LITMIR.BIZ

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she came back from the beach. And it wasn’t so much that I knew anything. I suppose I was just hoping that was the case.”

      She frowned at his statement. “You didn’t like him?”

      “Hated him, as a matter of fact.”

      She looked startled. “But you never said a word.”

      “You’re a grown woman. Some mistakes are yours to make.”

      “And you thought Marty was a mistake,” she said, still sounding just a little stunned. “Why?”

      “He was condescending to you,” he said simply. “No man has a right to talk to anyone the way he spoke to you. The only thing I found more offensive was that you took it as long as you did.”

      She sucked in a breath at the gentle scolding. “I admired him,” she admitted in a small, humiliated voice that made Mick want to draw her into his arms and tell her she was worth a thousand Martin Demmings. “And he wasn’t always like that. He taught me so much, Dad. He really did. And when he wanted to be charming, no one could possibly resist, least of all me. I suppose I craved the kind of attention he lavished on me at the beginning.”

      “And now you’ve seen him for what he is,” he told her. “Good for you.”

      She smiled then, and she was his little girl again, basking in his praise. Seeing the way her eyes lit up, he had to ask himself what the hell he’d been thinking by staying away so much that any of his kids had lost confidence in themselves. There wasn’t a one of them—even Jess with her ADD—who wasn’t smart and strong and talented, each in their own unique way.

      Unfortunately, Megan had taken off and he’d lost himself

      in work. He’d left it to his mother to teach the kids to value themselves. He knew without a doubt Nell O’Brien had done that in every way she knew how, but obviously it hadn’t been enough for Bree to counter being all but abandoned by both her parents during those critical early teen years. She’d been easy prey for a man like Demming.

      “So, is it just breaking up with Demming that has you so miserable?” he asked.

      “I’m not miserable,” she immediately said with a lightning-quick flash of heat.

      “Okay, you’re the expert when it comes to words. You tell me the right one to describe your mood.”

      She considered the question, her expression thoughtful. “Lost,” she said eventually. “Gram said that a few days ago and she got it exactly right.”

      “Why would a woman who’s making a name for herself in the career she chose be feeling lost?” he asked, trying to make sense of it.

      “Because the name I’m making isn’t that great anymore,” she admitted.

      “You got rave reviews for that first play of yours,” Mick reminded her. “There was even talk about taking it to NewYork.”

      “And then the second play didn’t do so well, and the third one bombed,” she said, her voice empty of emotion.

      “Then you’ll write a fourth,” he said confidently. “Better than the first one.”

      Bree shook her head. “Not now. My heart’s just not in it. I need to start over, try something new.” Her gaze met his. “Which is why I rented a space on Main Street and plan to open a flower shop in it.”

      Mick couldn’t have been more stunned or dismayed if she’d announced an intention to take up pole dancing. Not that

      there was anything at all wrong with owning a flower shop—or pole dancing, for that matter, if one was so inclined—but Bree’s talents lay elsewhere. So did her heart, no matter how wounded she was feeling at the moment.

      He knew, though, that he had to tread carefully. After all, he’d promised to limit his advice and to accept her decisions.

      “Are you sure you want to make such a drastic change?”

      She nodded, her expression eager. “I really do.” She must have seen the skeptical look he hadn’t been able to hide, because she added, “I know what you’re thinking, but I can keep my laptop in the back room, write whenever I have some free time.”

      “Bree, honey, I know those Main Street leases are for two years. That’s a long time to be tied down.”

      “I prefer to think of it as having some stability in my life,” she countered.

      “Flowers,” he said, then shook his head. “You’re sure you’ll be happy fiddling with a bunch of posies?”

      “Marty asked the exact same thing,” she said, giving him a pointed look that made him cringe. “And the answer is that I think so. There’s only one way to find out for certain.”

      “Okay, then,” he said, concluding she needed support and practical thinking, not criticism, right now. “How much of your trust-fund money are you putting into this? I don’t want to see you lose that nest egg.”

      She frowned at that. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad.”

      “I didn’t mean it that way.”

      “Yes, you did,” she said. “And it’s okay. It just makes me want to work harder to prove you wrong. Besides, I thought you always said that you put the money into those funds so we’d be able to buy a house or start a business when the time came. That’s all I’m doing.”

      “Then I don’t have a leg to stand on, do I?” he said, relenting. “You’ll tell me what I can do to help. I’ll come down there with you tomorrow, if you want me to. I can help you figure out any construction you’ll need, custom cabinets for supplies, a front desk, an island workspace in back. Whatever you want, that’ll be my gift to you.”

      “The trust fund was more than enough,” she objected.

      “I bought that fancy stove for Jess. A few cabinets and storage nooks and crannies is the least I can do for you. Or would you rather have me buy you one of those big coolers that they keep the flowers in?”

      She hesitated, then asked, “Would you build the cabinets yourself?”

      He recognized what she was really asking. Would he be right there, spending time with her, making himself a part of this crazy new project of hers?

      “I have crews that are better at this than I am,” he told her. Her immediate expression of dismay told him he’d been right about what she really wanted, so he quickly added, “But if you don’t mind that things might be less than perfect, I suppose I can still find my way around with a few tools and some wood.”

      She jumped up and threw her arms around him, the way she had when she was little and he’d just come home from a business trip. “I want you to do it,” she said, giving him an exuberant kiss on the cheek. “Then I’ll be able to tell everyone who comes in that the interior was hand-built by the famed architect Mick O’Brien. If you’re involved, it’s going to be amazing, I just know it. Heck, one of these days my shop could qualify to be put on the National Register of Historic Places.”

      “More like a few hundred years,” he retorted. “And that’s assuming someone doesn’t come along after the two of us are dead and tear them out so they can sell hot dogs.”

      She laughed at that, her entire demeanor suddenly carefree. Mick didn’t kid himself that it would be that easy to wipe away all the hits she’d taken in Chicago, but if opening a flower shop could put that kind of sparkle in her eyes even for a little while, he was not going to be the one to question it.

      Jake, Will and Mack were having lunch at Sally’s when he noticed his friends exchanging meaningful looks, which could only mean they had something to say about Bree and they weren’t sure how he was going to react.

      He set down his BLT and frowned at them. “Just say it,” he ordered. “What have you heard about Bree

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