Flowers on Main

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?”