Acclaim for New York Times bestelling author

Sherryl Woods

‘Sherryl Woods always delights her readers— including me!’ —No. 1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber

‘Compulsively readable … Woods’s novel easily rises

above hot-button topics to tell a universal tale

of friendship’s redemptive power.’

—Publishers Weekly on Mending Fences

‘Sherryl Woods always delivers a fast, breezy … romance.’

—Jayne Ann Krentz

‘Sherryl Woods gives her characters depth, intensity,

and the right amount of humour.’

—RT Book Reviews

‘Sherryl Woods is a uniquely gifted writer whose deep

understanding of human nature is woven

into every page.’

—Carla Neggers

Dear Friends,

Welcome back to Chesapeake Shores and the tightly knit, if far-flung, O’Brien family. If you read The Inn at Eagle Point, you know it’s going to take a lot to get these folks back together and there’s nothing I like more than trying to reunite a dysfunctional family.

This time you’ll get to know Bree, the middle sister, whose career as a playwright at a regional theatre in Chicago started so brightly. Now, though, she’s returned to Chesapeake Shores, her heart in tatters and her spirit wounded. But being back home among family and friends isn’t as serene as she’d been hoping, because in order to build a future she needs to confront her past.

I’m sure every woman would like to have a past as sexy, headstrong and amazing as landscaper Jake Collins, but few of us would like to deal with the kind of complications that have torn him and Bree apart. And, as if their struggles to find their way back to each other aren’t complicated enough, Bree’s mother, Megan, and her father, Mick O’Brien, are busy sorting out their own very contentious relationship under the watchful eye of everyone in the family and in Chesapeake Shores.

I hope you enjoy meeting more of the residents of this wonderful seaside community. Enjoy this visit and plan to come back again. The welcome mat is always out.

Flowers on Main

A Chesapeake Shores novel

Sherryl Woods

www.mirabooks.co.uk

1 _____

Bree O’Brien sank her fingers into the rich, dark soil and lifted up a handful so she could breathe in the scent of it. This was real, not like the shallow world in which she’d been struggling to make a name for herself for the past six years. Gardening was something she understood. Plants could be coaxed along with water and fertilizer and loving attention in ways that a theater production could not. A vase of flowers, artfully arranged, had only to please the recipient, not an entire audience, each of them a critic in one way or another.

She’d been relieved when her sister Abby had called her about the opening of the Inn at Eagle Point, now owned by their sister Jess. It had given her the perfect excuse to flee Chicago, where her last play had been savaged by the critics and closed a mere week after it had opened. In six years she’d had one regional theater triumph and two box-office and critical disasters.

Some playwrights might be thrilled to have just one big success, even far, far off Broadway, but Bree had always wanted more. She’d expected to be up there with Neil Simon, Noel Coward … heck, even Arthur Miller. Of course, that had been after her first success, when she was way too full of herself. She’d thought herself capable of Simon’s comedic timing, Coward’s wit and Miller’s complex dramatic skill. There’d even been a few critics who’d shared that opinion.

That had made it all the more humbling when the second play had received only lukewarm praise and a shortened one-month run. The third had been skewered by those very same critics who’d sung her praises earlier. Her first play was suddenly being called a fluke. More than one suggested she was washed up at the age of twenty-seven.

She’d been relieved that no one in the family had been in Chicago for the play’s opening to witness her downfall or to see the reviews that had followed. She wouldn’t have been able to bear watching them struggle to be supportive. It was awful enough that everyone at the theater had been a part of the most humiliating moment of her career. None of the actors had even been able to look her in the eye as the director—her lover, for goodness’ sake—had read review after scathing review at the opening-night party before finally crumpling up the papers and tossing them in the trash.

One of these days, she supposed she’d muster up enough confidence to sit down in front of her computer and try again, but for now she was happy to be back in Chesapeake Shores, in familiar surroundings, with her family fussing over her just because they loved her and not because they knew her life was in shambles. She’d needed girl time with her sisters, a rousing game of tag football and nonstop teasing with her brother Connor and his buddies, and a chance to hug her nieces—Abby’s twin daughters.

She’d needed to be back home even more than she’d realized, back in her old room where the only writing she’d ever done was in her diary or stories and plays written for her own satisfaction and no one else’s eyes.

What she’d also needed, but hadn’t admitted to a soul, was distance between herself and acclaimed playwright and director Martin Demming, a mentor for a time, a lover even longer. Lately, though, the relationship hadn’t been working. Maybe she was already raw and overly sensitive after those vicious reviews, but it seemed to her he’d taken an almost gloating satisfaction in her failure. She hadn’t been prepared for that.

So, here she was, three weeks after the opening of Jess’s inn, kneeling in her grandmother’s garden, yanking out weeds and letting the warmth of the sun soak into her bare and protectively sunscreened shoulders. For the first time in months, the tension that knotted there had finally eased. She felt … She searched for the right word, then realized it was content. She felt content with herself, even with her life, despite the current upheaval. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt that way.

Oblivious for now to all the warnings about sun damage and Marty’s constant and annoying admonitions about ruining her pale-as-Irish-cream complexion, she turned her face up to the sun and felt it ease the headache that came whenever she thought about the life she’d left behind.

Even as the thought surfaced, her hands stilled and she gasped slightly. Had she left it behind? All of it? Chicago? The theater? The writing? Marty? Had she really left it forever? Could she uproot herself from the world that had meant everything just a few short months ago? Was that what she was doing here, on her knees in the dirt, days after she was supposed to return to the life she’d always dreamed of? Was she giving up? Hiding out? Or merely licking her wounds before going back into the battle zone once again?

And that’s what it was, Bree realized, a battle zone, with way too many potential enemies—the producer, the director, the actors, the critics and the public, all of whom had their own views on what her work was or ought to be. Some days everything came together in an amazing collaboration. At other times, it was a highly charged emotional war with all of her carefully crafted words, scenes and motivations picked apart by those who thought they knew best.

She sat back and heaved a sigh. Oh, how she wished she had an answer to any of those questions.

“You’ve pulled up three of my summer phlox,” Gram said, a clucking note of disapproval in her voice as she interrupted Bree’s dark thoughts. “Do you want to tell me what’s on your mind before you ruin the perennial garden I’ve spent years cultivating?”

Bree looked from her grandmother—hands on hips, petite and feisty in her straw gardening hat, sneakers and bright-pink cropped pants and matching blouse—to the tall, dark purple phlox already wilting amid the weeds she’d tossed aside to her left. At the sight of the flowers, she groaned. “I got the roots. I’ll put them back in the ground with some extra water and fertilizer. They’ll be okay, Gram.”

Gram gave her a penetrating look that suggested she knew exactly what was going on with Bree, but was waiting for her to bring up the subject.

“Can you say the same for yourself?” Gram asked. “Will you be okay?”

Bree deliberately looked away and turned her attention to replanting the phlox. “I have a lot on my mind,” she murmured, afraid that she would confirm Gram’s suspicions if she said more. Of everyone in the family, only her grandmother seemed to truly understand her, to see inside her heart even when Bree was silent. To her father and even to her outgoing siblings, she was mostly an enigma.

“Your distraction’s plain enough,” Gram agreed. “What you need is to share some of it, make the burden a wee bit lighter. If you don’t want to tell me whatever’s on your mind, go over to the inn and have lunch with Jess or call Abby. She’d be happy to take you to lunch in Baltimore, I’m sure. She can show off that new office of hers. You can have a nice heart-to-heart chat.”

“Jess has her hands full. She doesn’t have time to listen to me moan and groan. The same with Abby. Now that she and Trace are engaged and she’s commuting to Baltimore practically every day, she has little enough time for herself and the twins without wasting it on me.”

“Nonsense! Either one of them would make the time, because they’re your sisters,” Gram said impatiently. “With the O’Briens, family comes first. We stick together no matter what. Didn’t I teach you that years ago?”

She’d certainly tried, Bree recalled. It had been a hard lesson to learn after their mother had taken off for New York, fed up with their father’s endless round of business trips and his neglect of their family. Gram had been the glue that held the rest of them together. She’d been the one who’d tried to nudge them into making peace with Megan on her visits home, encouraged them to keep an open mind toward their mother. Not that any of them had. They were young and unforgiving, and the complexities of their parents’ relationship had eluded them.

Lately, Bree had noticed that her father was making more of an effort to connect with all of them. Mick had shelved an entire project in California to be home for the opening of the inn, though he’d taken off again soon afterward. Even their mother had come back for Jess’s big day, which had created its own problems, but Bree had to admit it had been nice to have everyone—at least everyone except her brother Kevin around for a few days. Kevin’s tour in Iraq had kept him from being home for the festivities.

Those few days had reminded Bree of the kind of family harmony they’d had years ago, before Mick’s acclaim as an urban architect and developer had taken him all over the world. It was exactly that kind of camaraderie that Bree had needed most when she’d left Chicago.

