meant what he was saying. And the apology was nice, too. Yes, very late, but still.

“I was humiliated,” she admitted. “Then my mom left and everything changed at home and what you’d said didn’t seem that important.”

Her mom hadn’t just left, Kelly thought grimly. They’d fought. She still remembered the anger between them.

“Why can’t you just be like everyone else?” Kelly had demanded of her mother. “Why do you have to be this way? You’re so selfish. You have a family. You’re supposed to take care of us.”

What she’d really meant was that her mother was supposed to take care of her, but she hadn’t been able to say that.

“I’m not like other mothers. Someday you’ll understand.”

“I won’t. I hate you. If you’re so unhappy, why don’t you just leave?”

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes. Go away. You’re horrible. We won’t miss you at all.”

Marilee’s green eyes had darkened with an emotion Kelly couldn’t understand. “Be careful, darling. Wishes like that can be dangerous.”

The fight had ended then. Kelly had cried herself to sleep—an embarrassing truth for a fifteen-year-old. She told herself it was wrong to hate her mother, to wish her gone, but she couldn’t seem to think any other way. The next day, Marilee had left Tulpen Crossing forever.

That was when everything had changed for all of them. Without Marilee, the dynamics had shifted. They’d all been in pain and reacting. Looking back, Kelly wondered if she hadn’t just lost her mother that day—if she had lost her sister, as well.

“I’m sorry about that, too,” Griffith said. “I know it was tough for you and your sister.”

Olivia had suffered far more than Kelly. While Kelly had wrestled with guilt, she’d still had her dad, and the relative peace that had followed. But Olivia had always been their mother’s favorite. With Marilee gone, she was alone. Jeff’s awkward attempts to fill the void had not been enough.

Kelly knew she should have stepped in, should have done more. Why hadn’t she? A question that still had no answer.

“What I said didn’t help,” he added.

“It’s okay,” Kelly told him. “I appreciate the apology.” She managed a slight smile. “I guess based on our previous conversation, I should assume you’re over your distaste.”

His brows rose slightly. “There was never any distaste.”

“You say that now.”

“You’re going to make me pay, aren’t you?”

“I think a little, yes.”

“Okay. I’ve probably earned it. Thank you for the tour,” he added. “I liked seeing where you work.”

“You should come by when we’re harvesting. It’s pretty exciting.”

“I’d like that.”

“Me, too,” she said before she could stop herself.

He smiled and took a step toward her. For a second she thought he was going to kiss her. She had no idea how she felt about that or what it would be like. Anticipation quickened in her belly right before he lightly touched her upper arm, then turned and walked back toward the parking lot.

She stared after him in disbelief. That was it? What had happened to him wanting to sleep with her? Why hadn’t he made his move?

She put her hands on her hips and glared at his retreating back. Men were stupid. All of them, but mostly Griffith.

* * *

Helen finished locking the front door of the diner. The downside of her job was starting so early in the morning. The upside was she was usually out by three in the afternoon—earlier if she could get her food orders in during the mid-morning lull.

She dropped her keys into her bag and turned to find Jeff standing a couple of feet away.

She pressed a hand to her chest. “You startled me.” Which was the truth and also better than her next thought, which was more along the lines of how good he looked. All manly in his plaid shirt and jeans.

“Were we supposed to go to JML or something?” Because while Jeff was a regular at the café, he’d already been by for breakfast. He wasn’t generally an afternoon kind of guy.

“No. I wanted to talk to you.”

For a second she allowed herself to hope that he’d finally come to his senses, realized he was madly in love with her and was here to declare himself. Or at least try to get in her pants, but she was okay with that, too.

“I’ve been thinking about what we talked about before,” he began. “About the women I see in Seattle.”

Yes? Yes? She did her best to look completely normal when on the inside she was doing a competition-worthy cheer routine. Oh, please, oh, please let him want sex with her. Wild, crazy, hot monkey sex.

“You caught me off guard with your questions. I didn’t know what to say.” He raised one shoulder. “I guess I was embarrassed.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know. People talking.”

“No one’s talking. I observed.” Although she did think other people had noticed, she wasn’t going to tell him that.

“My point is, you’re right. We’re friends. Good friends. So ask me what you want to know and I’ll do my best to answer your questions.”

The hot, glowing sex bubble inside of her burst with an audible pop. “That would be great. Probably not right here.”

He looked around at the empty café parking lot. “Probably not.”

They walked the quarter block to her small house, the one she’d bought after her aunt and uncle had moved away. It was just over fourteen hundred square feet, with nice light and an updated kitchen. But what had sold her on the place was the oversize living room with the perfect space for her piano. The small upright was one of the few things she had from her parents. The piano had to be on an interior wall, away from drafts, vents and the sun.

She unlocked the front door. Jeff followed her inside. They gravitated to the kitchen, as people always did, and settled on the bar stools in front of the main counter.

Unsure of the protocol for a conversation like this, she asked, “Do you want something to drink?”

“I’m fine.”

They were sitting about two feet apart, angled toward each other. Helen set her purse on the counter, then didn’t know what to do with her hands.

“I have a couple of bars I go to,” he began. “I’ve also used a dating website or two.”

She told herself that whatever he said, she was going to keep her mouth firmly shut. And act natural. No snorts, no gasps, no blushing, although the latter would be hard to control.

“I make it clear I’m not looking for anything long-term or involved. No serious commitments.”

“Why not?” she blurted before she could stop herself. “See, I don’t get that. I know you and you’re a commitment kind of guy. You love your routine and the rhythm of the seasons. Why would it be different with a woman? Why wouldn’t you want to be with someone long-term?”

“It’s complicated.”

“It’s not. Kelly wouldn’t care. She worries about you being alone. One day she’s going to move out and then you’ll be in that big house all by yourself. You can’t sell it—it’s been in the family too long. I guess you could move out and Kelly could...” She cleared her throat. “I’m going to stop talking now.”

He gave her a brief smile. “Want to bet on that?”

She grinned. “No. Anyway, you were saying it’s complicated.”

“Maybe that’s not the right word. With my past...”

He meant Marilee, the bitchy, unfaithful ex-wife. “You know what she did wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t about you, it was about her. Something inside of her.” She pressed her lips together. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re right. There was something in her.” He shifted on the bar stool. “When we first started dating, I knew she wasn’t long for this town. That as soon as she graduated from high school, she was gone. Then she got pregnant. I was shocked when she told me and even more surprised that she wanted to have the baby. We got married and Kelly was born and Marilee went to college and got her degree and started teaching. For a while things were okay between us. Then they weren’t.”

He looked at her, then away. “I never knew how to make her happy enough.”

Happy enough that she wouldn’t cheat, Helen thought. She’d had a similar thought herself. With Troy. She’d kept thinking that if only she were prettier or thinner or more adventurous in bed, he wouldn’t cheat on her.

“Like I said before, it’s not about you. It was never anything you did. It was always her.”

