Читать книгу Prescription For Seduction - Darlene Scalera - Страница 11

Cookies. Brady smelled cookies. Mixed in with the rose and the lavender, the sandalwood and the gardenia, there was cinnamon, melting sugar and a richness so dense, the air around him seemed thick.

“Eden,” he called, his voice sounding slow and full in the fat air.

“Hello, Brady.”

He looked to the right, past the deep stainless steel sink and the crowded shelves to the stairs that led to the second floor. On the landing two big fuzzy bumblebees, their antennae bobbing, greeted him. From the whimsical slippers, Eden’s thin, bare legs stretched up like lollipop sticks into baggy shorts beneath an oversize cotton shirt. Her hair was pulled back, twisted up high and tight into a knot, except for two ends that had broken free. They stuck up like the rabbit ears children sneak behind another’s head in a photo. She came down the stairs fast and, at the bottom, paused, panting. She smiled, a faint pink in her cheeks and her eyes the deep purple of dawn. He wanted to kiss her so badly, he could almost taste her like the promise of cookies that came down the stairwell. He wanted to take her right there on the softly lit stairs with the swirl of smells around them.

Great. He’d gone from leering at Eden to seeing her stretched out, waiting for him on the staircase. Guilt grabbed him, gave him a hard shake. Shame came next. This was Eden—sweet, awkward Eden who taught the ladies auxiliary how to make balsam wreaths for the Christmas bazaar and made sure Guy Teator, the oldest resident of Worthington House but still the snappiest dresser in Tyler, always had a fresh boutonniere, free of charge.

She was in no way the type of woman that normally drew his attention. He preferred a more sophisticated type of woman. A woman with more curves, with artfully curled hair and carefully chosen clothes. A worldly, ambitious woman who enjoyed a relationship based on mutual respect and physical pleasures. A woman who didn’t expect a long-term commitment.

Eden wasn’t that type of woman.

He saw her spindly legs, her knees as he’d imagined, hard and round as apples picked too early. No, Eden was the opposite of the woman he usually dated.

Eden was the type of girl who’d fall in love.

He was staring again. Eden looked at her oversize bee slippers. Could she blame him? Had she really imagined desire in those jade green eyes? This had to stop. She had to stop.

Yet she said, “I baked cookies.”

“I shouldn’t have come.” He spoke in the tone of a man who was listened to, but he was leaning on the edge of the sink where the flowers were processed. “It’s too late. I’ve kept you up.”

“They’re oatmeal chocolate butterscotch.” A buzzer sounded from the second floor. “Oops, there’s the timer.” She turned and trotted up the steps. Brady hesitated, then followed those fuzzy yellow feet up the stairs.

The door at the top opened into a blue and white kitchen. Cookies cooled on the counter, the heat and smells welcoming him as if he’d come home.

Eden switched off the timer and opened the oven door. More heat and smells came like a child’s hungry dream, and, at that moment, Brady couldn’t think of anything more wonderful than warm oatmeal chocolate butterscotch cookies.

Eden straightened, the cookie sheet in her gloved hand, her face flushed, her eyes bright from the heat. He’d seen a similar look on women before, but they hadn’t been baking. They’d been in his bed.

He looked away. He was irredeemable. There was only one thing that could save him, that had always saved him. He looked at Eden. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He was saved.

“You can sit down and eat as many of these cookies as possible before I do.” She blew at a strand of hair that had fallen across her forehead and smiled at him.

He saw the rows of cookies cooling on the wire racks. Since lunch he’d only had three large cups of black coffee and a cranberry juice grabbed off a nutrition cart on its way to the floors. He took off his suit jacket, hung it evenly across the kitchen chair’s high back. “I could do that.”

She set a ceramic plate piled with cookies in the center of the round table and a smaller matching plate before him. “Something to drink?”

He leaned back, a content man. Her hand, covered with the oversize pot holder, jerked away from the back of his chair where it’d been resting. He glanced up at her.

She looked at him with her dark-violet eyes and her delicate smile. Her hand covered with the plaid pot holder was now gripping the other, bare one.

“Tea?” she offered, taking another step back.

He hated tea. “Tea would be great.” He pushed back his chair. “But let me help you.”

“No, no.” Her hands flew apart and patted the air above his shoulders. “You sit.”

She moved about the kitchen, filling the bright-red teakettle and setting it back on the stove, opening the stenciled cupboard, standing on her tiptoes and reaching up to the tea boxes on the upper shelf.

