Love in Bloom Read Free

He was perfectly capable of behaving like an idiot without any props.
    * * *
    Looking down at her comfortable flat slippers, Lily willed away the color swamping her face. Honestly, she’d gotten over this awkwardness long ago. Hadn’t she? If only she hadn’t been staring at him all this time, she’d have had more control of her tongue. That and fatigue had gotten the better of her. To get the best price, she’d flown from Boston to Atlanta to Kansas City, which had made for a long day. Suddenly she wished she’d taken more pains with her appearance, but why bother when she was so tall and thin and wore glasses? Men generally failed to notice her at all, and when they did, they treated her like their sisters or their maiden aunts. This one would barely even look at her. No doubt his wife was the next thing to a fashion model. A man as attractive as him would naturally marry a woman like that.
    Tall and muscular, with thick, dark brown hair worn so short that the circular cowlicks at his crown and the center of his forehead were clearly visible, he had smooth features and warm brown eyes in a squarish face marked by dimples even when he wasn’t smiling. Given the thickness of his hair, his brows seemed surprisingly slender, and if he had a fault then it was the thinness of his lips. Or was that simply his frown? The little redheaded imp with him seemed undeterred by his scowl. She skipped forward and put out a chubby hand.
    “Hi! I’m Isabella. I’m seven, almost eight. How old are you?”
    “Isabella,” Tate Bronson scolded. “You don’t ask a lady her age.”
    “Why not? I’m a lady, and I told her mine.”
    “I’m sorry,” Bronson apologized, his frown softening. He really was quite attractive, especially when he wasn’t frowning. “My daughter is looking forward to her birthday later this month, but that’s no excuse for her being rude.”
    “That’s all right,” Lily said with a smile. Switching her gaze to the girl, Lily bent forward. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Isabella.” Dropping her voice to a stage whisper, she confessed, “I turned twenty-seven on May Day.”
    Isabella cut her blue-eyed glance up at her father, drawling, “Twenty-seven’s good. Daddy’s twenty-seven. His birthday’s in September. Then he’ll be twenty-eight.”
    Lily felt a jolt of surprise. Twenty-eight with an eight-year-old. That made him a very young father.
    Tate made an impatient sound and said, “Can we get going, please? We have a long drive ahead of us.”
    “Oh, of course,” Lily said apologetically, gathering her voluminous handbag and backpack. She slung one over each shoulder, stacked two of the smaller boxes atop one of the larger wheeled bags and prepared to haul out the lot.
    “Wait,” Tate said. “Let’s do this with some organization.”
    Feeling chastised, Lily ducked her head, her long hair sliding forward. “Okay. Uh, what would you suggest?”
    He pulled up the handle on one of the smaller wheeled bags and handed it to Isabella, then tossed a box onto his shoulder and snagged the handle of the larger bag from Lily, saying, “Wait here with the rest. We’ll take out these and be back.”
    Lily bit back a protest. Those were vases and other glass items balanced on his shoulder, going-away gifts from her friends in Boston, things to help her get started in Bygones. Her former employer and coworkers knew how carefully she had budgeted to make this plan feasible, even selling her beloved car to raise the necessary funds to match the grant and choosing a shop with living quarters above it to cut expenses. She had packed those particular items carefully for shipping and sent them ahead of her to be collected when she arrived at the airport; she supposed they would survive Tate Bronson, so she bit her lip and watched him walk away without saying a word. His daughter followed him, her long red curls bouncing merrily. Lily noticed idly that the hem of the child’s purple T-shirt had come