“You telling me or yourself?” he asked gently. Because, of course, Jeff knew about her past. Everyone in Tulpen Crossing did.

“Both.”

“I agree with you, at least in theory. My head tells the story, my gut is less likely to believe.”

“And because of that, you won’t get involved?”

“That’s part of the reason.”

“What’s the rest of it?” That he was secretly in love with her? If only life were that convenient.

He leaned toward her. “This conversation is supposed to be about you. Here’s my advice. Make sure you like the guy. Keep yourself safe. Listen to your gut and make him wear a condom. Don’t take any crap about how it doesn’t feel good with a condom. It feels just fine. You deserve someone who looks out for you.”

Like he was doing now, she thought dreamily. Only he wasn’t talking about himself. He was giving her advice on how to sleep with someone else. Not exactly the act of a man secretly in love with her.

Another dream dashed. It appeared she was never going to have her way with Jeff—not if she couldn’t get him to be the tiniest bit jealous.

“I appreciate the advice,” she told him.

“Good.” He stood. “I need to get back to the office.”

She rose and walked him to the front door. He turned and smiled at her. Before she could catch her breath or react, he pulled her close. Like in a hug. Not that they hadn’t hugged a billion times before, but maybe this was different. Maybe he was finally going to—

He leaned in and kissed her. On. The. Top. Of. Her. Head. WTF?

Helen forced herself to smile tightly as he drew back.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said.

What she said was, “Absolutely.” What she meant was, “Not if I see you first.”

6

Kelly lowered the seared pot roast into the pressure cooker, then added broth and the vegetables. While most people were Crock-Pot fans, she’d never taken to it. The thought of having to get up first thing in the morning and dice or chop or even assemble was too daunting. A pressure cooker gave her the same kind of flavor in a significantly shorter period of time.

She put on the lid and set the timer. In ninety minutes they would have pot roast—one of her dad’s favorites.

She supposed a psychologist would have a field day with the fact that she was still living at home at the ripe old age of twenty-eight. Every now and then she thought about moving out. She just wasn’t sure when that was going to happen. Or if there actually was a reason to. In some societies, multigenerational families were the norm. She and her dad could start a trend.

She smiled at the thought, then rinsed off the cutting board. A quick glance at the clock on the wall told her that dinner would be ready at six. She was halfway to her dad’s study to tell him when the front door opened and a semi-familiar voice called, “Hi, Dad. It’s me. I’m home.”

Had Kelly been holding more than a dish towel, she would have dropped it for sure, because standing right there in the living room was her sister, Olivia. The same Olivia who had left at fifteen and never returned.

Okay—that wasn’t fair—Olivia had been sent away. As for not coming home, at first she’d refused to come back for holidays and summer vacation. Kelly remembered that. What she couldn’t recall was if or when she and her father had stopped asking her to come home.

Kelly took in the stylish, beachy, wavy hair, the perfect makeup, the casual-yet-elegant tunic over leggings and the brightly colored athletic shoes that were obviously all about style rather than sports. She was acutely aware of her own battered cargo pants and faded University of Washington sweatshirt.

On the surface, she and Olivia looked a lot alike. They were the same height, with brown hair and eyes. At least they’d started out that way. Today Olivia’s hair was more golden than brown and her eyes had a distinct hazel cast to them. Kelly realized she wasn’t the before picture so much as the cautionary tale.

Her sister stared at her. “Kelly? What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“I came to see Dad.”

Just like that? As if she hadn’t been gone over a decade? Because although Jeff made regular pilgrimages to see his daughter and Kelly had tagged along more than once, Olivia had, to the best of Kelly’s knowledge, not been back to Tulpen Crossing in over a decade.

“I’m making dinner,” Kelly said.

Olivia frowned as she glanced around the kitchen. Her expression cleared and she laughed. “Oh, that’s right. Dad told me you were still living at home.”

Jeff walked into the kitchen. “I heard someone...” He stared at his youngest daughter. His eyes widened and his mouth formed a happy grin. “Olivia! When did you get here?”

“Just now. Hi, Dad.”

Jeff held open his arms. Olivia rushed into his embrace. Kelly fought against a sense of resentment and foreboding.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Jeff said as he held her tight. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

They stepped back and smiled at each other. Jeff pulled out a chair and they both sat at the kitchen table. Kelly stood awkwardly by the island, not sure what she was supposed to do. Join them? Bolt? She settled on hovering.

“Tell me,” her dad said. “Why are you here?”

“I thought it was time for me to visit,” Olivia said with a brilliantly white smile. “Phoenix gets so hot in the summer and the real estate market pretty much dies. I had some vacation time, so here I am. I hope it’s okay.”

“Of course it is. Better than okay.”

Kelly reminded herself to smile when Olivia glanced at her. She was trying to remember the last time she’d seen her sister. Five years ago? Six? They rarely had any contact at all. The occasional birthday text or an awkward phone call, but that was it. Jeff and Olivia visited more regularly, but still not that often. Jeff had gone to Olivia’s college graduation. Kelly had been sick and stayed home.

“You’re selling real estate?” she asked.

“No, I work in marketing. I design the brochures and handle the advertising for the individual houses and the company. I’ve also recently started a staging business. I help people set up their homes so they’re more appealing to buyers. It’s fun.”

“That sounds great,” Jeff told her.

“I like it. It’s amazing what you can do when you rearrange furniture and add some accessories.” The bright smile returned. “I’ve been working a lot so I’m looking forward to taking a couple of months off.”

A couple of months? Kelly held in a groan, then reminded herself that Olivia was her sister. It would be nice for them to get to know each other again. They weren’t teenagers anymore. They were adults and would get along fine just like they had when they were little. Although the entire situation made no sense at all. Olivia had never liked being a small-town girl.

“This will be fun,” Jeff said. “My two girls under the same roof.”

“I know.” Olivia smiled again. “I can’t wait to get together with my friends. Everyone’s going to be so excited. I was texting with Ryan and—”

Kelly groaned. “You have got to be kidding me,” she said before she could stop herself. “You came back for your high school boyfriend?”

Her sister’s mouth formed a prim, straight line. “Of course not. You’re being ridiculous. I want to see all my friends. Ryan is just one of them.”

“Sure.”

Kelly wondered whose idea the visit had been—Olivia’s or Ryan’s. Last she’d heard Griffith’s younger brother was going hot and heavy with someone else.

Olivia stood and moved to the counter. “I mean it, Kelly. I’ve moved on. Started a career.” She picked up her sister’s hand and shook her head as she studied Kelly’s short, ragged nails. “Gotten a manicure. You’re the one still living with Dad.”

Kelly told herself to ignore the dig, but that didn’t stop heat from flaring on her cheeks.

“Girls,” Jeff said mildly. “I know you haven’t lived together in a while, but come on. We’re family.”

Kelly snatched back her hand and nodded. “Of course. It’s so nice to have Olivia back.”