She could have told any family member about what had happened, and they would have done anything necessary to try to bolster her spirits. She knew that. She also knew she wasn’t quite ready for the pity none of them would be able to hide or the sound, pragmatic suggestions Mick or Abby might have offered.

It would be better, she thought, to suck it up, make her own decisions and then get on with her life, not wallow in self-pity or dump all of her problems on her sisters, Gram or anyone else. What she needed, as always, was the peace and quiet to find her own way.

“Maybe I’ll call Jess or Abby later,” Bree hedged eventually. “Why don’t I go inside and fix us some lunch. We can eat out here or even on the beach.” She was suddenly overcome by a wave of nostalgia. “Remember when you used to make picnics for us when we were kids? We’d spread a blanket on the sand and spend the whole afternoon along the shore.”

Gram regarded her with amusement. “Do I need to remind you that you were the first one to complain about the sand getting in your food and the sun being too hot?”

Bree laughed. “I guess I’d forgotten that part. Okay, we can eat on the porch. There’s no sand on the porch, and there is a lovely breeze.”

“Actually, I can’t today,” Gram said, a note of apology in her voice. “I have a meeting at the church.” She studied Bree worriedly, then added, “But I can cancel if you’d rather I stay here so we can talk some more.”

Bree wasn’t ready to bare her soul. “No, go. I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll walk into town, do a little shopping and then have lunch at the café.”

Gram nodded. “If you decide to do that, give my best to Sally and bring home one of those raspberry croissants of hers. I’ll have it for breakfast tomorrow.”

Bree feigned shock. “You’re actually going to eat someone else’s baking? Or are you trying to figure out her recipe so you can make them yourself?”

“When someone has a knack for something, I’m perfectly content to leave them to it. Sally’s croissants melt in your mouth. Why try to improve on that?”

“I think I’ll tell her you said that,” Bree teased. “It’ll please her to know that the greatest baker in Chesapeake Shores admires her croissants.”

Gram drew herself up indignantly. “It’s nothing I haven’t told her myself, young lady. I’m not beyond giving credit where it’s due. Now go along with you. Try to come back with a smile on your face. It troubles me to see you looking so lost.”

Bree knew that Gram was attuned to her moods, but she hadn’t expected her to hit on such an apt description. She was lost. Having one person who could read her and was always willing to lend an ear, offer advice or whatever else she needed brought unexpected tears to her eyes. If she wasn’t careful, she’d start bawling right here and now, and Gram would stay put and pry the whole pitiful story out of her.

Instead, she forced a smile. “I’m just sorting through a few things. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

The words were as much for herself as for her grandmother. It would be too easy to let herself wallow in that feeling of love and acceptance, to wrap herself in it and forget all about her dreams. Chesapeake Shores would be the perfect safe haven.

Then again, maybe it was time to take a really hard look at those dreams and see if they still fit, after all. Bree had the O’Brien streak of stubbornness in spades, but maybe there was no shame in letting go for once. Moving on. Making new dreams.

If only she had even a vague idea of what those new dreams might be.

Mick O’Brien stood on a street corner in New York City with his cell phone in hand, trying to work up the courage to make a call to a woman he’d known most of his adult life. Megan was his ex-wife, for heaven’s sake! Dialing her number shouldn’t be harder than facing down an entire planning and zoning commission dead set on vetoing one of his developments. Yet he’d done that numerous times without batting an eye, while just the prospect of making this call had his palms sweating.

Losing his nerve, Mick snapped the phone shut for the third time and turned on his heel. He wound up in a coffee shop somewhere on the Upper East Side of the city, just blocks from Megan’s apartment, cursing his own cowardice or maybe the decision that had brought him to New York in the first place, after all these years.

Seeing Megan again at the opening of Jess’s inn had unleashed something inside him. He’d suddenly remembered the way it had felt to love her, how he’d always felt ten feet tall when she’d looked at him. All the years of burning anger and resentment over their breakup had disappeared in the space of a heartbeat when he’d seen her walking toward him on the beach, her figure as lithe as a girl’s, her auburn hair whipping in the wind.

They’d even shared a few rare moments of real harmony, when he’d included her in the gift he’d given Jess to celebrate the inn’s opening. When he’d told their youngest daughter that the outrageously expensive stove she’d wanted was a present from him and her mother, the icy tension between them had thawed a few degrees. Bridging the distance between mother and daughter had brought him the kind of satisfaction he hadn’t felt in years. At least until he’d received a check in the mail from Megan for her half. That had annoyed the dickens out of him.

Although he and Megan had seen each other only a few times in Chesapeake Shores, it had been enough to convince Mick of the cost of clinging to his own stupid pride. Years ago that stubborn pride had kicked in and kept him from begging Megan to stay. Now, sensing that they might have another chance, he wasn’t going to let anything stand in the way of his reaching out.

Except maybe fear, he thought with chagrin as he sipped his coffee and stared at the cell phone lying on the scarred, Formica-topped table in this noisy, busy neighborhood eatery.

Maybe it would be easier if he just showed up on her doorstep. Megan was too much of a lady to slam the door in his face, while she might find it a whole lot easier to hang up on him.

He was so busy contemplating his strategy that he jumped like some scared teenager when the cell phone rang.

“Yes, hello,” he muttered, embarrassed even though the person on the other end of the line couldn’t possibly know how idiotic he felt.

“Have you seen her yet?” his mother demanded.

Mick frowned. How was it that Nell O’Brien always knew what he was up to, even when he’d been very careful to keep this trip to New York a secret from everyone in his family?

He’d seen no point in stirring up speculation—or a storm of objections, for that matter—when he had no idea how things between him and Megan were likely to go.

He’d detoured to New York on his way back from business meetings in Seattle and Minneapolis, thinking that if he made a damn fool of himself, no one would have to know about it. Now here was his mother, with that second sight of hers, guessing exactly what he was planning.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said defensively, hoping Nell had simply taken a lucky guess.

“You’re in New York to see Megan, aren’t you?” she declared with conviction.

“What gave you that idea?” Even as he spoke, he could imagine her rolling her eyes at his response. She’d never liked wasting time stating the obvious.

“Your office said you flew to New York this morning after you finished up your meetings in Minnesota. Since you haven’t set foot in that city since the day Megan moved up there, and since you’ve been mooning around here ever since she left after the opening at the inn, I put two and two together.”

“Well, your math skills are lousy,” he claimed. “I haven’t seen her.”

She laughed at that. “That can only mean you’ve chickened out now that you’re there. You’re probably sitting in some bar trying to work up the courage to see her.”

“I’m not in a damn bar,” he muttered. Saints protect him from a mother who’d always been able to read him like a book. “And I have not chickened out. Did you track me down just to hassle me, or was there something else on your mind?”

“I had something else on my mind, but now I’m thinking we should be talking about whether you have any idea what you’re doing. You and Megan have been divorced for years.

She left because you neglected her and this family and didn’t change your ways when she called you on it. You know I love you, but I don’t see how any of that has changed. You still spend more time away than you do with your family.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, my family has pretty much scattered.”

“And in case you haven’t noticed, one by one they seem to be turning up again,” she retorted. “Yet you’re still running from one job to the next.”

“Maybe I’m ready to slow down,” he said, testing the idea on himself as much as her.

“Retire? You?” she asked, her tone incredulous. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“I didn’t mention retirement,” he retorted irritably. “I said I might be ready to slow down.”

“Maybe? Might? Seems to me you ought to be sure about a thing like that before you go getting that woman’s hopes up, then turn right around and dash them again.”

Much to his dismay, he conceded to himself that she had a point. Not that he intended to admit it aloud. “Look, I have things to do. Just tell me why you called.”

Apparently she realized that his patience had worn thin, because she actually answered the question, rather than launching a full-scale lecture or asking more questions of her own.

“I called because I’m worried about Bree,” she told him.

“Bree?” he asked, startled. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Men!” Nell muttered, her tone disparaging. “Mick, she’s your daughter. Didn’t you notice how quiet she’s been ever since she got here? For that matter, haven’t you wondered what she’s still doing here?”

“Bree’s always been quiet,” he said, genuinely puzzled by his mother’s observation. She’d always been happiest locked away in her room with a pad of paper or a book. Of all of his children, she was the one he’d understood the least. She’d never had the outgoing nature of her siblings. Nor had she suffered from the usual teenage highs and lows—or if she had, she’d channeled that into the writing she hid from everyone in the family.

“This is different,” his mother insisted. “And she hasn’t said a single word about going back to Chicago. Something’s happened, Mick, I just know it. I tried to talk to her earlier, but she told me she was fine.”

“Then maybe she is.”

“She is not fine. You need to stop worrying about the past and get back home to deal with your daughter. She needs you.”

“No,” he said at once. “If Bree needs anyone, it’s you. You’ve always understood her better than I have. Come on, Ma, you know I’m right. If you can’t get her to open up, then there’s not a chance in hell I’ll be able to.”

