The Wedding Dance Read online

  “I’ve made such a mess of things,” her mother murmured as they got to the door and Phoebe unlocked it.

  Knowing Angela wouldn’t remember their conversation in the morning, Phoebe murmured something comforting as she tried to help her inside, but in the end Patrick just picked her mother up completely.

  “Nice apartment,” he said with a nod to the flowers and plants occupying every surface. “Where should I take Angela?”

  “Right through here.” She led the way to her bedroom, trying not to think about how differently this might have gone with Patrick the other night if it had been just the two of them.

  Patrick laid her mother down on her bed and Angela crooned, “It’s been years since a strong young man carried me to bed.”

  Phoebe winced. Apparently, her mother was determined to be as embarrassing as possible tonight.

  Angela immediately curled an arm around the extra pillow and held on tight to it. “I love you, Cally.”

  “I love you, too, Mom.”

  As she headed back out into the living room with Patrick, he admired the flowers again before saying, “You obviously believe in bringing your work home with you.” He paused. “Cally?”

  She’d been hoping Patrick wouldn’t pick up on that. She should have known better. He noticed everything.

  Especially the things she didn’t want anyone to see.

  “It’s my middle name.”

  “Phoebe Cally Davis?”

  Phoebe moved over to the sofa and sat down next to the pile of folded sheets. She might as well get comfortable. It was where she was going to be spending the night again, after all.

  “It’s short for Caladenia. It’s a type of orchid.”

  Patrick sat next to her, and Phoebe wasn’t sure how she felt about having him that close.

  No, that was a lie. She was very sure how she felt about him being so close.

  Far too good for her peace of mind.

  “Caladenia,” he repeated, and she loved the way it sounded when he said it. “It’s a very beautiful name. You got your love of flowers from your mother, didn’t you?”

  Phoebe nodded, swallowing hard at the lump in her throat that had grown bigger and bigger as he was kinder and kinder. “She loves orchids. The Caladenia orchid is her favorite. When I was a kid, she used to try to grow them, because she said they were the most beautiful of all the orchids. The most precious.”

  It was just what she’d always said about Phoebe. You’re my beautiful, precious little girl, Cally.

  “It’s one of the things she used to let me help with, but it never worked that well.”

  “You have such a green thumb that I take it the flower is hard to grow?”

  “Almost impossible. The roots are too easily displaced. You have to care for it more than almost any other flower.”

  Why was she fighting back tears? She never cried. Never.

  “The crazy thing is, regardless of how much time you put in, it still dies after a couple of years.”

  “It must be a very beautiful flower for people to want to put in all that work,” Patrick said softly. “A small miracle.”

  Phoebe nodded. “It is.”

  The one time they’d been able to get one to grow, her mother had said just that same thing as Patrick: It’s a miracle, sweetie. Right here in front of us. Let’s appreciate every second of its bloom.

  Oh God. She was going to cry.

  No. She couldn’t. Not now. Not tonight.

  And definitely not in front of Patrick.

  “There are other beautiful flowers out there,” she made herself say. “Why put in all that effort waiting for a miracle when the odds are it probably won’t happen?”

  “Because sometimes the rewards are worth the risk,” Patrick said so gently, so sweetly, she almost felt as if the words were more of a caress than anything else. “Even if the odds aren’t great, they’re still so much better than if we never take a risk at all.”

  He was silent for a few seconds after that, and Phoebe half expected him to lean across and kiss her. To finally make the move that she was sure he had wanted to make all day.

  Yet, Patrick didn’t close that gap. Instead, he stood.

  “I’m glad we got your mother back safely. And I hope you enjoyed the day in the park. Good night, Phoebe.”

  He left, then, shutting the door behind him, leaving Phoebe to stare after him, trying to make sense of her very confusing feelings for Patrick Knight.

  Chapter Eleven

  Phoebe woke up to the sound of her phone ringing. What time was it? And what was she doing on her couch?

