Sherryl Woods - Flowers on Main

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?