His lips curved as he breathed in the scent of her shampoo. She might be growing up, but she still smelled like his little girl.
“Why are you out of bed?” he asked, more curiosity than censure in his tone.
“I forgot to tell you something.”
“What’s that?”
“Mrs. Patterson wrote a note in my agenda for you.”
He held back a sigh. “Mrs.” Patterson was actually “Ms.” Patterson, as she’d made a point of clarifying when he’d met her at the beginning of the year. Her divorce had been final for almost two years and her only regret was that she and her husband never had any children. She absolutely loved children—that was, after all, the reason she’d decided to become a teacher. And his daughter, Mara, was simply a joy to have in her classroom.
“Maura,” he’d said, automatically corrected her on the pronunciation. She’d flushed in acknowledgment of her mistake but forged ahead, gushing about Maura’s sweet nature and quick mind.
Their second meeting had taken place under very different circumstances, when Andrew went to the school in response to a call from the principal after Maura had given one of her classmates a bloody nose. After listening to the principal’s spiel about his daughter’s inappropriate behavior, Mrs. Patterson had taken a different tack.
The teacher assured him that she empathized with how difficult it must be for the single father of a little girl, and she’d suggested that he should ensure that Maura had appropriate female influences in her life. The subtext was clear, and Andrew had politely—but quickly—extricated himself from the situation.
“Have you been beating up Tyler Buckle again?” he asked his daughter now.
“I didn’t beat him up,” she denied, with a put-upon sigh. “I punched him—once. And he deserved it.”
“It doesn’t matter if you think he deserved it.” Although privately, Andrew had agreed with her—and had been impressed by the impact of her right hook. “You don’t solve disagreements with violence.”
“He called me an orphan,” she reminded him.
“Which only proves that he doesn’t know the definition of the word.”
“But I don’t have a mommy...and I don’t even remember her very much anymore.”
“I know, honey.” And that knowledge made his heart ache. Although he’d made sure to keep photos of Nina around the house, those pictures were a poor substitute for the real thing.
“Do you think I’ll ever get a new mommy?”
He probably should have anticipated the question after she’d come home from school a couple of weeks earlier with the news that her friend, Kristy, was getting a new daddy. And though he’d held his breath for a moment, when she’d said nothing else about it then, he’d thought the subject was done. He should have known better. Maura had a habit of hitting him with the hard questions when he least expected them—and this one was harder than any other question she’d ever asked.
“I don’t know,” he finally said. “It’s not as if you can pick one out as easily as you would a carton of ice cream at the grocery store.”
“I know,” she agreed. “You hafta find a girl you think is pretty and marry her.”
He smiled at the simplistic explanation. “
Pretty
is good.”
“Do you think Mrs. Patterson is pretty?”
He tried to picture his daughter’s teacher, but it was Rachel’s image that filled his mind. Her hair was brown, but it was a blend of so many shades, dark and light, and silky to the touch. Her eyes were deep blue and sparkled with life, and the sweet curve of her soft mouth was irresistibly tempting.
“Not as pretty as Rachel.”
“Who’s Rachel?”
He hadn’t meant to speak the thought aloud. He certainly hadn’t intended to mention Rachel to his daughter, but he’d been thinking about her so often that her name just slipped out. “Just someone I know.”
“Do I know her?”
He shook his head.
“Are you gonna marry her?”
“There are a lot of things that have to happen before a boy and a girl marry.”
She nodded, obviously wise beyond her years. “You hafta go out on some dates and kiss her first, and then you get married.”
“How do you know all this stuff?” he asked.
“Kristy Sutherland. Her mom used to go on lotsa dates and kiss lotsa boys.”
“Kristy told you this?”
Maura nodded again. “Did you go on a date with Rachel?”
“We went to a basketball game yesterday, when you were at Grandma and Grandpa’s,” he admitted.
“Did you kiss her?”
“I’m not sure this is an appropriate conversation to be having with my six-year-old daughter,” he said.
“I’m almost seven,” she reminded him.
“It’s still not appropriate.”
“You kissed her,” Maura decided.
He sighed. “I think it’s time to get you back into bed, Little Miss Nosy Pants.”
She giggled at the nickname, and the sound squeezed his heart. Her recollection of Nina was fading, and he wished there was something he could say or do to help her hold on to the few memories that she had. On the other hand, she’d been absolutely inconsolable when she’d learned her mother wasn’t ever coming home again. She’d cried and cried and cried, and when absolute and complete exhaustion had finally forced her to sleep, she’d been restless even in slumber.
Andrew hadn’t wanted to take her to the funeral. He’d wanted her to remember Nina as she’d been when she was alive—full of life and laughter. The minister had suggested to Andrew that Maura needed to be there, to see her mother at rest and say a final goodbye. So he’d relented—and had sorely regretted it.