  It took a moment or two for memories of the previous day to seep in, while at the same time her phone kept ringing, leaving her scrambling to locate it. She finally found it under one of the cushions of the couch. How exactly it had gotten there she didn’t know.

  The number on the screen was for Lisa Harding, a local florist Phoebe occasionally ran into down at the flower market and often met for coffee to catch up on flower business gossip. Lisa had even helped to source a couple of more unusual blooms for Phoebe, on occasion, through some friends of hers who liked to grow rarer species in their greenhouses.

  “Hi Phoebe. I’ve just had an order in for a bouquet, and I thought I should probably let you know.”

  Phoebe frowned slightly. “Why?”

  “It’s to be sent to your address.” Before Phoebe could push past her surprise to respond in any way, the other woman said, “It’s one of my best arrangements.”

  Phoebe’s heart fluttered with something that felt too much like hope. Moving over to the small kitchen area of her apartment, she started making coffee, a strong brew that would help her wake up and get her head back on straight. The morning would definitely look better after coffee, and her mother would undoubtedly need it too.

  Patrick knew exactly how she felt about flower deliveries. So why had he done this?

  Phoebe took a deep breath, then let it out slowly before asking, “Do you mind if I come by your shop in a bit?”

  “Sure, but don’t you even want to know who ordered it?”

  “I can guess.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line and Phoebe figured her friend was confused by her reaction to the news. And rightly so. Most people loved getting flowers. Phoebe might have too.

  If only they didn’t mean what she was afraid they meant.

  “Lisa,” she asked before they disconnected, “if you wouldn’t mind, could you not start on it until I get there?”

  Phoebe had been so sure the other day that Patrick understood how they stood. That he’d finally decided just to be a good friend to her. The whole day had been about as far from a date as it was possible to get, and then, when he’d helped to bring in her mother and they’d had the kind of opportunity for a kiss that no guy she’d dated would ever have passed up…he’d just left. Yet now he was sending her flowers?

  Phoebe quickly showered and dressed without waking her mother, wrote a note saying she was heading in to work if Angela needed her, then set out for Lisa’s flower shop. It was a tiny place wedged between a small boutique and a store selling furniture, with a small front space tastefully put together with a few flower arrangements on display next to a couple of awards. Bouquets from Lisa didn’t come cheap, which made it all the more worrying that Patrick had ordered one for her.

  Lisa smiled as Phoebe came in. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here since I’ve been wondering about the message on the card.”

  Her friend hunted behind the counter for a moment then handed Phoebe a card which read, It’s not every day I get to carry a woman home. I hope you’re feeling better today.

  Relief and disappointment warred with each other inside of her as she told her friend, “These flowers aren’t for me. They’re for my mother.”

  Of course she was glad that Patrick intended to send flowers to her mother rather than her, and it was incredibly sweet of him. Not a lot of guys would do that. And
yet, for a moment Phoebe had almost felt as if he was going to push past her walls, no matter what, by giving her a bouquet of flowers, whether she wanted them or not.

  “Lisa, would it be all right with you if I put this one together?”

  “Sure, why not? I have the original order and design sheets here somewhere. Everything you need is through the back.”

  The back room of the shop was quite a bit larger than the front room, consisting of an office table off to the side, a big table in the middle, and boxes of flowers stacked neatly around the walls along with ribbons, pieces of cane, and other decorations that might be needed as part of arrangements.

  Phoebe put the plans for the bouquet down on the table, looking through them. It had been a while since she had worked from someone else’s plan, but Lisa was the kind of person who took extremely detailed notes when getting down an order, so that wasn’t too much of a problem.

  “Orchids,” Phoebe read aloud, heading over to the boxes. Lisa had drawn a diagram, with suggestions of colors. Of course Patrick had opted for orchids, given that they were her mother’s favorite flower.