Her sister winked at her. “I know. It’s great, isn’t it?” She turned to Jeff. “Daddy, do you mind if I stay here?”

“Of course not.” The man couldn’t have looked happier. “Your old room is just as you left it. Kelly will show you where the clean sheets and towels are. Stay as long as you’d like. I’m sorry I won’t be able to visit with you after dinner, but I have a gig tonight.”

Olivia laughed. “What does that mean?”

“I’m in a band.” He chuckled. “Okay, not a real band. I work with a music school that helps people learn to play instruments and then perform.”

“He’s the ringer,” Kelly added. “Dad and my friend Helen are the professional musicians who help. They perform in showcases every few weeks.”

“That’s fun.” Olivia wrinkled her nose. “I think I remember you playing guitar when I was little. It was nice.”

“Come with me. We can talk between sets.”

“Thanks, but I’m meeting friends later.”

“Next time, then.” Jeff hugged Olivia and Kelly. “My two girls back at home. Who would have thought?”

Yes, who, Kelly thought to herself. Certainly not her.

* * *

For reasons not clear to Griffith, the sign at the craft mall/community center had been changed. When he’d shown up for the book club, it had been called Petal Pushers. Now there was a new sign: The Dutch Bunch. He figured it was an homage to the tulips they grew in the area, but still. Kind of strange for the Pacific Northwest where Native American names gave visitors tongue-twisting trouble.

He always enjoyed listening to tourists trying to pronounce places like Snohomish, Issaquah or Cle Elum, or his personal favorite, Stillaguamish. Not that he knew anything about naming a craft mall.

He’d shown up for a musical showcase where local bands performed for friends and family. It was the audible equivalent to a train wreck—you really didn’t want to look and see anything bad, but it was impossible to turn away. In this case, there was the faint possibility of hearing something passably good, with the more likely outcome of wincing through the butchering of a perfectly good song. Or twenty.

Griffith wouldn’t normally bother coming. He had plenty to fill his time. But Leo’s son was playing tonight and Leo had asked Griffith to attend. Leo rarely asked for anything, plus he’d sounded so proud when he’d told Griffith about the showcase.

Apparently the band was going to perform a Beatles retrospective. Griffith hoped the Beatles who had already left the earth had reached a state of grace and forgiveness. If they chose to exact punishment for what was about to be done to their songs, there was no telling what could happen.

The room would hold a couple hundred people. There were about sixty there already. Leo and his family had claimed the entire front row of tables. Griffith waved at him, then settled in for what he would guess was going to be a very long evening.

The event was BYOB. He’d grabbed a six-pack of beer. As he found a seat at one of the tables, he wondered if he should have brought something stronger. Or more of it.

He’d just opened his first bottle when he saw Kelly walk in and look around. At first he thought she was looking for friends to sit with, but then he noticed she seemed tense and on edge. When she glanced in his direction, he waved her over.

Her look of relief was gratifying.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as she approached. “I didn’t think anyone came without being obligated. You know the music is going to be awful, right?”

He stood and held out a chair. “I do. Leo, my floor supervisor, has a kid playing. He asked me to come. What’s your excuse?”

“I couldn’t stay home.” With that she pulled a bottle of vodka out of her large tote bag. “They still serve sodas and stuff here, right?”

He eyed the full bottle, then pointed to the concession stand by the wall. “Sure. What do you want?”

“A large glass with ice. Tonic water if they have it, otherwise club soda and a lime.”

“I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks.”

The room was filling up and the noise level rising. They were going to have a full house tonight. He walked over to the serve-yourself concession stand and filled a large Solo cup with ice and three inches of tonic and added a couple slices of lime. When he returned to their table, Kelly sat staring at the far wall. Her eyes were unfocused and her mouth trembled slightly.

He sat next to her and handed her the cup. “What’s wrong?”

“Is it that obvious?” She poured a healthy serving of vodka, then swirled the ice in the cup. “Don’t ask. I know the answer. It’s just... I don’t know. Everything was fine, you know? Sure, my life isn’t that interesting, but I like it. I have a good job and good friends and then bam, something smacks you upside the head.”

For a second he wondered if she was talking about what he’d suggested. No, that had been several days ago and when he’d seen her at the farm, she’d been friendly enough. It was something else.

“Olivia’s back,” she said flatly.

It took him a second to figure out who Olivia was. “Your sister?”

“That’s her. She’s home for the summer.” She took another drink. “I’m being punished. I get that. It’s fair, but damn. I don’t know how I’m going to get through it. She’s so perfect. Her clothes, her hair. Plus the way she talks about everything in Phoenix. Only if it’s all so great, what is she doing here?”

He had no idea what she was talking about, so he kept his mouth shut. Kelly needed someone to listen—him knowing or not knowing the subject seemed unimportant.

“It’s been so long. She was fifteen when Dad sent her to boarding school and I was eighteen. Getting ready to start college. I was so excited and—”

She looked at him. Tears filled her eyes. “I’m lying. Dad didn’t send her away. Okay, he did, but it was my idea. I’m the one who said she was acting out in school. She and Ryan were dating and it was getting serious and I was so scared she was going to be like our mom. I was worried for her, but mostly for myself. I knew if she screwed up and got pregnant, I would be stuck dealing with it all and I just didn’t want to. I know that makes me a horrible person.”

He shifted his chair closer and put his arm around her. “No, it doesn’t.”

She blinked away the tears. “It does. I was selfish.”

“Because you didn’t want your sister to get pregnant at fifteen? Yeah, you were a real bitch.”

“But we sent her away.”

He thought about his brother and the women in his life. Griffith had been away at college when his brother was in high school, but he’d heard plenty of stories.

“You did the right thing for both of them.”

“You’re being nice. Thank you.” She leaned against him and took another drink. “Now she’s back and she’s already mentioned seeing him.”

“Ryan has a girlfriend.”

“That’s what I thought. I’m not sure Olivia knows, but that’s not my rock. I just don’t know how I’m going to deal with her for the summer. Biologically we’re sisters, but in reality, we’re strangers.”

“Want to move in with me?”

She looked at him. “Wow, there’s an invitation.”

He grinned. “I meant into your own room. The house is big enough.”

“I’m not sure jumping from the frying pan to the fire is a good idea, but thank you for the offer.” She sighed. “Dad is happy. She’s his baby girl and now he has both of us together under one roof. Maybe this is a sign that I should get my own place.”

“Maybe you should see how things are going to go first.”

“Logic. How like a man.”

She poured more vodka into her cup. Griffith rubbed her arm and wondered how this was all going to turn out. It did seem strange that Olivia would simply leave everything for the summer. As for Ryan, God knew what trouble he was in now, what with his current girlfriend and his former girlfriend all in the same town. Maybe he would try to escape the trouble by showing up to work on time. Unlikely, but a guy could dream.