“Well, this time I think maybe she needs all of us.”

He frowned at Nell’s somber tone. “Ma, what exactly do you think happened to her? If that jerk did something …” He let his voice trail off. He’d never liked Martin Demming. He was too old for Bree for one thing, and an arrogant son of a gun for another. Mick had heard a few too many condescending remarks directed at Bree. It had taken every ounce of restraint he possessed not to tell the man off the last time Mick had been to Chicago. Only a plaintive look from Bree had kept him silent. It had made his heart ache to see his sensitive daughter listen to that demeaning nonsense without fighting back.

Nell interrupted his thoughts. “I don’t know if this has anything to do with Martin Demming or if it’s about her work.

That’s my point. We need to find out what has her so upset. When are you coming home?”

“That depends,” he said, still thinking about his mission to see Megan again.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said impatiently. “Either call Megan the minute we hang up or get on a plane and come home. You’re needed here.”

“I’ll be there first thing tomorrow,” he promised.

Heck, if things went well, maybe he’d even convince Megan to come back to Chesapeake Shores for another visit. If Bree really was in some sort of trouble, having her mother around certainly couldn’t hurt. In fact, it might be just what she needed.

He sighed even as the manipulative thought occurred to him. Who was he kidding? He was the one who needed Megan at home again. Always had. If a crisis with their middle daughter gave him the perfect excuse to get her there, he wasn’t too proud to take advantage of it. There’d be plenty of time to regret his tactics later … but only if they didn’t work.

The back booth at Sally’s all but had a Reserved sign sitting on it. Every day, right at noon, Jake Collins, Mack Franklin and Will Lincoln sat in that booth and ordered the day’s special. Today it was ham and cheese on a croissant with potato salad, Jake noted as he glanced at the chalkboard behind the counter on his way to the booth. When he got there, he stopped short. He wasn’t sure which shocked him more, that it was already occupied or that the person whose face was buried in the menu was Bree O’Brien.

It took less than a heartbeat for him to note that her bare shoulders were pink from the sun, that she wore the turquoise sundress that had always been a favorite of his, that she looked exhausted.

Before any of that could really sink in, he wheeled around and bumped straight into Mack, then brushed past him without stopping.

“Where are you going?” Mack demanded.

“Let’s go to Brady’s for lunch,” Jake said in a clipped, urgent undertone as he paused just long enough to give Mack a hard look that begged him to stop asking questions.

Mack stared at him blankly, obviously not picking up on Jake’s signal. “Why?”

“Because I’m in the mood for a crab-cake sandwich and a beer,” Jake said impatiently, weaving past three women blocking the aisle.

He didn’t wait to see if Mack followed but headed right back out onto the street, where he stopped and sucked in a deep breath. Damn, that woman should not be able to get to him like this, not after six years. And she’d done it without even once looking him in the eye or opening her mouth. It was pitiful. He was pitiful. Why should it matter to him that she looked as if she hadn’t slept in a week?

“Would you mind telling me why you’re both out here?” Will asked when he came upon them standing on the sidewalk in the blazing late-July heat. His crisply ironed sport shirt was wilting and he’d tugged off his tie. He was clearly anxious to get inside in air-conditioning.

“I have no idea,” Mack responded with a shrug. “Jake’s apparently developed a sudden craving for a crab cake.”

When Jake met Will’s gaze, he saw the knowing amusement in his friend’s eyes. That was the problem with hanging out with the same bunch of guys since elementary school. None of them had one damn secret from the others. Will, with his Ph.D. in psychology, was capable of guessing the source of Jake’s suddenly skittish mood.

Will sighed. “I was wondering when he was going to find out that Bree’s in town.”

Mack looked momentarily surprised, then nodded. “Just now apparently.”

“It took longer than I expected,” Will said.

Jake stared at them. “You knew Bree was here and didn’t warn me?”

“I’d heard,” Will admitted.

“Me, too,” Mack said, looking chagrined. “We figured she’d be gone before the two of you crossed paths.”

“How’d she look?” Will asked, his gaze on Mack rather than Jake.

Mack shrugged. “Jake was blocking my view.”

“Well, it’s probably better that Jake finally got a glimpse of her,” Will said thoughtfully. “It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“Absolutely. Her family’s here,” Mack added. “It’s not like she’d stay away forever.”

“Would you two stop talking as if I’m not here,” Jake grumbled. “This isn’t about Bree O’Brien. I just decided I’m in the mood for a crab-cake sandwich. That’s it.”

“Last time I checked, Sally made a halfway-decent crab-cake sandwich,” Will remarked, calling him on the blatant lie.

“Hardly anyplace around here that doesn’t,” Mack agreed.

Jake tired of their amusement at his expense. “Oh, give it a rest,” he grumbled. “If you want to eat here, we’ll eat here. I just thought it would be good to try someplace different. We’re in a rut.”

“And you realized that not five minutes ago?” Will inquired skeptically. “We’ve been in the same rut for five years.”

“Six,” Jake muttered. “It’s been six years.”

The three of them had started eating lunch together every day right after Bree had left Chesapeake Shores. It had been Will and Mack’s halfhearted attempt to boost Jake’s spirits, even though they weren’t a hundred percent certain what had happened between Jake and Bree. The couple had broken up, that much Jake’s friends knew, and also that Jake was hurting. That was all that had mattered.

His buddies had rallied around him, being supportive in the only way guys knew how, by hanging out with him and trying to keep him distracted, and by not mentioning the source of his discontent unless he brought her up first. Which he hadn’t. Today was one of the few times in all these years that Bree’s name had even crossed his lips.

Good friends that they were and happily single, Will and Mack had also dragged Jake out regularly for happy hour and tried to interest him in other women. More often than not, they were the ones who met someone attractive and left with her, while Jake went home alone to his empty bed and dark thoughts. He’d gotten used to the pattern and to the loneliness. It was pitiful, all right, but it was the life he had.

And it beat the pain he’d felt when Bree had left. He wasn’t going through anything like that again, even if he wound up living like a hermit for the rest of his days, which his sister, Connie, told him regularly he was in grave danger of doing.

“Maybe it’s a good sign,” Will speculated, his expression thoughtful. “Him wanting to shake things up finally.”

“Could be,” Mack agreed.

The two men exchanged a look, then turned toward Mack’s SUV, which was parked closer than Will’s fancy foreign sports car or Jake’s bright green Shores Nursery and Landscaping truck.

“We’ll go to Brady’s,” Mack said, throwing a commiserating arm across his shoulders. “And then we’ll beat some sense into you.”

2 _____

Bree heard what sounded like a collective sigh being released and looked up to find herself the object of a roomful of staring customers and to see Sally regarding her with an oddly disapproving expression.

“What’s going on?” Bree asked.

“You didn’t see him?” Sally asked.

“See who?”

“Jake.”

Bree felt as if someone had slugged her in the stomach. “Jake was here?”

“For about two seconds. Took one look at you and flew right back out the door. Took two more of my best customers with him.”

“Oh, God, I had no idea. I thought …” Her voice trailed off. She had no idea what she’d thought. For six years she’d tried not to let a single thought about Jake creep into her head. When it did, usually when her defenses were down and she felt most vulnerable, it left her feeling raw and guilty, even though she’d done nothing wrong. As soon as that thought crossed her mind, she winced at the lie. If she were being totally honest, she’d done plenty wrong.

Glancing up at Sally and trying to gather her composure, Bree said, “I … I …” She couldn’t seem to think straight. The order she’d planned had flown right out of her head with Sally’s mention of Jake. “Can I have another minute, please? Whatever I get, I’ll make it takeout so I won’t tie up the booth. I just need to sit here for a couple of minutes, okay?”

Sally nodded, her expression more sympathetic. “I’ll be back.”

As soon as Sally was gone, rather than glancing at the menu again as she’d promised, Bree’s thoughts spun right back to Jake and the tragic way their relationship had eventually fallen apart.

Sure, what had happened was just one of those things. Losing a baby—one she’d told no one except Jake that she was carrying—should have drawn them closer. Most couples pulled together after a tragedy like that.

Instead, Bree had taken it as a sign that they weren’t meant to be. She’d seized on the miscarriage as an excuse to flee to Chicago and go after the future that had seemed so elusive just a few days earlier.

Jake’s reaction had been exactly the opposite. Ecstatic about the unexpected pregnancy, he had been talking about a wedding, a family and the future with such high hopes and excitement. As much as she’d loved him and hoped for that same future eventually, rather than sharing his joy, she’d felt miserable and, far worse, trapped.

And then, almost before she’d had time to grapple with the idea that she was pregnant, the baby was gone and, God help her, she’d felt free. She’d taken off for Chicago and the job awaiting her there without a backward glance, leaving Jake alone to mourn not only the loss of their child, but of her and all the dreams he’d spun.