  She laid out the orchids she’d picked on the table, going back for the other elements of the bouquet one by one as she started to piece it together. As she did so, she thought about the way her mother had always had an orchid blooming in the house when she was a child. Angela had been so beautiful then. So happy. Of course, her mother hadn’t actually changed that much since she was younger. When she was happy, at least, she was still an incredibly beautiful woman.

  As Phoebe assembled the arrangement Patrick had ordered, she had to admit it was breathtaking. For a man who didn’t know much about flowers, he had done a good job of picking out the perfect elements for it. Phoebe wove them together, a stray memory coming to her of the way her mother had taken the time to weave her hair into elaborate braids and intricate knots when she was a teenager.

  She took a step back when she finished with the bouquet, the reds, yellow and whites of the orchids leaping out at her. For once, it didn’t matter that it would wilt in a couple of days. It was enough that, for the moment at least, Patrick had made a gesture that would undoubtedly bring a smile back to her mother’s face.

  Phoebe took the bouquet out to Lisa to show her. The other florist looked at it admiringly before saying, “It’s a good one, isn’t it? And it’s for your mother? Now, whatever did she do to deserve that?”

  “I think Patrick wants to cheer her up. She was a bit upset yesterday.” She smiled at her friend. “Thanks for letting me put the bouquet together.”

  It had been a strangely cathartic experience.

  “You know, Phoebe,” Lisa said in that voice people used to offer advice that they knew you didn’t want to hear. “If it were me, I’d hold onto a man who did something like this, who cared enough about you to care about your family, too.”

  Lisa’s words played on repeat in Phoebe’s head as she drove to the Rose Chalet.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Rose Chalet was the quietest Patrick had seen it. He looked around for Phoebe’s car, but there was no sign of it. Had she stayed home to take care of her mother?

  Donovan McIntyre’s Porsche was instantly recognizable, however, which meant that the plastic surgeon was probably looking at his watch and thinking about the clients Patrick was keeping him from.

  He collected the roll of plans from the passenger seat and headed inside the chalet where his brother was installing a spotlight. “Are you going to need a hand with the lighting rig when I’m done?”

  RJ shook his head, frowning as he looked in the direction of Rose’s office. “Did you know, Rose built this place so people could have somewhere small and intimate for their weddings?”

  “Rose is a very impressive woman,” Patrick said to his brother, wondering as he did so if they had both been hit with some sort of Knight brother curse to fall for the exact women that didn’t want anything to do with them.

  RJ’s jaw flexed. “Yes, she is.” He turned back to the spotlight. “You should probably get to your meeting.”

  Rose was in the office, sitting at the side of her desk, her deep red hair tied back. Donovan was sitting in her usual seat, wearing a suit Patrick knew cost a fortune.

  They made a great looking couple, Patrick had to admit, and he couldn’t help thinking of what he and Phoebe would be like as one. He was dragged out of that thought as Donovan’s bronzed features rearranged themselves into a smile as he said, “Let’s get the ball rolling.”

  Rose’s smile was much wider than her husband-to-be’s. “Good morning, Patrick. Are those the plans?”

  Patrick began to unroll them on the office table, stopping halfway to move aside a vase of flowers so that he could spread the plans all the way out. Had Phoebe put together the arrangement, he wondered? And, if so, what had she been thinking about as she did so?

  They were lovely, a spray of purple flowers against a background of white roses, and Patrick found himself wishing he knew more about the “language of flowers” if only for the possibility of a glimpse into Phoebe’s emotions. For her, he would memorize an encyclopedia of flowers and their meanings.

  Donovan cleared his throat and Patrick worked to refocus as he went over the preliminary plans with them. “This will be the entrance hall opening into the living room with access through to the kitchen area here so that the spaces aren’t cut off from one another.” He paused to give his clients time to look over the drawings.

  “Hmm...” Donovan mused, looking over the plans. “Four bedrooms seems like too many.”

  “Four bedrooms is fairly standard for a family home.”