* * *

The band played for nearly an hour, although it seemed much longer what with their lack of understanding about music and staying in tune. When they were done, Griffith’s ears were ringing. He hoped the condition wasn’t permanent. He congratulated Leo and his son, then went back to the table and collected Kelly.

“That was great,” she said brightly as she tucked what was left of her vodka into her bag. “I think by the end, they were getting the hang of it.”

“I think you’re drunk.”

“Maybe. But that’s okay. I’m an adult.”

“You’re an adult who’s not driving home.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Probably not. I’ll get a ride with my dad.” She looked around, took a step, stumbled, then started to laugh.

“Okay, then.” He drew her close and started for the stage. “Let’s go find him together.”

“That’s nice.” She smiled. “Are you going to kiss me?”

There was a non sequitur. “Nope.”

“Why not? You want me as your girlfriend. That means kissing, Griffith.”

“Yes, it does and while I look forward to kissing you, I’m a firm believer in the woman being sober. Or at least not as drunk as you. Call me old-fashioned.”

“I didn’t know there would be rules.”

“There are always rules, Kelly. The trick is knowing which ones it’s okay to break.”

“I don’t break rules. I should. Maybe I’d be more like Olivia. She’s so pretty. I want to be pretty, too.”

“You are.”

“You’re just saying that for the sex, but it’s still nice. Have you seen her clothes?”

“Not yet.”

“And her hair. It’s so shiny. She was wearing makeup and everything. Plus, she has boobs. I never got mine.”

His lips twitched. “You are so going to regret this conversation in the morning. When you get home, drink a lot of water.”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“You say that now. Come on. Let’s go find your dad.”

7

Olivia’s bravado had lasted through the three-day drive up from Phoenix and walking into the house where she’d grown up. But as the evening progressed, it had slowly faded until now she was left with nothing but a gnawing sense of not belonging anywhere.

She walked through the empty house, trying to find some connection to her past. Funny how she’d assumed the old place would feel like home. It was where she’d grown up, but whatever part of her had been left behind must have gotten swept up with the dust.

The living room was different. New furniture and a bigger TV. The layout was all wrong, but that wasn’t her problem. The kitchen had been remodeled, as well. Whoever had done the design had used the space well and in the day there would be plenty of light.

Her bedroom was exactly as it had been. The same pale lavender walls, the books and yearbooks in the bookcase. She recognized the stuffed animals, but felt no need to hold them close. They were cute and all, but no longer a part of her.

Tucked into the big mirror over her dresser were several photos of her with friends. She looked impossibly young, with horrible makeup and hair. Thank goodness she’d learned how to make the most of what she had. Unlike her sister, who was determined to be as low-maintenance as possible, as if that were a point of pride. Olivia had already spotted her bargain shampoo-and-conditioner 2-in-1 bottle in the shower, along with a bar of generic unscented soap.

There were no lotions on the counter, no hint of makeup had ever been allowed past the hallowed doorway. Kelly was odd, but then they’d always been so incredibly different. She wondered how much of that was personality and how much of it was how they were raised.

She sat on the edge of the bed and tried to figure out if she could really stay here. And if she didn’t, where on earth would she go? Her dad had been happy to see her, which was nice. Kelly had just looked shocked and panicked and why not? They were strangers.

She tried to remember the last time she’d seen her sister and couldn’t. She and her dad had met up in San Francisco three years ago. Before that, he’d come to her graduation from Arizona State University. Marilee hadn’t—she’d gone on a cruise instead.

Olivia fingered the hideous floral bedspread, then stood and crossed to the mirror. Tucked in the corner was an old picture of her with her sister. Kelly didn’t look all that different from how she did now. In the photo, they were laughing together, as if they’d just shared a joke. As if they liked each other.

Olivia knew that at one point they had. They’d been close when they’d been younger, but after Marilee had run off, everything had changed and then Olivia had been sent away.

That part of her past was a blur. One second she’d been a diva in her high school and the next she’d been flying to an all-girls boarding school in Colorado. It had been mid-semester, when the cliques had already been established and no one gave a shit about the new girl.

She’d been so scared, so hurt. That first spring break, she’d refused to go home, out of spite. When someone had invited her home for the summer, she’d accepted, mostly to punish Kelly and their dad. She’d waited for them to call and beg her to come back, to be with them...only they never had.

She tossed the picture onto the dresser and stared at herself. She willed any hint of weakness from her eyes and squared her shoulders. She’d come a long way from that frightened teenager, abandoned by both her parents. She wasn’t going to let anyone control her destiny ever again. She was strong and in charge. If she wasn’t sure if coming home for the summer was a good idea, then she was going to damn well find out.

That decided, she went to her closet. She flipped through the dresses she’d unpacked and hung, stopping when she found a sleeveless little knit number that was exactly what she was looking for.

She touched up her makeup, fluffed her hair, then stripped down to her thong. The dress was snug, requiring her to tug and shimmy it into place. It dipped low in front and back and barely came to mid-thigh. Probably a little much for Tulpen Crossing, but she didn’t mind. Far better to cross the line than not be remembered at all.

She put on dangly earrings and several gold bangles and slipped on a pair of sandals with four-inch heels. When she was done, she stood in front of the mirror.

The dark green dress made her eyes look more hazel than brown. She checked herself from the rear, then faced front again. She adjusted her breasts to make sure they were even before pinching her nipples several times. Her nipples hardened and became clearly visible under the knit fabric.

Excellent, she thought as she reached for her small clutch. No straight guy would be able to turn away. It was just one of the tricks her mother had taught her. On the drive to the bar, she would turn the AC to frigid, ensuring plenty of nipple when she arrived. When one might be facing a battle, one had best show up armed. For her, that meant sex, or at least sexual interest. You could always control a man with his dick.

* * *

Olivia pulled into the parking lot of Candy Cane—the poorly named bar in town. Ryan had mentioned more than once he liked to hang out there with his friends.

She was already shivering from the air-conditioning, but took a second to pour cold water from a bottle on the inside of her wrists. She shuddered at the cold. Oh, yeah, this was going to be good.

She crossed the parking lot and walked into the bar. It was fairly typical with plenty of tables, a few booths and some guys playing pool in the back. The men at the bar turned to look at her. Three of them nearly fell off their stools while a fourth stared at her openmouthed. She ignored them and looked around. Tension left her when she spotted Ryan.

He stood by a large table, talking to his friends. He was tall and gorgeous, a beer in one hand. Anticipation combined with satisfaction. If all went well, they would be naked in less than thirty minutes.

As she approached the table, she felt everyone turning to look at her. She thought she recognized a couple of his friends and smiled at them. Someone said something and Ryan turned. His eyes widened and his expression turned practically feral. Oh, yeah. Starving man, meet your buffet, she thought smugly.

“Olivia? What are you doing here? I can’t believe it. Jesus, you’re stunning.”

He put down the beer and moved to her side. Dark hair, blue eyes and a dimple. Whatever more could she want?

“You’re really here,” he said.

She smiled. “I’m really here. How are you?”