Oh, they’d gone through the pretense of staying in touch at first, even occasionally talking about the future, but it had quickly been clear to Bree that the relationship was over. She’d struggled for weeks trying to think of the kindest way to say that to Jake.

In the end, he’d figured it out for himself after surprising her in Chicago one weekend and discovering her sequestered in her tiny apartment with Marty. There’d been nothing going on, but obviously Jake had felt the chemistry between her and the famed playwright. Ironically he’d known before she had admitted it to herself that she was falling in love with the charming, charismatic older man.

That’s what they’d fought about, the excuse he’d used for breaking up. And once again, despite the quick and painful stab of guilt she’d experienced, all Bree had felt was relief that she hadn’t been the one to end things. She’d even convinced herself that allowing Jake to be the one to break up was her final gift to him. For a woman who prided herself on being insightful about human nature, somehow she’d been delusional about that. What she’d been was cowardly.

She had treated him so badly. She could admit that now. Jake was a wonderful, sexy, amazing guy, and maybe they could have made things work, but she’d felt relieved that she hadn’t had to find out. She’d known deep down that she would have come to resent him if she hadn’t had a chance to find out what she was made of as a playwright. She’d needed that chance to work with a respected regional theater, to be mentored by someone like Martin Demming. It was all she’d dreamed about from the first time she’d seen a play onstage and put her own words and characters down on paper.

Sally returned, cutting into her thoughts. “Have you decided yet?”

“The special’s fine,” Bree said, though she had no idea what it was. Her appetite had fled anyway, so it hardly mattered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“More’s the pity.”

“So, do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m just asking, what if—”

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

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

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

“No,” he told Connie flatly.

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

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

“No, thanks,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which she was, damn it all to hell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joe nodded and left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She thought about the question, really thought about it. “It’s not that exactly. I mean, you’re on my turf, so it should be easy, but you keep saying things that throw me off kilter. I don’t know what you want.”

“Another chance,” Mick said simply. Before she could even close her gaping mouth, much less respond, he added, “Not right this second, but soon. A little at a time, you know? Maybe dinner here, like this. Then another visit to Chesapeake Shores. Or maybe you’d like to come with me to Seattle. We can play it by ear, do what feels right.”

“I don’t know, Mick,” she said, fighting temptation. “I’ve adapted to living on my own. I have a life here. Yours is …” She hesitated, then shrugged. “Yours is wherever you happen to be working at the moment. That didn’t work for us before. Why take a chance on hurting each other again?”

He held her gaze, his expression earnest. “It’s taken me fifteen long years, Meggie, to figure out everything I did wrong when we were married. Don’t let all that soul-searching go to waste.”

She smiled at the idea of Mick soul-searching. He was the kind of man who seized the moment, who went through life on bluster and gut instinct. “Soul-searching, huh?”

He grinned then. “Swear to God.”

The appeal of that grin reminded her of the way it had been between them when they first met, with Mick persuading her to do a thousand little things that went against her better judgment. Thank heaven most of the risks had been to her heart, because he could probably have talked her into skydiving with that charming way of his and she’d have wound up breaking every bone in her body. Then, again, a broken heart took longer to heal.

She tried her brisket but had no appetite left. Like Mick, she pushed the plate aside, knowing she’d hear about that from Joe later. The only thing he clucked over more than her social life was her habit of merely picking at her food.

“How about this?” she said eventually. “Maybe we can see each other from time to time, the way you said, but let’s not call it a second chance or starting over or anything like that. We’ll just be two old friends getting together, enjoying the moment.”

He sat back, his expression a bit smug, clearly counting her response as a victory. “You can call it whatever you want,” he agreed. “Now, how about coming home with me tomorrow? Ma says there’s a problem with Bree. She thinks we might need to rally the troops.”

Megan saw right through him. Give the man an inch and he took not just a mile, but the entire interstate between New

York and Chesapeake Shores. “I’m not going home with you,” she said flatly.

“Not even if your daughter needs you?” he asked, not even attempting to mask his disappointment.

“Let’s just say I’ll need confirmation on that from someone other than you,” she retorted.

“You don’t trust me?”

She laughed at his indignation. “Not from here to the corner.”

He shrugged, looking sheepish. “It was worth a try,” he said. “And Ma really is worried about Bree.”

“Then she or Bree can call me and fill me in,” she said, not relenting. “Though Bree has never been in the habit of confiding in me.”

“I think that’s part of the problem,” Mick said, his expression thoughtful. “Bree’s not in the habit of confiding in anyone.”

She frowned at his tone and his surprising insight. “You’re really concerned, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “I’ve learned to listen to Ma. When she says something’s wrong, it usually is.”

“Then call me and fill me in once you have a better idea of what the problem is. If Bree really does need me, then of course I’ll come.”

“I’ll tell her you said that,” he promised. “Now, I’d better head for the airport and see if I can still get a flight yet tonight.”

The sharp stab of disappointment she felt at the meal being cut short was a warning. She might think she had control of the situation, but that was far, far from the truth. Once Mick O’Brien got an idea in his head, he was all but impossible to ignore or dissuade. Especially for a woman who still had a soft spot in her heart for him.

3 _____

Jake was very glad the job he was on required hard, backbreaking labor. He hadn’t slept a wink the night before, thanks to that near miss with Bree. He’d worried that Connie could be right, that Bree might be staying in Chesapeake Shores. Then he’d worried even more that she might leave again. Nobody could ever suggest that his life was ruled by logic, he thought dryly.

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

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

“Hello, Jake.”

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

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

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

“Go away, Bree.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, Jake.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure. What’s going on?”

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

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

“I have vases. That’s it.”

“Are the bouquets made, at least?”

“Not that I can see.”

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

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

“Perfect.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jess and Lauren regarded her blankly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Classy and elegant,” Jess said at once. “I’m in awe of you.”

“Let’s see how you feel when I’m through with the tough stuff.”

As she finished each centerpiece, she carried it into the dining room where four tables were set with white linens, sparkling crystal, white candles, sterling-silver place settings and silver-edged china. She set the low arrangement of flowers in the center, then pulled strands of ivy between some of the place settings. She studied it, decided it didn’t look quite right and went back to gather some of the extra rose petals to scatter across the table with the ivy. She stood back again and concluded it didn’t look half-bad.

Jess came in as she was placing the last arrangement. “Oh, my,” she said, her voice filled with delight. “Bree, they’re beautiful. A professional couldn’t have done better. I swear if you weren’t off making a name for yourself as a playwright, I’d insist you do this for a living.”

Bree regarded her with surprise. “Really?”

“You’ve always had a knack with flowers, but what you’ve done here today, especially under pressure, it’s amazing. Much better than what I’ve seen from the florist that people around here usually use. The Hilliards are going to be ecstatic. You really did save the day. I’ll see to it that they pay you accordingly.”

“I don’t need to be paid,” Bree said. “This was an emergency. I did it as a favor to you. Besides, it was fun. I’ve always loved doing stuff like this.”

“You do work like this, you get paid,” Jess insisted. “And I’m taking pictures of these arrangements, too.”

Bree regarded her blankly. “Why?”

“Who knows, maybe one of these days you’ll get sick of Chicago and decide you want to take up floral design,” she said jokingly. “These will be the first pictures for your portfolio. I’m starting one for the inn, so I can show clients other events we’ve held here.”

Bree gave her a hard hug. “You are a very smart woman, sister of mine. Bring the pictures by the house later, so we can show them to Gram. She’ll be thrilled to see that some of those flower-arranging lessons she gave me have paid off.”

On the way home, Bree thought about the sense of satisfaction she’d gotten from what should have been a few incredibly stressful hours. She was halfway back to the house when an idea began to take shape. She made a U-turn and drove into town.

She rode slowly along Main Street, then pulled into a space in front of the only empty storefront downtown. It was two doors away from Sally’s, which could be a drawback in terms of the potential for crossing paths with Jake, but that also meant that everyone in town would know about a new shop within days of its opening. Most people in town had breakfast or lunch at Sally’s at least once a week, if only on Sundays after church. As she sat there, the vague idea in her head evolved into an actual plan.

She’d been in the space many times over the years when it had been a dress shop. She could imagine its possibilities for what she had in mind. She pictured the window filled with baskets of flowers, maybe even stands filled with colorful, ready-to-go bouquets on the sidewalk out front when the weather wasn’t too hot to wilt them. She could even envision the sign painted in the window in ornate gold script entwined with a few decorative flowers: flowers on main, and beneath that, in a much smaller font, Proprietor Bree O’Brien. She could see it all as clearly as if it had been in the back of her mind for years, just waiting for an incident like today’s to lead her here.

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

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

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

“Susie, it’s me, your cousin Bree.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You even have a name for it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” she said wryly.

“For what?” he asked, clearly confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Potato, potahto,” she said.

“What the hell does that mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe I will,” she agreed.

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

“I can live with that.”

“Bree, my darling, you’re making such a terrible mistake,” he said.