“Let’s see, I’ve got orange pekoe, cinnamon apple, peppermint…” She looked over her shoulder at him.

“Whatever you prefer.”

Her gaze moved to his empty plate, then back to him. “Eat, Brady.” Her voice was low and coaxing; her smile quiet. She waited until he reached for the cookie plate before turning back to the tea boxes.

“Mmm, orange pekoe, I think.” She opened another cupboard, took out two brightly colored mugs, shook a tea bag into each. On the stove, the kettle steamed.

Brady looked around the tiny kitchen as full of colors and patterns and shapes as the store below. Hand-painted plates hung on one wall. A vine was about to flower on the scalloped shelf above the sink. More flowers twined on a grapevine arched above the door and poked from the terra-cotta pots scattered around the room. Home Sweet Home was stenciled on the dish towels that hung from the oven door handle. Through the doorway that led into the next room, he saw peach-colored walls and a framed Norman Rockwell print. Eden was humming. She set a ceramic cow milk pitcher and a matching sugar bowl on the table. Next to them she placed a plastic bear of honey.

“Or do you prefer lemon?” she asked.

Definitely the marrying type. He shook his head. The uneaten cookie still waited in his hand.

A fat tangle of fur sauntered in from the next room.

“There you are, Penelope.” Eden set a steaming mug smelling of orange and cloves in front of Brady. “Come and say hello to Dr. Spencer.”

The cat stopped in the doorway and stared at Brady, as if reading his every thought.

“So…” Eden sat at the table, her mug cupped in her hands. “You had a late emergency?”

He nodded. The cat stared at him, its pupils narrow. The cookie was going cold in his hand. He took a bite and was ruined forever for any baked goods that came cellophane wrapped.

He finished the cookie in two bites and reached for more. He saw Eden watching him. “These are great.”

“Thank you.” She dropped her gaze, blew across the tea’s surface, but Brady could see she was smiling. She glanced up. The tiny smile was still there. “Have some more.”

Brady chewed. Definitely the marrying type. He glanced at the cat eyeing him. The cookies stuck in his throat. He picked up the mug beside his plate and took a large sip. He hated tea.

Eden lifted her own mug and sipped. “Good, huh?”

He swished the liquid in his mouth and gulped it down. “Delicious.”

Her smile widened, the corners of her eyes lifting. The steam from the cup warmed her face, made her eyes gleam. She had flawless skin, smooth as cream, meant to be touched.

He took a big bite of cookie and focused on the flavors blending in his mouth. He refused to look at Penelope.

“Was it very serious?” Eden asked. “The emergency?”

“Appendectomy. Routine procedure,” he said through a mouthful of cookie, “but the patient had been taking aspirin all day for the abdomen pain, and his blood was thinned out. Gave us some trouble clotting, but we got it under control. It just took a while longer.”

He took a bite of cookie and chewed. “You know…” He pointed the cookie at her. “You could take over the world with these cookies.”

She tipped her head back and laughed. She didn’t often laugh so loud and full. Not that she was grim. Not at all. It was just that silent smiles were more her style. This was nice, Brady decided, sitting here in this cozy kitchen, eating homemade cookies, listening to the sweet sound of Eden’s laughter.

“I mean it,” he said. “One bite would make the mightiest, meanest men your slaves.”

Her laughter continued. He watched it ripple up her throat’s long length, thinking how white and tender the skin was there.

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft, warm weight landing in his lap. “What the—?”

“Penelope, where’s your manners?” Eden scolded. “Get down off Dr. Spencer this minute.”

Staring up at Brady, Penelope blinked her wide-set eyes once and plopped dead center in his lap.

“Penelope Maybelle Patterson.” Eden sprang up, clapping her hands as she rounded the table. Penelope gave Brady one final slitted look, then slid off his lap.

“Shame on you. Getting cat hair all over Brady’s expensive suit.” Eden swiped at Brady’s pant legs.

One brush of her hands across the length of his thighs and he felt the low, beginning heat of desire. He looked at her. Penelope stared at her, too.

Realizing the intimacy of her touch, Eden stopped. Her face colored. As she straightened, she met Brady’s stare and froze, her color deepening.

He smiled the smile used to reassure anxious patients. “You surprise me, Eden.”

“I do?” It was a whisper, her vivid-colored eyes wide.