  What kind of home might he have with Phoebe if she’d let him into her life? Looking down at the plans, Patrick started to mentally redraw them, adjusting lines and reassigning rooms. It was so easy to see how their dream home would work.

  As before, Donovan interrupted his thoughts. “Rose and I are both very busy people. If we don’t have children, we won’t need the extra rooms.” Not seeing the stricken look on Rose’s face at his mention of not having children, Donovan continued with, “I think we should move the office upstairs and join it with what would have been one of the bedrooms to create a large study and library.”

  Patrick had done this enough times to know how to carefully say, “That could certainly work for a library. But it wouldn’t be a very cozy room.”

  Donovan frowned. “We’re not going for cozy. Are we, Rose?”

  Rose paused for several beats before finally, saying, “A large library would be lovely.”

  Patrick looked from Donovan to Rose, on the verge of suggesting a compromise when the office door opened and RJ came in.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “There’s a problem with the lights, Rose.”

  “Can’t it wait?” Donovan asked him in a tone that wasn’t entirely friendly.

  “There seem to be some issues with the sequencing. I won’t be able to get the rest of the rig up until we’ve worked out how we want to deal with it.”

  “I’m sorry.” Rose said as she stood up. “Can we finish with the plans in a few minutes once the situation is back under control?”

  Donovan stood up. “I only had this short window to meet. I’ve got to get back to the clinic.” He shook Patrick’s hand, kissed Rose on the cheek, and nodded slightly to RJ as he took his leave.

  Rose and RJ were just heading out to deal with whatever had become so pressing with the lights that were “no problem” a short while earlier, when Phoebe walked in.

  “Rose, could I—”

  Suddenly realizing Patrick was in the room, her cheeks flushed and her question fell away. He was glad to have a moment to drink in her incredible beauty.

  “I’m sorry, Phoebe,” Rose said, “can you hold on for a few minutes while I help RJ sort out the lighting?

  Phoebe looked more than a little nervous now that it was just the two of them in the office. He wanted her to be comfortable enough aroun
d him to want to spend time with him, but, right now, nerves were good too.

  Women didn’t flush like that around men without a reason.

  “How’s your mother doing?”

  “She’s a lot tougher than she looks,” Phoebe said. “I’m sure she’s already up and about, watering and talking to my plants.”

  He loved her small smile as she reached over, adjusting a few of the flowers in the vase on Rose’s desk. “Thanks for helping me her home. I’m not sure I could have done it alone. And thanks, too, for the rest of the day at the park. It was a lot of fun.”

  Patrick had to grin at having found a woman who thought being knee deep in cow manure was a good time.

  “What could be more fun than back-breaking work?”

  “Says the man who singlehandedly tackled a tree stump,” she teased back.

  “But I wasn’t single-handed,” Patrick pointed out. “I had you and Angela to help me out.”

  “The flowers you sent her are beautiful, incidentally,” Phoebe said softly. “Just what she’s always loved.”

  “I hope she likes them.”

  Her cheeks flushed again and he was this close to pulling her against him for a kiss when she said, “Actually, as a thank you, I would love it if you—” She broke off, her eyes widening at her slip. “I mean, we would love it if you came over to dinner tonight.”

  “I’d love to have dinner with you and your mother.”

  “Great. Will 7 o’clock work?”

  He nodded, very careful not to say “It’s a date.” Because if there was one phrase that would undoubtedly ruin things, that was it. Instead, he settled for a nod.

  Phoebe was quick to run off rather than stay and chat with him, but she had invited him to dinner. Okay, so her mother would be there too, but in some ways that actually felt closer than the alternative. Anyone could do the traditional first date dinner, and Patrick guessed that Phoebe had done it more than a few times, but how many men had she invited back to her apartment for dinner with her family?

  That was definitely something to think about.

  Then again, it wasn’t like he could stop thinking about Phoebe if he wanted to.