“It’s mine to make.”

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4 _____

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?”

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

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

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

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

“What happened?” Abby asked eventually.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve left Demming, haven’t you?”

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

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

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

“Hated him, as a matter of fact.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unfortunately, Megan had taken off and he’d lost himself

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mick couldn’t have been more stunned or dismayed if she’d announced an intention to take up pole dancing. Not that

there was anything at all wrong with owning a flower shop—or pole dancing, for that matter, if one was so inclined—but Bree’s talents lay elsewhere. So did her heart, no matter how wounded she was feeling at the moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not really.”

“When did this happen?” Mack asked.

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

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

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

“Do you believe him?” Will asked Mack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake and Will both stared at him with shock.

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

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

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

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

“Who paid?” Will asked.

“I did,” Mack said. “What kind of man do you think I am?”

Jake lifted a brow at that, but Will was grinning.

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

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

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

“Not,” Jake said at once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

5 _____

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

Annoyed no matter which tactic he was employing, she picked up the phone and dialed the once-familiar number at the house in Maryland. Nell answered on the first ring. Megan could envision her in the kitchen, her morning cup of tea and a freshly baked scone in front of her.

Oh, how she’d missed those scones and their morning chats when she’d fled to New York. Before that, when Nell had been living in her own small cottage designed by Mick, she’d walked over nearly every day with freshly baked scones for the two of them to share while they talked about anything and everything.

Nell had been far more than a mother-in-law. She’d been a friend, though the one topic that had been off-limits was Megan’s frustration with Mick’s increasingly long absences. Nell would have understood, but Megan hadn’t felt it fair to drag her into the middle of their problems.

Instead, she’d wound up leaving Nell to care for her children. It had never been her intention, but she couldn’t help noting the irony in it.

“Megan!” Nell said, sounding vaguely wary, but definitely not surprised. “How are you?”

“Doing well, and you?”

“Never better. I imagine you called to speak to …” Her voice trailed off.

Megan chuckled at her confusion. “It is a puzzle, isn’t it?” she replied. “It’s not as though I’ve stayed in touch with anyone there in any sort of predictable way.”

“The truth is, at first I assumed you’d called to speak to Abby, but of course you’d call her on her cell or at the new house or at her office. Is it Mick you’re calling for?”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you,” Megan said, deciding to take advantage of the opportunity that had presented itself. She wanted to make amends to this woman who’d always been so kind to her. The overture was long overdue. “We didn’t get much time alone when I was there for the opening of the inn. You were unhappy I’d come, weren’t you?”

“At first,” Nell admitted in her typically blunt way. “But the visit went smoothly enough. I saw you were making an effort.”

“I was. I wanted it to be a first step with my children and with you. I know you were furious with me when I divorced Mick and left town.”

“Not furious,” Nell claimed. “Disappointed, and it was about the children, not me or even my son. I knew as well as anyone why you felt you needed to leave Mick. It saddened me that it had to come to that, but I couldn’t blame you.”

“Have I ever told you how grateful I am that the children had you?”

“They should have had their mother,” Nell said fiercely.

Though the remark stung, Megan agreed with her. “Yes, they should have. And I wanted them here, you do know that, don’t you?” she said, a pleading note in her voice. Nell O’Brien had mattered to her, and she’d always regretted losing that connection along with the rest of her family, to say nothing of losing the older woman’s approval.

“Seemed to me it was a halfhearted effort at best,” Nell said, not conceding an inch.

“I can’t deny it looked that way. Somehow I let Mick convince me they were better off with the two of you,” Megan explained. “I didn’t fight him and I should have. Once I was settled here, I should have fought tooth and nail for joint custody at the very least. I know that now, but my visits there were such disasters, no matter how often I came or how hard I tried, it seemed best to let them stay where they were happy.”

“Children don’t always know what we’re thinking. They only understand our actions,” Nell reminded her.

“Believe me, I know that. And the message I sent to all of them was that I didn’t care, when that was the furthest thing from the truth.”

Now that the door had been opened, Megan poured out all the things she’d felt back then. “I loved them so much I couldn’t bring myself to rip them from the life they’d known. I thought visits to me in New York would help make them feel part of my life here, but they were all so angry, none of them wanted to come and, when I insisted, they were sullen. Mick was so sure they’d come around if we gave them time. Instead, it allowed their wounds to fester. They ended up hating me.”

The explanation—too little and much too late—was received in silence. “Spilt milk,” Nell said eventually. “You and Abby have found a way back to each other. You’ll do the same with the rest of them.”

“I hope so. And that’s the other reason I was calling. Mick told me there’s something going on with Bree. Do you know anything about that?”

“A bit, but she just walked into the kitchen. Why don’t I let you speak to her.” Nell’s next words were muffled, but then she said, “You take care of yourself, Megan love. And come back soon for another visit. You’re welcome here anytime.”

Megan’s eyes filled with tears at the sincerity she heard in those words. “You have no idea how much it means to me to have you say that. I miss you, Nell. I really do.”

“Then you’ll pay us a visit soon. Now, here’s Bree.”

There was a pause and then Bree came on the line, her voice cool and clipped. “Hello, Mother.”

“How are you?” Megan asked, treading carefully. If she plunged right in with too many questions, she knew how quickly Bree was likely to end the call. There’d been too many other conversations over the years that hadn’t lasted past the pleasantries.

“Fine,” Bree said, her tone unyielding.

“Are you enjoying your time in Chesapeake Shores?”

“Sure. It feels good to be home.”

“How much longer do you think you’ll be there?”

“Actually I’m home for good,” Bree said. “Look, Mother, I’m really busy, so unless there’s something specific on your mind, I need to go.”

Bree’s calm announcement that she was staying in Chesapeake Shores stirred a hundred questions, none of which her daughter was likely to answer in a hurried phone call.

“I’ll let you go then,” Megan said reluctantly, then added,

“Bree, if you’re not going back to Chicago right away, you could come to New York for a visit.” She warmed to the idea. “We could see some plays together. I know how much the theater means to you. It would be fun.”

“Sorry, I don’t have the time right now,” Bree said, slamming the door on the idea. “Goodbye, Mother.”

She cut off the call before Megan could attempt to persuade her to make the trip or even to say goodbye. The abrupt and unsatisfying conversation wasn’t really unexpected, just disappointing.

It did accomplish one thing, though. Despite the fact that she was hardly an expert on Bree’s moods these days, even she could tell there was something wrong, and it was more than a lack of desire to chat with her mother. So, Mick and Nell had been right to be worried. She was, as well. Maybe time and her actions had stripped her of the right to her anxiety, but it was there just the same.

Her first priority when she arrived at her job at the gallery where she’d been working for the past fifteen years was to arrange for some time off. Once again, she’d be making a trip to Chesapeake Shores. Since the visit for the opening of Jess’s inn had broken the ice for these recent drop-ins, the prospect didn’t scare the living daylights out of her the way that one had.

The prospect of seeing Mick, however, did send a shiver down her spine. Fear? Anticipation? It was getting harder and harder to tell.

Bree carefully replaced the receiver after speaking to her mother and would have walked right out of the kitchen if Gram hadn’t ordered her to sit.

“I’ve poured you a cup of tea, and there are fresh orange-cranberry scones on the stove,” Gram said as she gestured toward a seat at the table.

Bree hesitated, wanting to bolt, but mostly wanting to avoid a discussion about her mother. “I really need to get over to the shop. There are a million plans that have to be made.” After doing just a few days of research, she was already starting to feel a little overwhelmed by how much she didn’t know.

“Your plans can wait a few extra minutes,” Gram said. “I know I won’t be able to talk you into the kind of breakfast you should have, but you can stay long enough to share a cup of tea and some conversation with me.”

“I don’t mind the tea,” Bree replied. “It’s the conversation I’d rather not have.”

“Now, that’s a fine thing to be saying to your grandmother,” Gram said, lapsing into an Irish lilt that came mostly from being raised in a home with two parents who’d come over straight from Dublin. Gram herself had grown up right here in Maryland.

“Sorry,” Bree apologized. “I just don’t want to talk about Mother.”

“You were rude to her just now,” Gram chided.

“I don’t know how else to be with her. She left us years ago. Am I supposed to forget that?”

“Of course not, but you seem to have forgotten that she tried repeatedly to get you to New York, either to stay or for a visit. You refused and your father allowed you to get away with that.” Gram gave her a penetrating look. “You know, of all of you children, you’re the one I would have thought would jump at the chance to go to New York. Isn’t that the ideal place for an aspiring playwright to be? Yet, when the time came, you went off to Chicago. You settled for regional theater, rather than taking your mother up on her offer to let you stay with her while you studied with some of the country’s best playwrights. Did you hate her more than you wanted your dream?”

Bree hesitated before answering. She’d never hated her mother, not really. She’d been as angry as the rest of them, but the truth was, Megan’s absence had caused hardly more than a blip in Bree’s life. Whatever pain she’d felt had been channeled into her writing. It was one of those life experiences a good writer could weave into a story.