“Do you give all your pets full names?”

A smile started. “Don’t you?” She went back to her seat. A little more of her smile returned, but when she picked up her tea, she had to grip the mug with both hands.

“Except for the occasional frog or lightning bug, I never had any pets.”

“None?”

“Seth had a collie once when we were young, but it got loose and ran away. About a week later my dad was driving us to the fishing derby up at Timber Lake, and we saw the collie lying on the side of the road. A car had hit him.” His gaze moved past her. “We never had any more pets after that.”

He picked up his mug and took a sip. He really hated tea.

“I didn’t have any brothers or sisters.” Eden was still holding her mug too tightly. “For my parents, after twenty-two years of trying to have children without success, I was a total surprise. A nice one, they always assured me, but after all that time when it’d only been the two of them, I definitely disrupted their lives. Anyway, I guess I always thought of my pets as real people, the brothers and sisters I’d never had.”

Brady thought of his own brothers, how close they’d always been—especially after their mother had left them. Not that they ever talked about what happened. Their father had forbidden it. There’d been twenty-three years of silence until a few months ago when his father had relented and given Cooper Night Hawk permission to look into his wife’s whereabouts. It was Coop who had found out Violet had died in childbirth seven months after she ran off with another man.

Brady looked into Eden’s eyes and cleared his throat. “I guess I should order the flowers I want to send.”

She straightened the platter of cookies, pushing it closer to him. “There’s plenty of time. Have another cookie.”

He picked up a fifth cookie.

“Let me get you a fresh cup of tea.” She reached across the table for his mug. “Maybe cinnamon apple this time?”

He saw the concern in her extraordinary eyes. “That’d be great.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, his behavior once more surprising him. It wasn’t an unpleasant surprise though. He didn’t even want to analyze it. He only wanted to watch Eden as she moved around the kitchen. Her face was still tinged with pink, and soon she was humming again. Not an unpleasant surprise at all.

She turned on the burner under the kettle and came back to the table. She looked at him, her hands grasping the edge of her chair. “We’ll sit and drink some tea, eat some cookies, and you can tell me all about your day.”

WHICH WAS PRECISELY what he did, Brady thought as he walked to the hospital the next morning. It had been almost midnight by the time he’d left Eden’s and returned to his condo. He’d slept like a drunken man. Too much sugar, he’d decided.

He sidestepped a puddle. The temperatures had stayed defiantly warm, reducing winter to no more than black patches of soggy soil or an occasional wet stain on the sidewalk. The birds had come home. Women once again wore skirts and short-sleeved shirts baring long stretches of skin. The men walked slower, steadier. Even Brady’s steps this morning weren’t the usual military march but almost approached a stroll. He’d decided to take the long way around the town square. When he spied Cooper coming out of Marge’s Diner, a scowl on his face, it didn’t seem possible anyone could be unhappy on this sun-warmed morning.

“Coop.”

The town deputy turned, his natural Native American looks made even more dramatic by his brooding expression. He was considered a fourth son to the Spencer family not because of his physical looks but because of the strong emotional bonds between him and the Spencer men. Seeing Brady, he smiled. Still his dark-brown eyes were somber.

Brady smiled at his family’s best friend. “Kinda early to look so mean. What happened? Did Marge run out of blueberry pancakes before you got there?”

“Now you know that has never happened in the history of Tyler. And probably never will, God willing.” Coop’s guarded gaze assessed the doctor. “You seem awful happy for a man whose boss is watching him right now, probably wondering why you’re wasting time harassing Tyler’s finest when you should be at work.”

Through the diner’s front windows, Brady saw Jeff Baron seated in one of the red vinyl booths lining the walls. Beside him was Cece. They were both smiling as they waved. Brady waved back, his own grin widening. He was about to turn back to Coop when he noticed the new waitress, Caroline Benning, staring at him from behind the counter. They’d formally met at the Christmas Eve party up at the Timberlake Lodge. He raised his hand to wave hello, but she looked away and began refilling the coffee cups of the diners that occupied every seat at the L-shaped counter.

“That new girl—”

“Caroline Benning.” Coop stopped smiling.

“She seems like a nice kid.” The two men started walking toward the center of town.

“She’s hiding something.”

Brady stopped, looked curiously at Coop.

“I can’t prove anything yet. It’s a feeling I’ve got. That woman has secrets.”