As if the loss of her mother wasn’t difficult enough, Maura had been further traumatized by the sight of her still body and pale visage in the casket. She’d shaken her head, stubbornly refusing to believe that woman was her mother. “Mommy smiles and laughs and her eyes are bright and she puts her arms around me when I’m sad.”
Andrew had been certain that his heart was completely shattered over the loss of the woman he’d loved, but Maura’s inconsolable grief had ground those jagged little pieces into dust.
It had been a long time after that before he’d even managed to coax a smile out of his little girl, and longer still before she laughed again. The childish giggle was no longer as infrequent as it had been in that first year after Nina’s death, but the joyful sound still tugged at his heart. If Maura’s question about getting a new mother wasn’t proof enough, that giggle reinforced his certainty that she was happy again.
Maybe it was time for him to be happy, too.
He lowered her onto the mattress and tucked the covers up around her. “Sweet dreams, baby.”
Her eyes, already drifting shut, popped open again. “When am I going to meet her?”
“Meet who?”
Her brow furrowed as she struggled to remember the name he hadn’t intended to mention. “Rachel?”
“Rachel who?”
“That’s not fair—you never told me her last name.”
“Whose last name?”
She giggled again. “Daddy,” she admonished.
He kissed her forehead. “I love you, baby.”
“I love you, too, Daddy.”
As he made his way back downstairs, he thought about Maura’s request to meet Rachel. He’d never been tempted to introduce any other woman to his daughter, but this time was different. Rachel was different. She was a woman who meant far more to him than he would have expected after only two dates, and he wanted her to meet the little girl who meant more to him than anything else in the world.
But first he had to find that note in Maura’s agenda.
He frowned as he read the handwritten message from Denise Patterson, asking him to call and including her home telephone number. Immediately concerned, he did so. Twenty minutes later, he was reassured and more than a little annoyed.
Apparently all she wanted to talk about was a flyer she’d sent home the previous week to promote an after-school drama program that she thought would help Maura overcome her shyness. He didn’t think his daughter was any more introverted than most little girls her age, but he thanked Ms. Patterson for her concern and ended the conversation as quickly as possible.
Then, because he had the phone in his hand, he took a business card out of his wallet and dialed a different number.
Chapter Six
W
hen Andrew said that he would call, Rachel believed him. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to play games, so she figured she’d hear from him by the middle of the week. It didn’t occur to her, when the phone rang just after nine o’clock Sunday night, that it might be him.
When she saw his name on the display, her heart started pounding hard and fast. And when she reached for the receiver, she felt like a schoolgirl with a crush on the cutest boy in the class. Except that Andrew Garrett definitely wasn’t a boy, and the fantasies that had played out in her dreams the night before weren’t anything like the innocent fantasies of her youth.
“You sound surprised to hear from me,” he said, after they’d exchanged basic pleasantries.
“I am,” she admitted. “I know you said you’d call, but I thought that meant sometime during the week.” Certainly most of the guys she knew would have waited rather than risk appearing too eager.
“Is it okay that I called? Or do you now think I’m pathetically desperate?”
“It’s more than okay,” she assured him. “I don’t think you’re either pathetic or desperate.” In fact, she was pleased by this proof that he’d been thinking about her, too. Probably not as often or as obsessively as she’d been thinking about him, but still.
“And would it be okay if I took you out for lunch tomorrow?” he asked.
“Definitely.”
“What time?”
She wanted to say 8:00 a.m. so that she didn’t have to wait too long to see him again, but that might be a little bit early for lunch. Maybe she should propose breakfast instead—preferably after they rolled out of her bed together. Of course, she didn’t suggest either of those things.
Instead, she said, “Mondays are usually slow, so I can probably get away around one.”
“I’ll see you then,” he promised.
She was already looking forward to it.
And when she woke up the next morning, her lunch date with Andrew was the first thought on her mind. As she dressed for the day, she took a little more care than usual with her appearance. She opted for a pair of slim-fitting charcoal trousers with a slight flare at the bottom and topped them with a long-sleeved dove-gray sweater, then added chunky silver hoops to her ears and slipped a trio of bangle bracelets onto her wrist. A swipe of eyeliner, a touch of mascara, a dab of lip gloss, and she was ready. A final glance in the mirror assured her that she looked stylish but not overdone.
And then she got into the shop and learned—via the numerous orders for funeral wreaths and bereavement baskets—that Nigel Hanson had died.
Nigel and Harriet Hanson lived in South Ridge, but their youngest son, Curtis, had gone to school with Rachel and Holly. It was a tentative connection but enough that when Buds & Blooms opened, Nigel brought his business to them.