“I had an offer to study in Chicago,” she said eventually, defending her decision to take the internship with Marty. “Something concrete.”

“So it was safety you were after?” Gram asked, her tone skeptical. “And New York would have been a risk?”

“Something like that,” Bree said. Risks were something the rest of the family craved. She preferred predictability.

“Okay, then,” Gram said. “Let me ask you one last thing, and then I’ll let the subject drop. Was the real risk that you wouldn’t be able to make it in New York? Or that you’d get close to Megan and find your heart broken again?” Her gaze met Bree’s and held. “Or were you really afraid you’d finally have to let go of all that anger that had been bottled up inside for so many years?”

Tears stung her eyes. Her grandmother knew her so well. Better than anyone else. Even now she didn’t wait for Bree’s answer.

“You can deny the anger all you like, but keep in mind that anger can become its own driving force,” Nell told her. “It’s not healthy, child. You have to let it go, or it will eat you alive and ruin your life. What Megan did all those years ago was wrong. You can decide it’s unforgivable and go right on hating her, or you can reach out and accept the olive branch she’s been offering. I think you’ll be happier in the long run if that’s what you do, but it’s your decision. Just make sure you understand the consequences—not for her, but for you—before you drive her out of your life forever.”

Bree frowned at the advice. “Why should I make it easy for her?” she asked bitterly.

“You don’t have to,” Gram said mildly. “But I can see which way the wind is blowing around here. I think she and your father are making peace. She’s become a part of Abby’s life already, and she’s reached out to Jess, you and Connor now. If you reject her out of spite, you could wake one day and find yourself on the outside.” She touched Bree’s hand. “I don’t want that for you. For all your stubborn O’Brien independence, I think you need family, perhaps even more than the rest of us.”

Bree didn’t want to admit Gram might be right. She certainly didn’t want to confess how disturbing she found the prospect of everyone else reuniting and leaving her behind.

“I’ll think about what you said,” she promised eventually. Standing, she bent over and kissed Gram on the cheek. “Love you.”

Gram’s hand found hers and squeezed. “And I you. Never, ever forget that.”

Bree left the kitchen with a lot on her mind, troubling thoughts she didn’t especially want to deal with. Thankfully, though, she had a long, long list of things to do. Maybe that would drive all those dark thoughts right out of her mind.

“No, no, no,” Bree muttered a few hours later as she hung up the phone. Why hadn’t she made this one call before she’d gone off and signed a lease to open a flower shop? It wasn’t like she could back out now. There were too many people—okay, Abby mostly—awaiting her failure for that to be an option.

“What’s the problem?” Jess asked, regarding her with concern.

Bree had set up a temporary office at the inn, while the painters and Mick were working on the shop. As much as she’d wanted to spend the extra time with her father, the noise level made it impossible to make all the phone calls that needed to be made. She could have made them at home, but this was better. It gave her a few hours a day with Jess, and she’d discovered she liked having someone around with whom she could discuss ideas for the business. Jess had learned a lot about starting something new, had made more than her share of mistakes along the way. She wouldn’t judge Bree for making a few, as well.

“This day just keeps getting better and better,” she muttered. “First I had to deal with Mom.”

Jess’s eyes widened. “You talked to Mother?”

Bree nodded. “She called the house.”

“For you or Dad?”

Bree hesitated. “Me, I think. At least Gram handed the phone to me the second I walked into the kitchen.” Thinking about what Gram had said earlier, she frowned at her sister. “Do you really think she and Dad could patch things up?”

“If you’d asked me that a few months ago, I’d have said hell would freeze over first, but after seeing them together the night of the opening party here, I honestly don’t know. Anything’s possible.”

“How do you feel about that?” Bree asked her.

Jess hesitated, her expression thoughtful. “Weird, I guess.”

“Me, too,” Bree admitted.

Jess gave a dramatic shudder. “Let’s not talk about Mom and Dad getting back together. Who was that on the phone just now and what did they say to upset you?”

“I’ve just discovered that there is one major flower wholesaler close enough to supply the store,” she reported to her sister, not even trying to mask her dismay. This was an unexpected and very unwelcome wrinkle.

“So what?” Jess asked. “As long as they’re good, you’ll be fine. Are you worried that the prices will be higher because it’s virtually a monopoly or something?”

“I’m worried because that wholesaler is Jake Collins,” she snapped. “Why didn’t you tell me he now owns Shores Nursery and Landscaping?”

Jess blinked at her tone. “Hey, don’t jump on me. I thought you knew. He’s worked there forever, even when you were going out.”

“There’s a huge difference between him working there and owning the place. And as I recall, they didn’t operate as a wholesaler back then. Now he’s apparently one of the biggest growers around here, too. What’s he doing, taking over the flower world, acre by acre?”

Jess shrugged. “I don’t see why any of that matters. It’s been years since you two split up. You’re both adults. This is business. Surely you can be civilized.”

Bree wasn’t so sure of that. Their last encounter had been anything but civilized. She’d expected a little anger, but not the heat radiating off Jake in waves that could have roasted marshmallows.

“It will be awkward,” she said finally in what was the most massive understatement she’d ever uttered.

“Then don’t deal with him,” Jess suggested, still unconcerned. “As big as the business is now, he probably has plenty of people working for him. Deal with one of them. He’s usually out on jobs anyway. I see him all over the place.” She grinned. “He looks really, really fine, by the way.”

Bree knew, though she had no intention of acknowledging just how fine she thought he looked. This situation was disastrous enough as it was. If Jess or anyone else in the family thought there was so much as an ember of that relationship that wasn’t stone cold, they might try to fan it back to life.

“I can’t avoid him. It seems I have to deal directly with Mr. Collins if I want to open an account. Mr. Collins makes those arrangements. Mr. Collins decides if Shores Nursery can accommodate another wholesale customer. If not, she’s sure Mr. Collins would be happy to recommend an alternative, although there’s no other grower or supplier half as good within a fifty-mile radius. I wanted to reach through the phone and strangle her perky little neck.”

Jess stared at her. “Okay, Bree, what’s really going on here? Is this just about some kind of old news between you and Jake?”

Bree regarded her blankly. “Of course, what else could it be?”

“I’m not sure, but to tell you the truth, for a second there, you sounded a little jealous.”

“Jealous? That’s ridiculous.” She frowned. “It’s just that this woman sounded so, I don’t know, adoring. It made me a little crazy.”

“I’ll say,” Jess confirmed. “What I don’t get is why. I thought you were the one who dumped him.”

“It wasn’t exactly like that,” Bree said.

Interest sparked in Jess’s eyes. “Then what was it like?”

Bree sighed. “Never mind. You said it. It’s old news. I’ll figure out some way to deal with Jake to get the flowers I need.”

Of course, that assumed that if she ever succeeded in getting past his obviously protective gatekeeper, Mr. Collins would even give her the time of day.

Jake crumpled up the fifth message he’d had from Bree in two days and tossed it in the trash can. He scowled when he realized that Connie had caught him doing it. She marched into his office, a lecture clearly on the tip of her tongue.

“Don’t start with me,” he warned.

“You need to call her back,” she told him in her oh-so-patient mother-hen voice.

“I don’t have to do anything,” he said grimly.

“Now, there’s the mature reaction I’d expect from someone your age,” she commented. “Let me rephrase. You need to call her back if you expect me keep working here, brother dear. I’m getting tired of trying to fend Bree off, much less pretending that I don’t know perfectly well who she is and why you’re avoiding her. If she ever recognizes my voice, she’s going to start asking a whole bunch of questions I don’t want to answer. You don’t pay me enough to run interference between you and Bree.”

“I’m paying you enough to get your daughter through college, which is more than anyone else would,” he retorted. “She starts next year, if I recall correctly. How’s that tuition money adding up? Can you afford to walk out on me?”

She gave him a sour look. “Sometimes it is very hard for me to understand why Mom always liked you best. You are not a nice man.”

“But I am a very good brother,” he teased. Because of that, she knew he would never, ever fire her, despite his constant threats. And she wouldn’t quit for the same reason. Connie’s ex-husband paid decent alimony and child support, but Jake considered it his responsibility to see that she and Jenny had whatever else they needed.

“You’re an annoyance,” she retorted.

“But you love me, anyway,” he said. His expression sobered. “Please, keep Bree away from me. Consider it your personal mission.”

“Assistants aren’t allowed personal missions,” she retorted.

“But sisters are.”

“Jake, you’re the one who made the rule about not taking on any new wholesale customers unless you personally approve it. You said we only have so much stock available and you don’t want to get overextended and wind up disappointing a good customer. Do I not have that right?”

His expression brightened. “That’s it. Call her back and tell her we’ve talked. You can explain that unfortunately, due to huge demand, we’re not taking on anyone else right now.”

