The Shop on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #1)(67)

Listening to the radio, I kept an eye on the windows in case he happened to drive past. Blossom Street was open to traffic now and this had dramatically increased business. Lots of people came to the neighborhood just to see the changes. The stores along both sides of the street had put out their welcome mats.

The construction directly across from me appeared to be nearly finished, although there seemed to be plenty of men in hard hats still parading around. I wasn’t sure when everything was officially scheduled to be completed, but I knew it wouldn’t be much longer.

Just as I’d hoped, Brad’s dark-brown delivery truck came into view. It was all I could do not to stand like a mannequin in the window. It was even harder to resist the urge to jump up and down and wave my arms. I did neither, but I was definitely tempted. I was in just that silly, quirky frame of mind.

I saw my man-in-brown leap out of his truck with a couple of packages for the floral shop next door. I didn’t know if he’d seen me or not until he came out with a single long-stemmed red rose. I waved despite my resolve not to and he winked at me.

Unlocking the front door, I let him into the shop. “For me?” I asked.

“It’ll cost ya,” Brad teased.

“Name your price?”

“A kiss,” he said, grinning boyishly. “Maybe two.”

I know it sounds ridiculous, but I blushed. He took me by the hand and led me behind a tall shelf filled with worsted yarn. At least there we had a bit of privacy.

“How’d the doctor’s visit go?”

“I didn’t even see him. It was for routine blood tests.”

“Are you nervous?”

I shook my head. Maybe I should’ve been, but the cancer had left me alone for a long time now and after a certain period you can’t help growing a little confident. More than that, I felt too good to be sick again and showed none of the symptoms I had in the past other than an occasional migraine. Besides, for the first time in years, I was truly hopeful for the future.

“I’m free on Saturday night.” Brad was looking down at me, his eyes so intense and provocative it was nearly impossible to breathe.

“That’s nice.”

“How about if I take you to dinner and a movie?”

I smiled and nodded.

“Anyplace you want to eat, as long as it isn’t McDonald’s.”

I smiled again. Cody was a big fan of their cheeseburgers, and Brad was thoroughly tired of fast food.

“You got it. Anyplace but McDonald’s.”

Then, with such ease I was barely aware of what he was doing, Brad brought me into his arms and kissed me. The earth didn’t move, the sky didn’t fall, but I swear I felt that kiss from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. If a man could make me feel all that with a simple kiss, I could only imagine what it would be like if—when—we made love. I closed my eyes, wanting to hold on to this wonderful feeling as long as I could.

“You smell so good,” he whispered, nuzzling my neck.

“It’s my perfume.” I let my head fall back and he spread small kisses along my throat. I was practically purring like Whiskers, my cat, when he lies on the windowsill, basking in the afternoon sun.

“I don’t care what it is, just promise to wear the same one on Saturday night, okay?”

“Okay,” I whispered, and he kissed me again. Neither of us wanted to stop, but he was still on the clock and we knew it had to end. When he released me I felt his reluctance as keenly as my own. A girl could get mighty accustomed to Brad’s kind of kisses.

“I’ll pick you up at seven on Saturday evening, all right?”

“Perfect,” I told him.

In that moment, “perfect” was how I’d describe my life.

CHAPTER 32

CAROL GIRARD

T he critical first three weeks following embryo transfer had passed and so far so good. Carol was a full five weeks pregnant now and felt every aspect of this pregnancy in a way few women ever would.

After talking to her mother in Oregon for twenty minutes, she hung up the receiver and fixed herself a healthy lunch of cottage cheese and fresh fruit. Carol had never been fond of cottage cheese, and this was her way of announcing to the universe that she was willing to suffer for the sake of her baby. No sacrifice was too great. When her child was born, she wanted to know she’d done everything possible to give him or her a good start in life.

Smiling, Carol scooped cottage cheese onto a plate, then added sliced pineapple. She’d heard from one of the women in her online support group that a substance in pineapple was believed to improve the chances of an embryo attaching to the uterus.

The phone rang as the fork was halfway to her mouth. She lowered it and reached for the receiver.

It was Doug. Normally he was too busy to phone from work, but he’d made a habit of calling her at least once a day since the last IVF.

“I just spoke with Mom,” she told him.

“What’s new with her?”

“She and Dad want to buy us a crib.”

“Did you tell her we already have one?”

“I didn’t have the heart.” Three weeks after the procedure, Carol had gotten a Bon-Macy’s flyer advertising baby furniture. That night she’d dragged Doug to the department store and, giddy with excitement, they’d purchased everything they could possibly need for a nursery.