Summer on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #6)(46)

Okay. That was it?

“Would you like to do that?” Brad asked. Like me, he’d anticipated some sort of reaction—something other than the bland response she’d given us.

“I guess so,” she said. I thought she sounded almost indifferent, and that stung a bit. Somehow Brad and I managed to hide our disappointment until we climbed into bed that night. We both sat up, leaning against a pile of pillows, our books in our hands.

“I thought she’d act a little happier than that,” Brad said. He didn’t need to clarify what—or rather, whom—he was talking about.

“I know, but I think we’re making headway.” Improvement came in small doses. I’d noticed a few days ago that she’d replaced the toilet paper in the hall closet. I wasn’t sure if she still had the soda crackers and the other food. Regardless, Casey was beginning to trust us.

“How do you mean?”

Needless to say, Brad wasn’t around her as much as I was.

“Well, for one thing, she baked cookies this afternoon.” I’d never mentioned the hoarding to him.

“And nearly burned down the house.”

“Brad, be fair. That could’ve happened to anyone.”

He grinned. “I suppose you’re right.”

“She’s not a bad kid, you know.”

“I agree with you. I see glimmers every now and then of the kid she could be.”

I set my book on the nightstand and reached for the lamp beside my bed. As I turned off the light, I whispered, “You’ve been very patient, husband of mine.”

“Patient enough to earn a reward?” he whispered back.

“I’d say so,” I said, raising my eyebrows.

Brad put down his own book and turned off his light. A moment later, I was in my husband’s arms, feeling loved and cherished.

Ah, yes, this had been a good day indeed.

Chapter 16

Phoebe Rylander

“Another f lower delivery for you,” Claudia said when Phoebe returned from her lunchtime walk. These short outings had become part of her everyday routine; they helped revive her and refresh her.

Claudia pointed to a huge f loral arrangement made up entirely of roses. They were stunning, exquisite. Red and white, surrounded by ferns and other delicate greenery in a crystal vase. Phoebe had to hand it to Clark. He never seemed to quit.

“Either take them home yourself or give them away.” She was not letting Clark Snowden back in her life. He could send her a dozen roses every day for the next f ifty years and it wouldn’t shake her determination. Especially after the wonderful time she’d had with Hutch over the Fourth of July weekend. She smiled thinking about their biking adventure in the Skagit Valley. The tulip fields were long past blooming but the countryside was still beautiful. Phoebe couldn’t remember ever having that much fun with anyone. She’d laughed at his silly comments—he didn’t worry about looking foolish—and exchanged views on all kinds of issues, from politics to household ecology. Hutch was completely unpretentious. Unassuming. And honest.

“Before you toss these roses,” Claudia was saying, “you’d better read the card.”

Phoebe shook her head. “Nothing Clark has to say is going to change my mind.”

Claudia waved her index f inger at Phoebe. “Maybe they aren’t from Clark.”

Phoebe stared at her. “They aren’t?”

Claudia grinned and held up the card, sighing loudly. “I don’t know how you managed to get two handsome men sending you f lowers when I haven’t found even one.”

“Give me that!” Phoebe pretended to be annoyed with the receptionist. “Did Hutch send the f lowers?”

Claudia smiled and handed her the card. Unlike Clark’s notes, which were always romantic, Hutch’s card read simply THANK YOU. HUTCH. Straightforward and unpretentious. Unlike Clark, Hutch hadn’t tried to impress her, hadn’t taken her to a fancy restaurant with a celebrity chef. Instead, he’d brought a picnic, including a bottle of local wine. And to her surprise he hadn’t attempted to kiss her, although Phoebe would’ve welcomed it.

She waited until three that afternoon, when she had a break and called Hutch at his off ice. She was put directly through by his assistant.

“This is Bryan Hutchinson,” he said.

“Are you sure it isn’t Lance Armstrong?” she teased.

“Oh, sorry. Lance speaking.”

Phoebe laughed. “Thank you for the roses.”

“I wanted you to have them on Monday, but Susannah said she preferred to wait until she had a fresh supply.”

“Susannah from Susannah’s Garden?” The shop was next to the yarn store and had the most gorgeous display of arrangements and bouquets. Phoebe found herself mesmerized every Wednesday as she gazed into the f lower shop window before class.

“I hadn’t heard of Susannah’s Garden until I signed up for the Knit to Quit class,” Hutch said. “Her f lowers are exceptional.”

“I think so, too. Thank you again.”

Hutch hesitated. “I wanted you to know how much I enjoyed being with you last weekend.”

“I had an absolutely fabulous time.”

A short silence followed. Hutch wasn’t good at small talk, and it always seemed to take him a while to feel comfortable with her. That didn’t bother Phoebe. Actually, she liked the contrast with her ex-f iancé. Hutch wasn’t smooth like Clark, who could talk his way into or out of anything.