“But the florist in Myrtle Creek just closed,” she reminded him. “Jensen’s was one of our bigger accounts. If Bree’s done her homework, she’s going to know that.”

“What makes you think she’s done her homework?” he asked wearily. “Last time I checked, she was writing plays, not running any kind of business.”

“And last time I checked, she was the smartest woman you’ve ever known. She’s certainly smart enough to ask around about the best suppliers in the region. I’ll bet that’s exactly how she got our name. Ted Jensen probably recommended us when he decided to retire after his heart attack.”

Okay, that was possible, but not insurmountable. “If she brings that up, tell her we’d only kept supplying Ted because he’d been a customer for years.”

Connie rolled her eyes. “That ought to go over well. How on earth will it look if we refuse to supply a new business right here in Chesapeake Shores, a business owned by an O’Brien, no less? You’ll never hear the end of it. The chamber of commerce will be all over you. And if you think there was talk when you and Bree broke up, it’ll be nothing compared to the speculation that would stir up.”

They were still debating the point when the door to the outer office snapped open and Bree strode through and straight into his office. She was wearing shorts that made her legs look endless and a halter top that made his mouth water. Strands of curly auburn hair had sprung free of the knot on her head and with the sunlight behind her, it looked as if she was on fire. The color was high in her cheeks, as well. She was not a happy woman. Jake braced himself to deal with all that heat and sexiness and walk away unscathed.

“If the mountain won’t come …” Her voice trailed off as she spotted his sister.

“Connie, hi,” she said. Unmistakable relief spread across her face as something else apparently registered. “Oh my gosh, you’re the one I’ve been talking to on the phone all this time. I’m so sorry. I should have recognized your voice. Why didn’t you say something?”

Connie grinned. “Frankly, I was just as glad you didn’t. I really didn’t want to get caught between you and this hardhead over here. Now you two can battle this out between yourselves. I’m going home to cook dinner.” She gave her brother a smug look. “Shall I make a plate of humble pie for you? Or will you be making other plans for dinner?” She glanced pointedly at Bree when she said it.

“I already have dinner plans,” he retorted. As of two minutes ago, he planned to drink it.

6 _____

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Bree accused, sitting across from Jake, her shorts hiking up. She hadn’t worn such a revealing outfit deliberately, but judging from the rapt gaze on Jake’s face, she was glad she had. At this point she was willing to take advantage of any edge she had. Maybe that didn’t speak well of her as a woman, but she was desperate. After a week, it had become clear that Jake was even less anxious to deal with her than she was with him. Both of them had to find a way to suck it up and figure out a way to conduct business.

“Have not,” he muttered. “I’ve been busy.”

“Well, you don’t appear to be busy right this second,” she said cheerfully. “So let’s make this deal now and I’ll get out of your hair. Unless you drive the delivery truck, you’ll never have to deal directly with me again.”

His jaw hardened. “There’s not going to be any deal, Bree. Not between us.”

She leveled a look directly into his eyes. “This is business, Jake. I’m not asking you to go out with me or to trust me or to have any kind of personal contact beyond whatever it takes to get this agreement on paper. It’s simple. I’m opening a flower shop. You sell flowers. It’s pretty cut-and-dried.”

“Nothing with us was ever simple or cut-and-dried,” he said, walking slowly around his desk to perch on the edge. Their knees were almost touching, hers bare, his clad in faded denim. “It’s bound to get complicated faster than the ink will dry on our agreement.”

She swallowed hard, but managed to keep her voice steady. “How so?”

He leaned forward, oh so slowly, until her pulse fluttered wildly at the nearness of his mouth. It hovered over hers. Their breath intermingled. Suddenly she wanted his lips on hers with an urgency that took her by surprise. Memories of a hundred other kisses—deep, tantalizing, soul-stirring kisses—swarmed in her head and left her dizzy. What had made her think for a single second that this kind of sizzle could be doused by simple determination?

As if he sensed her turmoil, he drew back, his expression smug. “See what I mean?”

Oh yeah, this definitely had complication written all over it. But she couldn’t let that stand in her way. She wouldn’t. Flowers on Main was going to be her fresh start. She’d do whatever it took to make it a success.

Jake had obviously made a success of his business. She’d been astonished by the size of the nursery, a little awed by everything she’d heard when she’d asked around about the best flower supplier in the region. Seeing it today with its greenhouse, outdoor displays of flats and flats of colorful plants, rows of flowering shrubs and trees, had been an eye-opener. This wasn’t the tiny Shores Nursery of old. Jake had expanded it beyond her wildest expectations. Given what he’d accomplished, surely he could understand why her new business mattered just as much to her.

“I need these flowers, Jake,” she said simply.

“Get them from someone else. There are other growers.”

“Everyone says you’re the best. And you’re the closest.”

“I’m also unavailable.”

“Are you speaking personally now, or professionally?”

He frowned at her flip attempt at humor. “Both, just to keep the record straight.”

“That kiss that almost happened said otherwise.”

“It didn’t happen, did it?”

“All that proves is that you’ve got great willpower. I’m duly impressed. In fact, a man with that much willpower surely won’t be tempted to ravish me just because I get a few posies from him every few days, so there’s really no reason not to deal with me, is there?”

“How about I don’t want to? Do you have an argument for that?”

“Because you’re scared,” she accused.

“Of you? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Prove it.”

His eyes widened. “You’re making this a challenge?”

“Why not?” she asked with a careless shrug. “Let’s see if you’ve got what it takes to stay away from me, Jake. Make this deal. Deliver the flowers personally. And keep your hands to yourself. That will suit me just fine. I can prove I only care about business, and you can prove you’re over me. Sounds like a win-win to me.”

She saw him struggle with himself. He clearly wanted to show her that she no longer meant anything to him, that he was well and truly done with her. But he also knew he didn’t stand a chance of making good on it. Whatever there’d once been between them, it was still there. The air was practically humming with it.

And, based on the obvious inner struggle he was waging,

it apparently still had the power to rip his heart out for a second time. No wonder he wanted to stay as far away from her as humanly possible. She could hardly blame him. She was more than a little shaken at the moment herself. She was supposed to be mourning the end of her relationship with Marty, not stirring up old feelings with Jake.

“Okay,” he said at last. He moved behind the desk, shoved a few stacks of catalogs and papers aside, shuffled through another one and then handed her a form. “Fill out this credit application. Drop it off with Connie in the morning. I’ll waive the payable on delivery clause that’s standard for new customers for the first year. We’ll bill you every thirty days.”

“Don’t do me any favors,” she said.

“I’m not. I know your credit will check out. That’s all I care about. When are you opening?”

He was all business now, which should have made her ecstatic, but she couldn’t help being a little bit annoyed. She had to force herself to match his cool tone. “The first Saturday in September, in time for the Labor Day–weekend crowds.”

“I’ll see that you get your first delivery before nine o’clock that Friday morning. I’ll need to know what you want on the Monday before, earlier if there’s something that has to come from another grower. Connie will see that you have a list each week of what’s available. If you need deliveries more than once a week, we’ll adjust the schedule. Or you can come by here to get what you need to fill in.”

“Thank you.”

“Like you said, it’s business. Don’t read anything into it. Close the door on your way out.”

She frowned at the dismissal, but she knew better than to try to prolong the encounter. She’d gotten what she came for.

And then some.

Jake cursed when his hand actually shook as he reached for his phone after Bree was finally out of his office. He’d been dead serious earlier when he’d decided to drink his dinner, but he wanted company. A man who could still be rattled by an ex-lover six years after the breakup was pitiful enough without turning into a solitary drinker.

If he’d ever been the type to gravitate toward willing female companionship of the kind that didn’t ask questions or make demands, tonight would have been the night to seek out such a woman. Unfortunately, he’d never seen the value in simply hooking up. He’d always wanted more. He’d wanted what he’d had with Bree. Or what he’d thought he had, anyway.

That left him with Will and Mack. And when Mack turned out to be busy, it left him with Will.

“Ground rules,” he said tersely when they met in the bar at Brady’s. “No questions. No trying to psychoanalyze my mood. We are here to drink. Okay?”

Will gave him a knowing look. “You must have had one hell of a meeting with Bree today.”

Jake scowled at him. “No questions. Didn’t I make that clear?”

Will grinned. “You did. And if Ms. Davis, our English teacher, were here, she’d explain to you that the sentence I just uttered was a statement, not a question. Bree O’Brien is the only person I know who can put you into this kind of mood.”

Jake downed half his beer. “Okay, wise guy, I know I told you not to try to psychoanalyze my mood. I was very clear about that.”

“But this is so much fun,” Will retorted. “Your love life is much more interesting than watching the Orioles blow another lead, which they’re doing, by the way.” He gestured toward the TV above the bar, his expression mournful. “How can they do that night after night?”

“Because they’re having a lousy season,” Jake said, warming to the safe topic. “The pitching sucks. The bullpen’s worse.”

