the hands that healed. “Something exciting.”
She didn’t realize she’d sighed aloud until he glanced at her. She covered with a bright smile and a light voice that teased, “Don’t we all?”
His expression went from curious to uncertain. “I suppose.” He moved to inspect the aluminum shelves of vases and foam-filled containers lining the far wall.
His back was to her, yet she didn’t turn to take him in. She didn’t have to. She knew without sight his back’s strong width, his shoulders’ proud slope, the faint pink where the barber had shaved the nape of his neck. She’d had a crush on him since she was eight. She’d been crossing to the park and tripped on the curb. Instead of laughing at her like the other older boys hanging out in the square had done, he’d come and helped her up, asked her if she was all right, his face serious and already adult as he examined her knees. From that moment her heart had been his, even though her head knew her fantasies were futile.
Then he had come into her flower shop late one night over a month ago.
She heard him move. The temptation became too great, and she turned and looked at him. She’d been born without beauty, but every day she created it, surrounded herself with it, gave it to others. Most of all she knew when it was before her.
It was before her now. She looked at him and, for a moment, was adrift.
She looked away before he caught her. As well as she knew beauty, she also knew what she created often fell short of reality, what she craved could never be completely hers.
He asked about a vase. She walked to where he stood.
“This one?” She took the vase off the shelf, its weight cool against her palms. “It has lovely lines, don’t you think? And the size, the balance of the body is certainly strong enough to hold its own with the most exotic mixtures.”
He touched the vase in her hands and nodded approval.
“I hope these exciting flowers aren’t for a patient with a heart condition or high blood pressure.” She kept the conversation friendly. They were, after all, friends. It would have to be enough.
He smiled. She was pleased. He didn’t smile enough. His brows often pulled low as if weighted with worry. Two deep lines angled above his nose, creating a constant stern impression. Some nights, though, she would make small jokes and small talk, and the lines on his face would smooth.
“Actually, these flowers aren’t for a patient at all.”
“No?” She walked to the design table, the vase heavy in her hands. A woman? Why not? Brady and his brothers had inspired more female fantasies within the town limits of Tyler than George Clooney and a case of Asti Spumante combined. But the two other brothers had both married within the past four months, leaving only one single Spencer brother—Brady—to fight off the wily women of Tyler. Eden had no doubt Brady’s bachelor days were numbered.
“The flowers are for a nurse.”
Of course.
“Cece Baron.”
“Cece Baron?” Eden’s quiet voice went an octave higher.
He glanced at her curiously. “You know, Jeff’s wife.”
Eden did know. Cece was the nursing supervisor at Worthington House, and together with Jeff, Tyler General’s chief of staff, had seven-year-old twin girls.
“Don’t you think your boss is going to have something to say if his wife starts receiving bouquets of flowers from a secret admirer?”
“I hope so.”
She frowned. “You’re sure about this?”
“Definitely, after I saw Cece sitting in Jeff’s office today, waiting for him. She was looking at a family picture Jeff has in his office—I think it was taken at his younger sister Liza’s wedding. Cece was crying.”
Eden’s frown deepened.
“She put on a big smile when she saw me, but she knew I’d seen her. She’d said she was being silly. That between her work and Jeff’s schedule and the twins, she couldn’t expect things to be like they once were between her and her husband.”
“Like they once were?”
“Crazy, wild in love, passionate, head-over-heels, you know.” Brady spoke with a doctor’s detachment.
Eden didn’t know, but she nodded, anyway.
“Cece finally told me Jeff and she had made a lunch date, just the two of them. Some ‘together’ time to try and put a little magic back in the marriage. She’d waited forty-five minutes before she’d found out he’d left the hospital an hour ago to take some prospective donors to lunch to discuss building a new imaging facility. He’d forgotten about their date. ‘Imagine,’ she’d said. ‘Stood up by your own husband. How humiliating is that?’ But she made me promise not to tell him she was there. Said it’d only upset him, and she was already worried enough about his stress level.”
Eden’s features relaxed. “But she didn’t make you promise not to send an anonymous arrangement of flowers that she might assume was an apology from her husband?”
Brady smiled. “Let’s send one to Jeff, too. Maybe that’ll put a little mystique back into the marriage.” She heard an uncustomary excitement in his voice. He looked away, and if Eden didn’t know better, she would’ve sworn Tyler General’s most unflappable surgeon was suddenly self-conscious.
“It’s a lovely thought,” she assured him, hoping to ease his discomfort.
“Unsigned, of course.” His voice was even once again. He returned his gaze to her.
“Of course.” She wondered if he’d ever believe that his vulnerability didn’t make him weak, merely human.
“If the chief of staff knew one of his surgeons was playing Cupid, well, you can imagine how that would go over at the monthly staff meetings.”
“Of course.” She always agreed. It was part of the ritual. He walked around the shop, his briefcase gripped in his right hand and his steps brisk. His left hand tapped the curved sales counter, made a wrought-iron birdcage sway, asserted control over his surroundings.
“What about these?” He tapped on the cooler’s door, his nose inches from the glass. “These white things in the corner. What are they?”
“Calla lilies. Special order received today. They’re lovely, don’t you think?”
“They look exotic enough.”
“Oh, they are. Add nothing more than some camellia leaves or laurel, and you’ve got yourself a beautiful bouquet.” She studied the oversize blooms. “They’d also be stunning mixed with white French tulips and paperwhites.”
Brady nodded as if he knew what she was talking about. They both knew he had no idea.
“Put a big bow around the vase,” he said. It was a voice that suffered no fools, especially himself. He had a reputation as one of the best doctors around and also