In addition to the usual requests for his wife’s birthday, their anniversary and arrangements to celebrate the birth of each of their five grandchildren, Nigel had a standing order for a single yellow rose delivered on the third day of every month to celebrate the anniversary of the day he and Harriet first met. Rachel knew that his wife of fifty-five years would be devastated by his passing.
She and Holly were so busy making arrangements for delivery to the funeral home that Rachel completely lost track of time—and even forgot about her lunch date—until Andrew walked into the shop.
She looked at him, then at the clock, then winced. “I’m so sorry.”
“You forgot?”
“Lost track of time,” she admitted, and briefly explained about Mr. Hanson.
“It’s okay,” he told her. “I know what it’s like to be at the wrong end of a business emergency.”
The statement surprised her. He hadn’t gone into much detail about his work, but what he had told her about carpentry didn’t indicate that it was the type of work that experienced many emergencies.
But before she could follow up on his comment, he said, “Have you eaten?”
She shook her head. “No, but there’s no way I can get away right now.”
“I’m not asking you to—I’m asking if you want ham, turkey or roast beef?”
She realized he was offering to pick up sandwiches from The Corner Deli across the street, proving that he was both flexible and generous, and she was sincerely touched by his offer. “I feel like I should say ‘no thanks’ but I’m going to say ‘turkey’ instead.”
“What about Holly?” he asked.
“Roast beef,” she called out, confirming her presence in the back room and that she’d been shamelessly eavesdropping on their conversation.
“One turkey, one roast beef,” Andrew confirmed, then pressed a quick kiss to Rachel’s lips. “I’ll be back in ten.”
It was closer to fifteen minutes before he returned with a take-out bag from The Corner Deli in hand. In addition to the sandwiches, he’d ordered potato wedges and coleslaw and cold drinks. He’d even had the foresight to ask for paper plates and cutlery, and he set everything out on one of the smaller worktables while Rachel and Holly washed up.
“Thank you,” Holly said sincerely. “I was so hungry I was ready to start gnawing on discarded stems.”
“A different spin on the traditional plant-based diet,” Andrew mused.
Holly chuckled, and Rachel was smiling as she unwrapped her sandwich, pleased to witness the easy banter between Andrew and her friend. He sat down beside Rachel and scooped some potato wedges onto his plate to go with his turkey sandwich.
There were the usual interruptions while they ate—phones to be answered and walk-in customers to be served—and in between they chatted a little about Phoebe’s birthday party the day before and the sideboard Andrew was working on and the new guy Holly had met when she picked her brother up at the airport Saturday afternoon.
“I enjoyed that,” Rachel said, folding her napkin. “Although I’m sure it wasn’t what you had in mind when you invited me to lunch today.”
“It wasn’t,” Andrew agreed. “But at least I got to see you—even if it was through a veil of flowers.”
Holly finished her lunch then picked up her empty plate and cup to dump them in the garbage. “I’m going to stretch my legs,” she told them, and headed toward the front of the store.
“I think she was trying to give us some privacy.”
“Very considerate of her,” Andrew said, taking Rachel’s hand to tug her off her stool and into his arms.
“I’ve got cuttings and leaves all over me,” she protested.
“I don’t care,” he said, and lowered his mouth to hers.
It wasn’t as passionate as the kisses they’d shared Saturday night—which was probably a good thing, considering the time and place—but there was still enough heat that she all but melted against him.
“You’re really good at that,” she murmured, when he eased his mouth from hers.
His lips curved. “You inspire me.”
“I have to get back to work,” she said, with obvious reluctance.
“Me, too,” he told her. “But there was something I wanted to tell you—”
“Another two orders just came in,” Holly said, returning to the workroom and heading directly to the refrigerated storage to gather the necessary flowers.
Rachel kept her focus on Andrew, her curiosity piqued more by the seriousness of his expression than the words. “What is it?”
But he shook his head. “It can wait.”
“You’re sure.”
“Positive.” He touched his lips to hers again. “I’ll call you.”
“Tonight?” she asked hopefully.
“Tonight.”
* * *
“Obviously things went well on Saturday,” Holly commented when Andrew had gone.
“It was close, but the Wolfpack emerged victorious,” Rachel said.
Her friend rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t asking about the game.”
“You know I’m not the type to kiss and tell.”
“Yes, you are—at least to your best friend.”
Rachel laughed, because it was true. “You probably have more to tell than I do.”
Holly smiled. “That depends on whether or not you can top five orgasms.”
Rachel’s jaw dropped. “You met this guy on Saturday and you slept with him already?”
“Actually, there was no sleeping involved.”
“None?”
“I got a few hours after I sent him home.”
“You had sex with him and then kicked him out of your apartment?”
“I like my space,” Holly said, just a little defensively.
“You like sex without intimacy.”
“Thanks for that dime-store analysis.”
She sighed. “You’re never going to find the right guy when you keep looking in all the wrong places.”
