Susan Mallery - Secrets Of The Tulip Sisters

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you here?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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