“Can’t argue with you there,” Will agreed just as Mack joined them.

Jake stared at him. “I thought you had a date.”

“It wasn’t a date,” Mack said, his expression sour.

“Which means he was out with Susie O’Brien again,” Will said.

Mack scowled at the assessment, but Jake chuckled. “Don’t mind him. Will thinks he has a deep understanding of our sad love lives. Of course, that raises the question of why he doesn’t have a love life of his own to worry about.”

“I had a date just last night,” Will said indignantly. “A real one, not like whatever’s going on between you two and the women you maybe are and maybe aren’t dating.”

Mack’s expression brightened. “Do tell,” he said. “Give us a shining example by which we can live our lives.”

Will frowned. “Mock me if you will, but this could be the one. This was our fourth date in two weeks.”

Jake and Mack exchanged a look. Will rarely went out with the same woman more than twice. Either he got bored or they got tired of having him analyze them. In one instance, when he’d gone out for two months with the same woman, he’d belatedly realized she’d actually been using him for free counseling. He’d sworn off dating for months after that.

Just as Mack was about to speak, Will stopped him. “Don’t worry. This isn’t another Jasmine. In fact, Laura’s a psychologist, too. She has a practice in Annapolis. She just bought a weekend place here.”

“And this is the first we’ve heard about her?” Jake chided.

“Are we not your best friends? Aren’t you supposed to run something this serious past us?”

“No,” Will said succinctly. “You’re my best friends, but you don’t have veto power over the women in my life.”

“I’ll remind you of that next time you try to exercise your veto power over the women in mine,” Mack grumbled.

“I’d never veto Susie,” Will told him.

“I’m not dating Susie,” Mack repeated.

Jake nudged Will in the ribs. “Protesting too much, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would,” Will agreed, clinking his beer bottle to Jake’s.

Mack looked as if he might want to crack his beer bottle over one of their heads, but instead, he took a long drink, then regarded Jake innocently.

“So why are we here? Does this have something to do with Bree?”

“I’m guessing yes,” Will said. “Jake’s not talking, though.”

“Because there’s nothing to say,” Jake insisted.

Because they’d each ruled out further discussion of the women in their lives, they fell silent. Sipping their beers, they turned their attention to the game just in time to see the relief pitcher walk in the other team’s winning run.

“Orioles suck,” Mack said.

Will nodded.

“You got that right,” Jake said, then sighed. It pretty well described the way his whole day had gone.

The smell of freshly cut wood filled the air inside what would soon be Flowers on Main. Bree stood back and admired the stainless steel–topped island that would be her primary work space in the backroom. It had nooks and crannies and drawers for storing vases, boxes, ribbons, wire, florist tape and anything else she might need to create spectacular arrangements.

“What do you think?” Mick asked, standing beside her. “Is it what you had in mind?”

She turned and threw her arms around him. “It’s perfect, Dad. Thank you so much. I can’t believe you were able to create that from the scribbles I gave you.”

He laughed. “Believe me, it wasn’t the scribbles. It was the way you described what you needed for it to be functional. Running over to Ted Jensen’s place one morning helped, too. I figured after all the years he’s been in business, he’d know what you’d need.”

“Since he’s closing down, I probably should have bought his furnishings instead of having you go to all this trouble,” Bree said.

“Absolutely not,” Mick countered. “You’re starting out fresh. Everything should be top-notch. I did make an offer on his coolers, though. Told him I’d need to run that by you, but they’re in good condition and it’ll save you some start-up money.”

Bree bristled that he’d done such a thing without asking her, then realized she was being silly. He’d left the final decision to her, after all. If Mick had made a contact that could save her money, she needed to consider it. “I’ll go and take a look later today,” she promised.

“Okay, then, let’s take another look at this floor plan,” Mick said. “I want you to show me again where you think the front counter ought to be.”

They started into the front room just as the door opened and Megan stepped inside. Bree wasn’t sure which of them was more shocked, her or her father.

“Megan!” Mick said, his face lighting up. “I wasn’t expecting you. Bree, honey, did you know your mother was coming?”

“No,” she said tersely, watching as Mick crossed the room and pressed a kiss to her mother’s cheek.

“How could I stay away when I heard about your new business, Bree?” Megan said, giving Mick a pointed look that Bree couldn’t quite interpret.

“Well, I’d stay and show you around,” Bree said, “but as you can tell, there’s not much to see and I have to drive over to Myrtle Creek.”

She was almost out the door, when she realized Megan was on her heels.

“Why don’t I ride along with you,” Megan said, her expression suggesting she wasn’t about to take no for an answer.

Bree gritted her teeth. “Up to you,” she said and went to her car. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather get settled after your trip down from New York? You’ll be staying at the inn again, right?”

“I’m thinking about staying at the house, but I need to discuss that with your father first,” her mother replied. “You don’t have any objections, do you?”

Bree shrugged. “It’s not my house.”

“It is your home,” her mother corrected. “And your opinion does count with me.”

“Then I think you should stay at the inn, assuming Jess has a room available. It’s been very busy. I’ll call her and check.” She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, flipped it open and dialed.

She ignored the hurt in her mother’s eyes as she waited for her sister to pick up. “Hey, Jess, this is Bree. You’ll never guess who’s here.”

“Mom,” Jess said. “Abby called me about an hour ago and told me she was coming.”

“Do you have a room available at the inn? I can bring her by right now.”

“Sorry. We’re fully booked. I told Abby the same thing. She said Mom could stay with her and the girls.”

“Perfect,” Bree said eagerly. “I’ll tell her. I can run her over there.”

“Not now. Trace is in New York for a few days, so Mom won’t be able to get in until Abby gets home from work.”

Which meant Bree would be stuck with her for the rest of the afternoon. “Wait, doesn’t Gram have a spare key to Abby’s?”

“Of course,” Jess said. “I don’t know why Abby didn’t think of that.”

“I’ll run by the house and pick it up. Bye, Jess.”

When she disconnected the call, she saw her mother regarding her with a bland expression.

“Have you palmed me off on Abby now?” she inquired lightly as Bree whipped her car out of the parking space.

“It’s not like that,” Bree said, but of course it was exactly like that and they both knew it. “I’m sorry if it sounded that way, Mom. It just seemed to make sense for you to stay there.”

Because she felt guilty, she turned toward Myrtle Creek rather than going straight to Gram’s. It wouldn’t kill her to be polite to her mother for an hour or so.

“Since Abby’s made peace with me and the rest of you haven’t, that’s what you mean, isn’t it?” Megan said. She met Bree’s gaze. “Did you know your father came to see me in New York a couple weeks ago?”

Bree swallowed hard and shook her head. “I had no idea.”

“He wanted me to come back with him then.”

“Why?” Bree blurted. Was Gram right? Were the two of them getting back together? Bree didn’t even want to consider the possibility. Unlike her younger siblings, she’d never longed for a reconciliation.

“He wanted me to come here because of you,” her mother said.

“Me, but I didn’t …” Her voice trailed off.

“You didn’t want me here,” Megan finished for her. “I can see that. Your father seemed to think you might need me, whether you want me around or not. After we spoke the other day, I sensed the same thing.”

“Mom, it’s a little late for you to pop up and want to have heart-to-heart chats with your daughters. We all grew up without you. Gram did a good job filling in for you.”

“I know that. Believe me, no one is more grateful than I am that she was here. And I don’t expect any of you to bare your souls to me, but I am older and perhaps a bit wiser. I’m also a good listener, if you need to talk. Most important of all, I love you and I’d never judge you. You can tell me anything.”

Bree gave her a bewildered look. “What do you think there is to tell?”

“Was there a man who sent you fleeing from Chicago?” Megan asked, her tone gentle. “Someone who broke your heart?”

“There was a man in my life there, but he’s not the reason I left.”

Her mother regarded her calmly, her expression patient.

“At least not the whole reason,” Bree amended. “And I really do not want to talk about Marty or Chicago. I have a whole new life stretched out in front of me. That’s what I’m focusing on.”

“And I applaud you for that. Sometimes, though, the past has a way of catching up to you.”

“Tell me about it,” Bree murmured, thinking not of Martin Demming, but of Jake.

A light sparked in Megan’s eyes. “Now, there’s definitely a story behind those words.”

“Mom, let it go, please. I don’t need or want your motherly concern. I don’t need advice. I’m handling everything.”

“If you say so,” Megan said quietly. “But I have to wonder.”

“Why? Why can’t you just believe me and drop this?”

“Because we’re halfway to Baltimore when I was almost a hundred percent certain you said your appointment was in Myrtle Creek.”

Bree glanced at the signs as she whizzed past and realized her mother was exactly right. She’d missed her exit twenty miles back.

“You could have mentioned that sooner,” she grumbled as she turned the car around at the next opportunity.

“I thought perhaps you’d decided to take me straight to Abby’s office so you could dump me on her doorstep.”

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