“We all have secrets, Coop.” Brady tried to restore his friend’s earlier smile.

“Maybe, but that lady has a big secret. I can feel it in my gut.”

Brady’s surprise increased. Everyone knew Coop was a man who believed in facts, not intuition or other intangible feelings.

“Don’t tell me you’re listening to all that gossip still going round?”

“I’m not the one who was found tangled up in the shrubs outside your dad’s house,” Coop pointed out as the two men passed the law firm where Brady’s brother, Quinn, was a partner.

“She said she was trying to catch a stray cat,” Brady noted.

“Then where was the cat?”

“Obviously, she didn’t catch it.”

“Obviously, there was no cat.”

“C’mon, Coop.” The two men turned onto Maple, nodded hello to Annabelle Scanlon opening up the post office. “What deep, dark secret could Caroline Benning possibly be hiding?”

“That’s what I intend to find out.”

Brady didn’t doubt it. Coop was good at finding things out. It’d taken him less than two months to find out about Violet’s death. Less than two months to answer the question Brady had secretly wondered for twenty-three years: When is my mother coming home? Now he knew. Never.

“Don’t you trust anybody?” Brady asked.

Coop looked at him, one dark brow arching. They both knew it was the pot calling the kettle black. “Occupational hazard, Doc.”

They walked a few more steps. Coop shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong.”

Brady saw the strong set of Coop’s profile and knew the other man didn’t believe he was mistaken about Caroline Benning.

“No wonder you haven’t found your Woman of the River yet,” Brady said, referring to the local story of Coop’s ancestor and namesake, Night Hawk, whose dream of a hawk eventually led him to his own true love. “You think every woman you meet is Mata Hari.”

Coop shifted his impenetrable gaze to Brady. Everyone knew the story of Coop’s ancestor. Everyone also knew Coop believed the legend was just that—a legend. Nothing more.

“It’s bad enough every time I see your brothers, I have to listen to them go on about the wonders of married life and watch them get all sentimental and sloppy,” he said, “but at least I thought I could count on you to stay sane and steer clear of all this mush.”

He glanced down at the flowered canister Brady was carrying. Some of his smile returned. “But what can I expect from a man who spends his free time making cookies for the hospital bake sale?”

“Bake sale? These cookies are mine, and I’m not sharing them with anyone, so stop angling for a handout.”

Coop studied the tin. “Must be pretty special cookies. When did you take home ec?”

“I didn’t make these cookies. They were given to me by a friend.”

“I see…” Coop mused, contemplating the tin.

Brady saw his friend’s speculative gaze. “What now, Columbo?”

Coop looked at him. “When did you start going for the Betty Crocker type? All the women I’ve seen you with are serious career gals whose idea of a gourmet meal comes with a waiter.”

“I didn’t say I was dating this woman. I said we were friends.”

Coop laughed, dismissing Brady’s answer.

Brady stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “You don’t believe me?”

“Sure, I believe you.” Laughter was still traced in the strong lines of the young man’s face.

“No, you don’t.” Brady’s good mood was fading.

Coop eyed the canister. “You’re not going to give me a cookie now, are you?”

Unsmiling, Brady lifted the tin’s lid and grudgingly held out the cookies. Coop took a handful. He tipped his head in the direction of First Street. “Gotta go. See you Sunday at your dad’s.”

Brady nodded. Coop started toward the police substation. Brady knew the other man’s skepticism was justified. Brady’s many relationships with women weren’t for friendship. They were for fun, relaxation and mutually agreed-on good, clean sex. No strings, no soul searching, no complications. It was the way he—and the women he dated—preferred it. In fact, he maintained a comfortable distance in all his personal and professional relationships.

Except for Eden. She had only to tilt her head and smile and it seemed he had no secrets. It had never been that way with anyone before.

“Hey, Brady,” Coop called. Chewing, he held up a half-eaten cookie. “Marry this woman.” With a rare laugh, he turned and continued down First Street.

MOLLY SPENCER balanced a stuffed rabbit in each hand. “These bunnies are so cute. When did you get them in?”

“Just yesterday.” Eden came over to the wicker étagère. “There’ll be more coming in a few days.”

Molly put one bunny down and took a cookie from the plate Eden offered. “Good thing Sara isn’t with me. She’d want one in every color.” She pressed a butter-yellow bunny to her cheek. “I don’t think I can resist this one, though. I’ll put it away for her Easter basket.”

