Secrets Of The Tulip Sisters

He grinned. “I’m willing to take the chance.”

It was a variation on the conversation they had nearly every day. One she looked forward to with ridiculous anticipation. Billy might be her rock-and-roll boyfriend, but Jeff was, well... Jeff was the reason her heart kept beating.

Stupid, but there it was. The truth. She was wildly, desperately in love with Jeff Murphy.

The man was gorgeous. He looked a little like the actor Jason Bateman, with shaggy hair and big brown eyes. He was tall, fit, funny, kind and he could play guitar like nobody’s business. In a word—irresistible.

He was also single, so what was the problem? Why couldn’t she simply tell him how she felt? Or ask him out to dinner? Or rip off her clothes and smile winningly? Jeff wasn’t a dummy. He would get the message.

Only three things stopped her. One, he was older. Sixteen years, to be exact. While she didn’t care, she thought he might. Two, the extra thirty pounds she carried. She was currently subscribing to the when-then philosophy—distant cousin to the if-then concept. When she lost weight, then she would be brave and throw herself at Jeff.

She acknowledged that pending moment of disaster might be the reason she seemed in no hurry to commit to a weight-loss plan but she wasn’t sure.

Reason number three—which was probably the most important and therefore should be the first—Jeff was her best friend’s father.

Yup, Jeff was Kelly’s dad, which added a whole layer of complicated to the situation. Because should she ever confess the truth to said best friend, there would be a conversation filled with “WTF” and “Are you kidding me?” All of which would be screamed rather than spoken.

Oh, wait. There was a fourth reason Helen hadn’t thrown herself at Jeff. He’d never once made a move in her direction. All the more reason to bury her unrequited love/lust in a warm cinnamon roll.

“Let me show you what I brought you today,” he said, unrolling the paper. “Havran.”

Helen stepped closer to study the beautiful tulips. They were deep purple with a slightly pointed petal. The stems were pale green and smooth.

“They’re lovely. Thank you.”

She knew better than to offer to pay for them. She’d tried a couple of times, but Jeff had simply shaken his head. “I grow tulips, Helen. I want to do this.”

She’d tried reading something into his words but weeks, then months, had passed with nary a change in their relationship. Not by a whisper, look or touch did he ever hint that he thought of her as more than a friend. She’d learned to accept the flowers as a kind gift. The man was a tulip farmer, after all. It wasn’t as if he’d bought them for her.

She collected a tray filled with small vases, along with clippers. Together they loaded the vases and put them on each table. When she returned to the counter, he held out a small wrapped package the size and shape of a single stem.

“For you. Don’t tell Kelly.”

Humor danced in his dark brown eyes. Eyes she would very much like to get lost in. Maybe while he slowly undressed and reached for her as they...

“Helen?”

“What? Oh, thanks. Although I’m not sure I should thank you for stealing from your daughter’s private greenhouse.”

“She’s not going to notice one flower missing.”

“You take one every week. At some point she’s going to catch on.”

He winked. “She hasn’t yet.”

No, she hadn’t. Because Kelly would have mentioned the thefts, had she spotted them.

Yes, it was true—father and daughter worked together on their tulip farm. In addition to growing millions of blooms for florists and grocery stores, Kelly had a small, private greenhouse where she cultivated special flowers. Flowers Jeff occasionally stole and brought to Helen.

Today’s offering was red with a yellow base. But what was most remarkable were the long, slender petals that came to a needlelike point. They were delicate and exotic and incredibly beautiful.

“Tulipa acuminata,” Jeff said.

Helen didn’t know if the words were Latin or just scientific, but hearing him say them made her girl parts sigh in unison.

“It’s stunning,” she said. “I’ll put it in my office and not tell my best friend, which makes me a bad person and it’s all your fault.”

“I do what I can.”

He took a seat at the counter. His regular seat. The one she thought of as Jeff’s chair. When she had a moment between customers, it was where she later sat. Sad, but true.

“Want to see a menu?” she asked.

He raised his eyebrows. “Is that your idea of humor?”

Because he’d been coming to the café all his adult life and knew everything they served.

“I’m trying to mix things up,” she said.

“I’ll have an omelet.”

“With bacon, avocado, cheese.” A statement, not a question.

“You know what I like.”

If only that were true. If only she knew the words or moves to get him to see her as more than a friend. Unless, of course, he wasn’t interested. Which he probably wasn’t, because he was a decisive man. So she should get over him and move on with her life. Only she didn’t want to get over Jeff. She wanted to get into him. Or have him get into her, or...

“I need more coffee,” she muttered. And a hormone transplant. Or maybe just some more Billy Joel.

3 (#u9afa83e2-0e23-5208-bfaa-144c48cf86fa)

Leo Meierotto, the fortysomething site supervisor, stuck his head in Griffith’s office. “Boss, you’ve got company.” Leo’s normally serious expression changed to one of amusement. “Kelly Murphy is here.”

Because Leo was local and in a town the size of Tulpen Crossing, everyone knew everyone.

“Thanks.”

“Think she wants to buy a tiny home?”

Considering she lived in a house her family had owned for five generations, “Doubtful.”

Maybe she’d shown up to serve him with a restraining order. Or did that have to be delivered by someone official? He wasn’t sure. Avoiding interactions that required him to get on the wrong side of law enforcement had always been a goal.

He told himself whatever happened, he would deal, then walked out into the showroom of the larger warehouse. Kelly stood by a cross section of a display tiny home, studying the layout.

He took a second to enjoy looking at her. She was about five-five, fit, with narrow hips and straight shoulders. A farmer by birth and profession, Kelly dressed for her job. Jeans, work boots and a long sleeved T-shirt. It might be early June, but in the Pacific Northwest, that frequently meant showers. Today was gray with an expected high of sixty-five. Not exactly beach weather.

Kelly’s wavy hair fell just past her shoulders. She wore it pulled back in a simple ponytail. She didn’t wear makeup or bother with a manicure. She was completely no-frills. He supposed that was one of the things he liked about her. There wasn’t any artifice. No pretense. With Kelly you wouldn’t find out that she was one thing on the surface and something completely different underneath. At least that was what he hoped.