“And you’re so busy looking for the perfect guy that you overlook a lot of really great ones.”
Rachel frowned, wondering if there might not be some truth in what her friend was saying.
“Andrew is a prime example,” Holly insisted.
“A prime example of what?”
“The prime male. He’s tall, dark and incredibly sexy. His shoulders are broad enough that a woman would feel confident that she could lean on him, his arms are strong enough that she would feel safe in his embrace, and he looks as if he walked off the cover of a men’s magazine. But most importantly—he’s single.”
“Widowed,” Rachel clarified, not sure if she should be impressed or annoyed at the observation skills that had allowed her friend to so accurately catalog his physical attributes. “And you were the one who warned me not to rush into anything—that a man who still buys flowers for a wife who’s been gone more than three years is probably still in love with her.”
“I did say that,” Holly acknowledged. “I changed my mind.”
“On the basis of what?”
“The way he looked at you.”
“How did he look at me?”
“Like he was picturing you naked.”
“He almost had me naked Saturday night,” Rachel admitted.
“Seriously?”
She nodded. “One kiss, and I felt as if my clothes were going to melt off my body.”
She still didn’t know if Andrew was the right guy, but he certainly knew how to push all the right buttons. It had been more than sixteen months since she’d decided to take a break from dating. And in all that time, she hadn’t thought too much about sex. Certainly she hadn’t lamented the fact that she wasn’t having any.
One kiss from Andrew Garrett and she was thinking about it a lot. Not sex in general but sex with him in particular. If he was half as good a lover as he was a kisser, he would be spectacular.
“So why’d you put the brakes on?” her friend wanted to know.
“Why are you so sure that it was me?”
“Because I saw the way he looked at you,” Holly said again.
“Okay, it was me,” she admitted. “Because I couldn’t imagine getting naked with a guy who was still wearing the ring put on his finger by another woman.”
Holly nodded. “I can understand that. But I saw something else today when he looked at you.”
“What’s that?”
“He isn’t wearing his wedding ring anymore.”
* * *
Andrew didn’t expect the absence of the gold band on his finger would go completely unnoticed, but he was surprised that his youngest brother was the first to comment on it.
Shortly after he got back from lunch with Rachel, Daniel stopped by the office in which Andrew felt compelled to spend at least a few hours every day.
“What brings you into the hallowed halls of Garrett Furniture?” he asked his brother, because it was a well-known fact that Daniel preferred to keep as much distance as possible between himself and the family business.
“I need a favor.”
Though there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for either of his brothers, experience cautioned him to ask, “What kind of favor?”
“I’m going to ask Mom and Dad to release my trust fund.”
Before their maternal grandfather, Randall Willson, passed away more than a decade earlier, he’d set up trusts for each of his three grandsons. By his own admission, Randall had been a reckless and foolish young man. As a result, he’d decided that instead of the money being released when the beneficiary reached the age of twenty-one or even twenty-five, it should be held until the beneficiary was thirty—or legally married.
“Okay,” Andrew said cautiously.
“I’m not asking you to support my request—I’m just asking you not to oppose it.”
“Why would I oppose it?”
“I hope you won’t,” Daniel said again. “Because I want to invest in the ownership of a stock-car racing team.”
The announcement didn’t really surprise Andrew. His brother had always loved racing, and he’d made more than a few comments over the years expressing interest in getting involved in the business. But this time, it sounded as if he had a solid plan.
“I have no objection to whatever you want to do,” Andrew assured him. “And even if I did, I doubt my opinion would factor into Mom and Dad’s decision.”
“You think they’ll say no,” Daniel guessed.
“I think, when you tell them what you want the money for, they’ll shut you down faster than a red flag,” he admitted.
“What if I start out talking about their fortieth anniversary party?”
“Have you started making plans for it?”
“Not exactly,” his brother hedged.
“Then I wouldn’t open with that,” Andrew warned.
“This isn’t fair,” Daniel grumbled. “I’m twenty-seven years old, and I have to ask my parents for money.”
Andrew wasn’t unsympathetic. His brother had always wanted to do his own thing, make his own way. He’d deliberately chosen a career path separate from Garrett Furniture. He lived on his own and supported himself, but there was no way he made enough money to buy a racing team.
“What did Nate say about this?”
“He said that he would consider throwing in from his own trust fund if Mom and Dad turned me down.”
Andrew considered that for a minute. “I could probably do the same, if I liked your business plan. Although I’ve already tied up half of my trust in a new fund for Maura.”
“I’ll keep that in mind as an absolute last resort, but I was really hoping to do this on my own.”
On his own—but with money given to him by his grandfather. Andrew wondered if his brother even recognized the inherent contradiction in the statement.
“You know, if Mom and Dad say no, there’s always the marriage provision,” he teased.