“So much better now.”

He reached for her. She arched her back and watched his gaze settle on her breasts. His intake of air was audible.

“Ryan!”

The shrill single word cut through the charged moment and brought Ryan to a halt. Terror was followed by guilt, with a regret chaser. Olivia watched a pudgy blonde approach and step between them and knew her plans had just been flushed.

“Ryan, what do you think you’re doing?” the blonde asked.

“I, ah, I...” His gaze locked with Olivia’s. “This is Autumn.”

“Is it?” Olivia’s voice was cool. She looked the other woman up and down, taking in the worn, ill-fitting jeans, the unflattering too-tight top and the hair in desperate need of styling. “How unfortunate.”

Autumn raised her eyebrows. “Yes, it is unfortunate. Ryan’s with me. I don’t know who you are, but he’s with me.”

“You do keep saying that, as if we all need to be reminded.” Olivia paused. “Ryan especially.”

Autumn flushed. “Tell her to go away.”

“Autumn, she’s a friend. I’ve known her since high school.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t care.”

Olivia forced herself to smile casually. “Ryan, don’t worry about it. There’s no need to upset her. I’m going to be in town for a while. We’ll have plenty of time to...catch up.”

Autumn glared. Ryan grinned.

“I’d like that,” he said.

“I’m sure you would.”

Olivia maneuvered around Autumn, put her hand on Ryan’s chest, then kissed his cheek. As she drew back, she whispered, “Too bad, because I’m naked under this.” She smiled at a gasping Autumn. “So nice to have met you.”

“Stay away from him, you hear me?”

“Oh, honey, I’m not the one you have to explain that to.”

With that, she turned and walked to the door. A couple of guys approached, but she waved them off. She made it to her car before she began to shake. Tears burned. She willed them away as she drove back to the house.

Damn Ryan. He’d invited her here even though the bastard had a girlfriend? Okay, maybe invited was stretching things, but he’d told her he missed her and that she should come see him. She’d believed him.

Fine. If that was how he wanted to play it, game on. She had no doubt he would come crawling to her. And when he did, she was going to punish him. Not in a happy way, either. While Ryan would get the girl in the end, first he was going to have to pay. The only question was how.

* * *

Helen poured Jeff’s coffee as he sat at the counter. She did her best to wrap her mind around his news. Not only the shock of his youngest daughter’s return, but the fact that Kelly hadn’t called and told her.

“I never thought she’d come home,” he said. “I know it’s just for the summer, but still. She’s here.” He looked around. “I wanted to bring her this morning, but she was still asleep.”

“It’s 5:45 in the morning. Most people are.” She studied him. “I can’t tell if you’re happy or not,” she admitted.

He looked at her. “I’m happy. Of course I am. She’s my daughter.” He dropped his gaze. “I sent her away, Helen. I sent my own daughter to boarding school when she was fifteen. I can never forgive myself for that.”

She glanced at the clock and saw they only had a few minutes until her early regulars started showing up. She sat on the stool next to his.

“It’s not as if you got tired of her and wanted her out of the way. She’s not a puppy you returned to the pound.”

He shrugged. “Maybe, but still.” He turned so he was facing her. “I was terrified she was going to turn out like her mother. Marilee had always kept her close and after she left, Olivia was lost. I could see it, but didn’t know what to do. I tried, but hell, I’m sure I failed her a dozen ways to Sunday. As she got older, I could see more and more of Marilee in her. I told myself I was making the right decision, but sometimes I wonder if I took the easy way out instead.”

Every now and then she told herself the only solution to her problem was to fall out of love with Jeff. To figure out his flaws and focus on them. And then he went and did something like admitting his faults and regretting them. Because so many people ignored what was wrong. So many people simply pretended they were always right and everyone else screwed up.

“You wanted what was best for your daughter,” she pointed out.

“I sent her away.”

“You sent her to a well-respected school where she was able to be with girls her own age and grow.”

“I sent her away.”

“Yes, you did and saying that over and over again doesn’t change what happened. If you really believe you were wrong, tell her and apologize. If you made the best decision you could under the circumstances, then get over it.”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “That’s telling me.”

“I didn’t have a choice. You were turning into a girl.”

He chuckled. “You always surprise me, Helen. And I mean that in a good way. You’re smart, you’re determined, you speak your mind. When your ex cheated on you, you booted him out on his ass. I admire that. I should have done the same thing with Marilee. Instead I put up with her ways for years. What lesson did that teach my girls?”

“At least you got married for a fairly noble reason.”

“Because I knocked her up?”

“You know what I mean. You did the right thing. I can’t even say I did that.”

“Why did you marry Troy?” He held up a hand. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that. You were in love with him.”

She stared into Jeff’s brown eyes and knew she had to come clean. If not for him, then for herself. To say the truth aloud meant it wouldn’t have power over her anymore.

“He was the first person to say he loved me after my parents died. No one else ever had. I’m sure my aunt and uncle cared about me, but they weren’t the type to say the words.”

“Helen.”

His tone was gentle and caring. For a second she thought he was going to reach for her, but there was only the single word. Alas.

“They weren’t bad people,” she continued. “But it made me sad, so when he said he loved me, I married him.” She grimaced. “And then he cheated, so I threw him out.” She held up a hand. “I take that back. The first time, I gave him a chance. The second time, I threw him out.”

“Admirable.”

Before she could say anything else, the front door opened and a couple of customers walked in. Helen felt the tenuous connection between her and Jeff snap as she rose to greet them.

Customers were seated, orders taken. She poured coffee and chatted and before she knew it, Jeff was waving goodbye. She gave him a quick smile as she went to pick up several breakfasts.

The work was familiar, she thought, and all she’d known for years. Funny how she hadn’t planned to stay in Tulpen Crossing. She’d saved like crazy for college, thinking she would get her degree and leave town. She’d been considering nursing—the kind of skill that meant she could get a job anywhere and always support herself. Because that was important. Her parents had died broke, leaving her little more than memories and a piano. Her aunt and uncle had made it clear that once she turned eighteen she was on her own. If she wanted to continue to work at the diner, then she could still live with them. Otherwise, she was expected to leave.

She’d chosen the most sensible path—working full-time at the diner and taking classes at Skagit Valley College, all the while saving every penny she could for when she transferred to a four-year college. She’d met Troy her second quarter. They’d started dating and somehow she hadn’t had the time for her third quarter. An embarrassing truth, but there it was.

Instead she’d told herself she was in love and had accepted his proposal. They’d moved in together, had a small wedding and life had gone on with her working at the diner. Dreams of leaving town had been put on hold. After the divorce, she’d been too hurt and embarrassed to do much more than get through her day. And just when she’d been thinking of going back to college, her uncle had suffered his first stroke.

While he’d recovered from that, his second stroke had left him much more debilitated. Her aunt had offered to sell her the diner at a reasonable price. Helen had spent two weeks considering her options before coming to the realization that she had nowhere else to go. No family, no connections. Everyone she knew in the world lived in Tulpen Crossing. Ironically, Troy had left town after the divorce.