“Goodness, they are adorable,” Anna Kelsey agreed as she joined the women. She picked up a sky-blue bunny. “You have the nicest things, Eden. And the loveliest shop. So pleasant. Not to mention these fabulous cookies,” she added as she took one. “It’s so generous of you to make the floral decorations for Jenna’s baby shower.”

“It’s my pleasure. Why don’t we sit and have a cup of tea?” She indicated the small wrought-iron table and chairs in the corner. Nearby a tea cart offered all the fixings. “I’ll bring over some books for you to look at, and we can figure out exactly what colors and flowers you’d like.”

Anna looked at Molly. “Do we have time before we have to pick up the kids from Kaity’s?”

Molly glanced at her watch. “Sure, we’ve got a few minutes.”

“Good. And I think I’ll bring this little fella with me.” Anna carried the stuffed animal to the table. She smiled down into the bunny’s eyes, the same brilliant blue as her own. “I’ll save it for Jeremy’s basket.”

Molly set her purse on the chair and went to the tea cart. “Easter?” She smiled and winked at Eden. “Ten to one, Jeremy will have that bunny before lunch.”

Anna settled into a chair. “Grandma is my name. Spoiling is my game.”

Laughing, Molly brought the older woman a cup of tea.

“What?” Anna stirred sugar into her tea. “You’re trying to tell me that Sara isn’t getting spoiled by that new daddy of hers?”

A loving curve came to Molly’s lips at the mention of her new husband, Quinn.

“And what about those new uncles of hers?” Anna noted. “Why, Brady stood on that sidewalk right out there two nights ago and told me that Sara is ‘pure adorable.’” She took another cookie. “Eden, you’ve got to give me the recipe for these. They’re wonderful.”

“You saw Brady the other night?” Molly sat down at the table.

“Let me get those books to give you some ideas what we can do for Jenna’s shower,” Eden suggested.

Anna nodded in response to Molly’s question. “Yes. My mother had come over for pot roast, and it was such a lovely evening, Mom insisted on walking back to Worthington House. Eighty-seven, and I swear the woman has more energy than a teenager.” Anna sipped her tea. “She doesn’t miss a trick, either.”

“We haven’t seen much of Brady lately.” Molly tapped her spoon on the edge of the cup, then set it on the saucer. “He doesn’t dare miss Sunday night dinners at Quinn’s father’s, of course. Elias would write him out of the will. But even then he seems, well, preoccupied. Quinn says that’s just Brady.” She broke a cookie in half. “Of course, he knows him better than I, but I still say something’s bothering him.”

“You know, the other night he did seem a little odd.” Anna nibbled on a cookie. “He appeared out of nowhere. Came out of the alley right next to the shop here. Scared the pudding out of me. Didn’t faze Mom a bit. Just gave her more ammo to tease him with.”

Eden returned to the table with several books. “Why don’t we start with these? There’s some wonderful ideas in them, but I have more books if you don’t see anything you like here.”

“What was he doing in the alley?” Molly took a book from the top of the stack but didn’t open it.

“He didn’t say,” Anna replied. “I assumed he was on his way home from the hospital. He walks all the time no matter what the weather.” Anna smiled at Eden. “He didn’t stop in here to pick out some posies, did he?”

Eden opened the book Molly had selected and pointed to a picture. “Do you like this? See how the baskets are made to look like cradles?”

“Brady in a flower shop?” Molly smiled. “Wouldn’t that be something like a bull in a china shop?”

Anna chuckled in agreement. “I do love the boy, but we all know he’s not exactly the hearts-and-flowers type.”

“He’s a great doctor, though. He was wonderful with Sara that time she had the flu.”

“He’s one of Tyler’s best surgeons. The people around here trust him. The doctors and nurses respect him. So, he may not win Mr. Congeniality. Everybody knows beneath that no-nonsense attitude is a compassionate heart. Handholding doesn’t put people back on their feet. Although he did give Mom a big buss on the cheek the other night. I don’t know which one of them was more surprised.”

Molly looked at the other woman. “See what I mean? That’s what I’m talking about. If I hadn’t seen him lately, I wouldn’t believe it, either. But I don’t know. The man is acting peculiar.”

Anna sipped her tea. “Well, maybe not so much peculiar as—what did you say earlier—preoccupied?”

Molly nodded.