So she’d made the decision to stay. To buy the diner and make her life here. She’d taken up playing the piano again and through that had started working with JML, and had fallen for her best friend’s father. And here she was, all these years later, still in love with him.

She wasn’t sure if that made her slightly foolish or mortally idiotic, because to date she had no evidence that Jeff saw her as other than a friend.

Which left her with only two options—get over him or take a chance and be willing to live with the consequences. Because if he turned her down, well, then she would have nothing at all.

* * *

Kelly couldn’t remember ever having a hangover. She wasn’t one to get drunk very often, or ever. She enjoyed the occasional cocktail or glass of wine, but she was fairly confident she’d never downed half a bottle of vodka before.

Most of the details of the concert were hazy. She knew she’d hung out with Griffith and had said some fairly unfortunate things. What exactly wasn’t clear, although she did have a humiliating recollection of complaining that Olivia had boobs and she didn’t.

Somewhere around 2:00 a.m. she’d gotten up to drink more water and had promptly thrown up in the kitchen sink. That had been attractive. She’d stayed up, sipping water until nearly four when it had seemed safe for her to go back to bed. She’d slept until six thirty.

One shower later, she was feeling almost human. The pounding in her head was pretty awful but wouldn’t be fixed until she could down an aspirin—something that couldn’t happen until she ate. The thought of food was enough to make her want to kill herself, only she didn’t think she had a choice.

She pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, then ran a comb through her wet hair. Maybe dry toast, she thought. Or a banana. She thought she’d read somewhere that a banana was good for a hangover because of the potassium.

She stumbled to the kitchen and put a slice of bread in the toaster. Her father, a great, great man, who had warned her she was going to feel awful this morning, had started coffee before he’d left for the diner. She poured herself a cup and did her best not to notice how her hands shook.

The first sip had her system relaxing just a bit. When the toast popped, she grabbed it and took a bite. Her stomach was silent.

Kelly offered a prayer of thanksgiving before finishing the slice and her coffee. Only then did she down an aspirin and start to believe that yes, she was going to be all right. Except for what she might or might not have said to Griffith.

She also had to deal with her truck. She’d left it at the craft mall. When her dad got home, she would ask him to drive her out there. Yet one more check mark in the embarrassing column.

“Good morning.”

The happy, loud voice made her wince. She turned and saw Olivia walking into the kitchen. Her sister also wore jeans, but aside from the basic concept, they were nothing like Kelly’s. The denim was darker and the fit tighter. Olivia’s jeans were long, coming to the heel of her stylish boots. A purple sweater with a deep V exposed just enough cleavage to remind Kelly of her shortcomings.

Olivia’s hair was still all wavy, beachy, and she had on the kind of makeup that emphasized her perfect features. It was annoying and intimidating and made Kelly want to throw coffee in her pretty face.

“Morning,” she mumbled instead, when what she really wanted to ask was “Is everything you own either pretty or beautiful?” There was no point as she already knew the answer. Not that cute, stylish clothes were practical. Kelly was a farmer, after all. She would spend her day grubbing and hauling, but jeez, it was so depressing. And unfair.

Still, she wouldn’t say any of that to her sister. To be honest, none of what Kelly was thinking was Olivia’s fault, which made her feel guilty, so she said, “Are you getting settled?”

“I am. It’s strange being back.”

“I would imagine. Did you have fun last night with your friends?”

Olivia hesitated. “It was great. How was the band?”

“Awful. They usually are. They had their own vocalist. She was okay, but my friend Helen is way better.”

Olivia poured herself a cup of coffee. “Are you going to the farm today?”

“I’d planned to, why?”

Olivia studied her for a second. “I thought maybe we could spend some time together. After all, we’re sisters and we barely know each other.”

Guilt flooded Kelly. Guilt because she’d been the one to suggest sending her sister away. Guilt because she’d never wanted to be friends with the person she saw as their mother incarnate.

“Some of the reason is that as I grew up, you were always mad at me,” Olivia went on. “I get it. I was a pain in the butt and you thought I was too much like Mom.”

Kelly felt her mouth fall open. She carefully closed it. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Say it! Tell her! The voice in her head was so loud and spoke in time with the pounding of her headache. This was the moment, she thought, to come clean and say that she had been the reason Olivia had been sent away. Only the words got stuck and wouldn’t move.

“We’ve always been different,” Olivia said.

“I know. I take after Dad and you...” Kelly sipped her coffee.

“I don’t take after Mom that much.” Olivia glanced away.

There was something about the way she said it—as if she knew one way or the other.

“Do you ever see her?” Kelly asked.

Olivia sipped her coffee. “Ah, sometimes. Not all that often.”

Wow—there was information. Once Marilee had taken off, Kelly had never wanted to spend time with her mother again. Of course she and her mom had a very different relationship than Olivia and Marilee.

“You and I were always on opposite sides,” Kelly said. “Me with Dad and you with Mom.”

“Soldiers in their war.”

“Is that how you saw it?” Kelly asked. “I never did. Dad didn’t fight.”

“He should have. Things would have been better if he’d stood up to her.”

“I know. I think he was trying to get along.” Not that she wanted to say anything bad about Jeff. He’d been a good dad—always there for her.

“I was asking about the farm before because I thought we could hang out together. After work.”

“That would be great,” Kelly said automatically, then wondered what on earth they were supposed to do together. She doubted she and Olivia had anything in common and it wasn’t as if there was a ton to do in Tulpen Crossing. Part of the reason they had trouble attracting tourists in the off-season.

“I have a tourism board meeting tonight,” she said. “We’re trying to update the local craft mall and figure out ways to get more tourists to come to town. Maybe you could help us brainstorm.”

She expected Olivia to roll her eyes at the suggestion. Instead her sister nodded eagerly.

“I’d like that a lot. I worked with a couple of charities in Phoenix. Maybe some of the things we did there will work here.”

Kelly didn’t know which was more surprising—her sister’s enthusiasm or the fact that she’d volunteered for something. Which wasn’t fair, she reminded herself. Olivia wasn’t a teenager anymore. She’d grown up, graduated college and had created a life of her own away from her family. Of course she was different.

“That would be really helpful.” Kelly smiled.

“I hope so. I’ll see you after work.”

“You will.”

Kelly poured coffee into a to-go mug and grabbed her bag. She opened the back door just in time to remember that she had no transportation, only to find her truck sitting where it was supposed to be. The keys were in the ignition and a bottle of aspirin was on the front seat with a note that said, Hope it’s not too bad this morning. G

Griffith had somehow arranged to return her truck to her. Talk about above and beyond, she thought happily. She might not be sure about what to do about her sister, but her decision about Griffith’s suggestion was getting more and more clear.

She slid into the driver’s seat, then reached for her purse when she heard her phone chirp. The text message was from Helen.

Your dad just left. Olivia’s back? Are you still in shock?

Yes. Shocked. Stunned and seriously hungover. Missed you last night.

I heard the band was awful. I didn’t miss hearing that. Need to talk?

I’m okay. I’ll fill you in on everything tonight. Oh, Olivia’s coming with me.

Why?

I honest to God have no idea.

8

Olivia tidied the kitchen after her sister left, not that there was much to do. Kelly had only eaten toast and coffee and Jeff had left her a note that during the week, he ate at a local diner. The scrawled PS offered to take her along, but the “I leave at 5:30” had her shuddering. Um, no thanks.

They all had lives, she thought as she poured her second cup of coffee and leaned against the counter. They had their routines, time had moved on. While she knew that in her head, she was still surprised. Part of her had expected life in Tulpen Crossing to be exactly as she had remembered it, with no one changing but her. How silly.

The back door opened and her dad walked in.

“Hey, sweetie.”

“Hi, Dad. How was breakfast?”

“Good, as always. Did you sleep well?”

“Uh-huh. The bed’s still comfortable.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

He poured himself a mug of coffee and smiled at her.

Her dad looked good—trim and fit, with only a few wrinkles around his eyes. While Marilee held back the hands of time with Botox and fillers, her dad could pass for a decade younger than his age all on his own. The product of great genes and clean living, she supposed.

“Kelly already gone?” he asked.

Olivia nodded.

He flashed a grin. “She got a little drunk last night, so I would guess she’s not feeling her best today.”

A hangover? “Does she get drunk a lot?” Kelly didn’t seem the type.

“Not usually. I brought her home. I was going to help her get her truck, but unless she walked to the farm, someone took care of that for her.”

“Her truck was here this morning.”

“What are you going to do with your day?” her dad asked.

“I thought I’d explore the town—see what’s changed. I’m excited that it’s not already ninety degrees.”

“How do you stand the heat?”

“You get used to it.” Although in the middle of summer, no one enjoyed 108 degrees with a low of 95.

“I’m glad to have you home.” Jeff kissed her cheek. “You let me know if you need anything.”

“I will, Dad. Thanks.”

There hadn’t been a lot of fanfare, but that was okay. Olivia trusted her father’s steady acceptance more than any parade. Marilee had been welcoming at first, but lately that had changed and Kelly had no idea why. Nor did she know why she’d lied about how much she saw her mother. Instinct, maybe. Being sent away had taught her that the only person she could trust was herself.

She rinsed her mug and set it in the sink, then went back to her room to check email. She’d been in touch with her clients before she left, but wanted to make sure they were all okay.

By ten she’d finished with email, had played three games of Solitaire and was wondering how on earth she was going to get through a whole summer with nothing to do. Her dad had long since left for work. Everyone had somewhere to be but her. She grabbed her bag and walked out to her car. The air was cool, the sky cloudy. She had a feeling it might actually rain. Up here that wasn’t anything but ordinary. If she stayed long enough maybe she would start to take the rain for granted, just like everyone else.

She drove to the end of the street, then merged onto the main road. The town had grown just enough to be slightly unfamiliar, as if it had somehow shifted out of focus. She saw a few new stores. The library had been refurbished. What had been an old grocery store was now a bowling alley and some kind of music school. She kept driving until she reached the edge of a huge field, then pulled to the side of the road.

For as far as the eye could see was flat, groomed earth. She wasn’t sure how many acres her family owned, but it was a lot. Murphy Tulips were sought after all over the country. They were known for quality blooms, delivered on time. The main crop was traditional tulips in a variety of colors, but the company also had a small but growing exotic collection. If you wanted Russian Princess tulips for a dinner party, Murphy Tulips was the one to call.

Even though she’d never been interested in the family business as a kid, she couldn’t help learning a few things by virtue of where she’d grown up. She knew that every fall bulbs were planted in the fields and come spring they would grow and blossom into beautiful flowers. Once they were harvested, the bulbs were dug up and sorted. Those deemed healthy and hearty could be reused, a process different from hothouse tulips.

Olivia pulled onto the road and drove back toward the highway and turned into what looked like a big antiques mall. They had a couple similar malls in Phoenix and she’d always found them a great place to shop for staging projects. She could often find unusual pieces at a great price.

She parked in front. Despite the fact that The Dutch Bunch had been open for a couple of hours, there was only one other car in the lot. That wasn’t good for business, she thought.

She walked inside and was immediately overwhelmed by several large, busy displays with too much information. There were notices about activities, posters for a couple of local hotels and restaurants and a corkboard covered with business cards. Flanking the disarray were mock room settings filled with ugly furniture and too many decorations in a tulip theme. There were tulip pictures and tulips slipcovers. Wooden tulips on a table covered in a tulip-print tablecloth. A tulip rug, tulip stenciled bassinette. Even someone who loved tulips would find it all overwhelming. No wonder there weren’t a lot of customers—Olivia imagined most of them had turned and run in terror.

She walked past the horrible tableau and went down one of the main aisles. Here things were more like she expected. Different booths featuring different items for sale. Some were craft-based while others were antiques and a few had nothing but junk.

She stopped in front of a booth filled with quilts. The work was lovely—beautiful and well-made, but the display was terrible. Only two quilts were hanging. The rest were stacked, with only a bit of the design showing. Olivia would guess the owner wanted to display as much of her work as possible, but nothing about this was working. She should hang three or four quilts, then have a binder with high-quality pictures of her inventory. A pretty chest could hold several dozen of them, so a customer had choices.

She continued wandering the aisles only to find herself forced to make a sharp right turn that ended in a blank wall. She went back the way she’d come and realized she’d missed several rows of booths. The flow of the mall was all wrong, she thought. There would be booths and vendors that no one would see. There had to be a better way. She wondered if there was someone she could—

“Don’t bother,” she murmured to herself as she headed back to the front of the building. As her mother had told her countless times, no one cared what she thought. They never had.

* * *

The scent of blueberries and sugar and something baking filled the café. Helen’s stomach growled, despite the fact that she’d managed to grab a salad at eleven, before the big lunch rush. Still, it had been small and dressing-free and whatever was happening in the kitchen needed to be tasted.

“What are you doing, taunting me like that?” she asked as she walked in back.

Delja stood at the stove with Sven by her side. They were each stirring a large pot. Here the delicious smell was intense to the point of being heady but what really caught her attention was the contrast between the two friends.

Sven topped Delja by at least a foot. He was broad-shouldered and chiseled, some from his job and some from working out. Delja was short and round. He was blond-haired and blue-eyed. Delja had dark hair and eyes. He was Nordic, she was Russian, but they came together over their love of cooking.

Sven had shown up in the diner’s kitchen shortly after he’d moved to town and asked if he could use the large stove. He’d been so charming, no one had thought to tell him no. Every few weeks he would arrive with interesting ingredients. Together he and Delja would create something amazing for the following day’s special.