“It’s probably stress. He has a billion things on his mind, and it’s only natural he sometimes gets as absentminded as the rest of us mortals. I’m sure that’s what it was the other night when he seemed so confused.”

“Confused?” Molly questioned.

“As if he didn’t know which way he was going,” Anna explained. “He came out of the alley, turned one way, walked a few steps, stopped, started again, stopped. Then he spun around and came our way.”

“Maybe we should pick the color theme first. How about yellow or pink, blue, lavender?” Eden suggested. “Or did you have a specific flower preference?”

Molly glanced at the photo in the book opened on the table, but she said, “Quinn said Brady was born a doctor.”

“Well, he always did have a grown-up air about him, even when he was a youngster. Didn’t he, Eden?” Anna didn’t wait for a reply. “Of course, he had to grow up in a hurry. All the boys did after Violet ran off. It’s not really my place to say, but I don’t think it ever helped that Elias wouldn’t talk to them about it.”

Molly nodded. The two other women knew she was thinking of her own husband and how she’d almost lost him to the past.

“In my opinion it would’ve done those boys some good to talk about it, but Elias didn’t allow it. Violet was gone, and that was that. They had to deal with it. As the middle child, Brady always was the bridge between the two other boys, but after Violet left, he really took on the role of the family fixer. He tried to take care of everyone.” Anna glanced at Eden. “You were probably too young to remember.”

No, she remembered. She remembered the lines already etched in his brow, his face too solemn for a teen, as he’d blotted the blood off her scraped knees. She remembered him caught somewhere between boyhood and manhood, already trying to heal the world around him.

Anna chewed thoughtfully. “He’s a good man.” She looked at Eden again for confirmation.

Eden nodded.

“Mom sure gave the poor fella a heck of a time the other night.” Anna smiled at the memory. “Wanted to know when he was going to come to his senses like his brothers did and settle down, start a family.”

“I’m sure he’d have no trouble finding a candidate. Lord knows, he’s interviewed enough of them.” Molly winked at the women.

“Is that what you young people are calling it nowadays?” Anna still smiled. “From the impression I got the other night, he seems bound and determined to keep his status as the last single Spencer brother.”

“The right girl hasn’t come along yet, that’s all.” Molly touched the corners of her mouth with one of the linen napkins Eden always had folded in a small basket. “And she’s obviously not here in Tyler because he knows every available girl in town and has dated over half of them.”

“He does get around, but I bet he ends up with someone not from Tyler. Someone like that city doctor he was seeing a while back. That’s the only relationship I think he’s had that has lasted longer than a date or two.”

Molly stirred her tea. “Maybe Jenna has some friends or cousins back in New York City? You can’t get much more big city than that.”

“Well, whoever she is and wherever she comes from, I’ll bet when the right girl comes along, Dr. Brady Spencer will fall like a sack of bricks.” Anna winked at Molly. “Just like his brothers.”

Eden stood, her chair scraping against the tiles. The other women looked at her. “I’ll get you both some more tea,” she offered.

“Goodness, no.” Molly glanced at her watch. “I’d love some, but it’s almost time to pick up the kids and we haven’t even looked at the flowers.” She slid the opened book toward Anna. “This is pretty, isn’t it?”

Eden carried her cup to the cart, straightened the china, lined up the silver spoons, waited for the roil of emotions within her to calm. She knew everything the women had said was the truth. Brady may not have found the right woman yet, but when he did, she would be sophisticated and dynamic, his equal in terms of experience, affluence and professional background. She wouldn’t be a twenty-seven-year-old virgin whose most serious relationship to date had been with a cat.

“I like this with all the baby’s breath and the Easter egg colors,” Eden heard Anna say behind her.

Not that anyone in Tyler would consider that the attractive, seductive Dr. Spencer would ever be interested in someone like her. Eden tucked in the corner of a napkin. Even she knew her fantasies were ludicrous, had told herself hundreds of times. Anna and Molly would be shocked if they even suspected she entertained such thoughts. Brady Spencer and Eden Frazier? Preposterous.

“We really only need a large centerpiece for the buffet table,” Anna said, “and a few smaller arrangements for the cake table. These cradle-looking baskets Eden showed us are nice.”

“Maybe some type of floral favors? What do you think, Eden?” Molly asked.

What did she think? At that particular moment she was thinking how just once she’d like to be thought of as more than good ol’ Eden, as constant and predictable as Timber Lake’s spring rising…and about half as exciting.