“You’re killing me,” Helen said as she peered into the pots and saw early blueberries simmering in a thick sauce.

“She’s on another diet,” Delja said, rolling her eyes.

Ack! Did her friend have to choose this moment to start speaking in more than single words?

“Sven doesn’t need to know that,” Helen said quickly, hoping she didn’t blush. After all, Sven was the poster boy for physical perfection.

“You’re beautiful,” Delja told her. “Don’t change.”

“I agree.” Sven held out a spoon coated in thick, dark purple sauce. “Try this.”

She hesitated for a second before taking the spoon and putting it to her lips. The explosions of flavors—sweet blueberries, something tart and a hint of butter and brown sugar had her groaning.

“You’re the devil.”

“So I’ve been told,” Sven said with a grin. “Tomorrow you’ll have blintzes and crepes on the menu.”

Helen held in a whimper. How was she supposed to exist on plain salad while surrounded by blintzes?

“I have a meeting at JML,” she said. “You two will lock up when you’re done?”

Delja nodded. She motioned for Helen to move close, then hugged her tight.

“Beautiful girl.”

“Thanks. You’re always good to me.”

Delja smiled.

“Come here, you,” Sven said, surprising her by pulling her into his embrace.

Helen didn’t have time to wonder if Sven had decided to see her as more than a friend. Before she could gather any thoughts at all, he’d squeezed all the air out of her and then ruffled her hair.

“You’re fine. Stop trying to change.”

“Thanks,” she said between clenched teeth. “Great advice.”

Ruffled her hair? What, was she five? Apparently no one saw her as a sexual being. It was incredibly disappointing. Not that she wanted Sven but still.

She drove to JML and walked inside. It was too early for lessons, so the building was blissfully silent—except for the occasional smack of a bowling ball hitting pins. But when compared to the indignities the untrained could inflict on an innocent guitar, the sound was almost welcome.

She found Isaak in his office. She waved as she plopped down in one of the visitor chairs.

“Let me guess,” she said with a grin. “You have a new group that wants to learn every song from the Foo Fighters.”

“I wish, but no. I’m hosting a showcase.”

“You’re always hosting a showcase. I heard the one last night was particularly challenging for those attending.”

He groaned. “Tell me about it. You were lucky you didn’t have to be there. But this is different. There are a couple of other music schools that do what we do. We’ve been talking about organizing something together. It’s going to be up here at Petal Pushers.”

“They changed the name. It’s The Dutch Bunch now.”

“Whatever. I can’t keep up. Anyway, the venue is great and we’re each going to bring our best bands and players. I thought you and Jeff could do a duet.”

Naked, she thought dreamily. That was the duet she was most interested in. Naked Jeff and naked her. Not onstage, though. In her bedroom. Yup, that would be fantastic. Just their bodies touching and rubbing and—

“Helen?”

“What? Oh, sorry. That would be great. We can do our usual.”

Isaak sighed. “Not everyone likes Billy Joel.”

“Everyone should. He’s an icon and my personal piano hero.”

“I thought you could try something different.” He passed over sheet music.

She picked it up and glanced at the title. As she didn’t know if she should laugh or scream, the sound that escaped had a snortlike quality to it.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. You’d be great.”

“It’s not a duet.”

“It could be.”

Helen briefly closed her eyes. “‘Wrecking Ball’? I doubt Jeff knows who Miley Cyrus is and I know he’s never heard the song. It’s not his style.”

“Neither is Billy Joel but Jeff does it for you. I think ‘Wrecking Ball’ has potential.” Isaak winked. “Plus, he’ll love the video.”

Helen winced. No offense to anyone, but having Jeff watch that particular video was not going to get him in the mood to have sex with her. Miley was too beautiful, too perfect, too everything. Ordinary, plump women wouldn’t stand a chance.

“I’ll talk to him,” she said.

“Your lack of enthusiasm is inspiring.”

“I still think we should stick with what works.”

“No Billy Joel.”

She took the music and stood. “I’m going to tell Billy you said that and he’s going to come beat the crap out of you, so there.”

Isaak laughed. “I’m willing to take the chance.”

9

By the time Kelly was due to leave for the tourist board meeting, she was back to her regular self.

In deference to Olivia and not because her sister made her feel frumpy and androgynous, Kelly dug out a pair of relatively new jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt she rarely wore because it required ironing when it was washed. She took an extra couple of minutes with her hair, releasing it from her usual ponytail and fluffing it with her fingers. She thought briefly about mascara, but was afraid the single tube she owned might be well over a year old and God knew what could be growing in it. She settled on swiping on a little Burt’s Bees lip balm and called it a night.

When she stepped into the hall, she caught sight of her sister and thought maybe she should have risked an eye infection. Olivia had changed into a dress. Not just any dress, but a pretty sleeveless one that was white at the top and bottom with wide bands of different shades of pink and red in the middle. The dress had a relatively high neck, was fitted to the waist, then flared out to just above Olivia’s knees.

Her bare legs were toned and tanned and she wore a high-heeled nude pump. Her hair was pulled back into a French braid. She had on pearl studs and the kind of makeup that made her look sophisticated and competent.

Kelly felt her meager confidence shrivel and die as she turned from normal human to genderless country mouse. Telling herself she didn’t care about things like clothes and makeup didn’t help. Not when faced with a living, breathing example of what both could accomplish.

Olivia smiled. “Hi. I’m ready. You said six thirty and I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

“You’re right on time,” Kelly said, hoping she didn’t sound as bitter as she felt. It wasn’t Olivia’s fault Kelly felt inept when it came to things like fashion.

“I’m really interested in the meeting tonight,” Olivia said as they walked out to Kelly’s truck. “I spent the afternoon researching tourism in the area and in other towns similar to this one. There are a lot of things that can be done to draw in tourists.” She opened the passenger door. “Don’t worry. I’ll only take notes and give you my thoughts later. You can use them or not.”

Kelly put her key in the ignition. “What do you mean?”

“It’s your meeting. I’m not going to butt in.”

“Trust me, any ideas would be welcome. We’re all at a loss. The tourist season around here is way too brief. Once the tulips are gone, so are the people. The hotels are full all summer long, but everyone is busy going somewhere else. We have the same weather as the rest of western Washington. It’s pretty. Why not spend the weekend here?”

“You wouldn’t mind if I said something?”

“Of course not. Is that what you did today? Computer research?”

“I drove around this morning. There are a few changes, but not that many. I went to The Dutch Bunch.”

“What did you think?”

“It has a lot of potential, but right now it’s a mess. That display by the door is overwhelming and way too busy. It’s going to frighten people away. And the layout of the booths is odd. There are entire sections you can’t get to without knowing where you’re going. How does anyone make any money?”

“I’m not sure anyone does.”

Kelly had to admit she’d never much thought about how the craft mall was laid out.

“Did your friends seem different?” she asked. “Or is everyone the same?”

“A bit of both.”

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