Aphrodite's Garden (A Fast Break Romance) Read online

  APHRODITE’S GARDEN

  A Fast Break Romance

  by

  Deborah Grace Staley

  This is a work of fiction. Names characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Deborah Grace Staley

  P.O. Box 672

  Vonore, TN 37885

  Copyright © 2011 Deborah Grace Staley

  This work of fiction was previously published by Elan Press and Echelon Press.

  All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Cover Design:

  Deborah Smith

  Cover Photo Credits: © Dron - Fotolia.com

  *

  Dedication

  For Ethan Staley

  Thanks for the roses on Mother’s Day and for being a phenomenal son!

  Aphrodite’s Garden

  “What do you mean there are no roses?”

  Aimee Rose looked at her teenage son and said, “There’ll be no roses for the town’s Rose Day Celebration, or for June weddings and anniversaries, or probably even for the rest of the year.” She placed another red carnation in the arrangement she was working on, alternating white and pink. Exhaustion pulled at her like a weight pressing down on her shoulders. “People will just have to use other types of flowers this year for their special occasions.”

  “But nothing says ‘I love you’ like a dozen roses. That’s what you always say. Heck, it’s your motto, Mom. No one does roses like you.”

  “It can’t be helped, Ethan. A blight has taken out the entire rose crop from all the suppliers in the southeast. Growers are afraid the bushes and vines are a total loss. That they’ll have to replant.”

  “But–”

  “You’re going to be late for basketball practice, honey.”

  “But–”

  Aimee reached out and touched her son’s shoulder. The concern etching his features made her eyes sting, but she refused to cry. She couldn’t afford to, not now. She had to focus every ounce of creative energy she possessed toward creating the most spectacular arrangements she could for the anniversary orders she had without using roses. Problem was, for the past ten years, she’d done no arrangements without them. They were her signature.

  Every single arrangement contained at least one rose. “It’ll be all right. Now, off with you. I’ll meet you at home for supper.” Ethan leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Okay, Mom.

  Love you.”

  “I love you, too, honey. Be safe.”

  The tinkling, heart-shaped bells on her front door jingled as her son left. Aimee turned back to the arrangement she’d been struggling to create. It smelled sickeningly sweet to her. How she missed the unique, spicy scent of her roses. No matter what she added to the arrangement, it fell flat. Nothing could lend the elegance or romance of a rose to a floral arrangement.

  She sat back on her stool and rested her chin in her hand.

  Three days before the Garden Club’s annual Rose Day Celebration.

  They’d been holding the event every year in Perry, Georgia for as long as Aimee could remember, but this year was special. Congress had declared it the Year of the Rose, and June National Rose Month. The ladies had been working overtime to make this Rose Day extra special as a sort of kick-off to a month of events. They’d scheduled garden tours, teas, seminars, fashion shows, a beauty pageant . . . but now they were faced with the stark reality that there would be no roses this June.

  It was normally one of the busiest times of the year for Aimee. Rose day aside, she would be planning for weddings and making arrangements for all the anniversaries that those weddings created. But the phone hadn’t rung more than twice today. Without the income she received in June, she didn’t know how she’d make ends meet. She couldn’t even think about what might happen if there were no more roses for the rest of the year. And with Ethan starting college in the fall . . . well, she knew her son’s father would be as financially unavailable as he’d been absent since the divorce.

  The bells tinkled again, signaling that she had a customer.

  Her first of the day. Aimee looked up to see a voluptuous woman with a Marilyn Monroe walk enter her shop. She wore a form-fitting white suit and red stiletto pumps. Her long, thick blond hair hung in waves nearly to her waist beneath the wide brim of a red straw hat. Her red leather purse . . . heart-shaped.

  Aimee belatedly snapped her mouth shut and stood. She met the woman at the counter and said, “Hi. How may I help you?” The woman plopped her purse onto the counter and removed her hat. “Oh, honey, you’ve done more than enough to help me. I’m here to give you a hand.”

  Aimee frowned. “I beg your pardon?” She’d never seen the strikingly beautiful woman before in her life.

  “Forgive me.” The woman smiled and extended her hand.

  “I’m Venus.”

  She shook the woman’s hand and said, “Aimee Rose. I own Aphrodite’s Garden.”

  “Yes, that’s how you know me. But I prefer Venus.

  Aphrodite’s such a mouth full.”

  Aimee blinked, her hand still held in a warm, firm grip by this person who called herself Venus. A not unpleasant tingly feeling radiated up Aimee’s arm from where the woman touched her. Aimee’s tiredness and body aches from weeks of worry and lack of sleep seemed to evaporate. She removed her hand, but felt inexplicably energized and . . . hopeful.

  “There, now,” Venus said, clearly pleased with herself.

  “That’s a start.”

  “I’m sorry?” Aimee rubbed her hand down the side of her jeans, but the near euphoric feeling penetrating her body persisted.

  Man, she felt like she could happily run a marathon, and she wasn’t a runner.

  “You need roses.”

  “Y–Yes, I do. But there aren’t any to be had. A blight has–”

  “Oh, blight smite.” The woman waived her hand dismissively. “I know all about it. Aries. He’s always looking for ways to put a cramp in my style. No better way than to screw up June weddings and anniversaries with no roses. I mean, every bride should carry a huge bouquet of roses on her wedding day. Don’t you agree?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Well, you can be certain that I have a few tricks up my sleeve, and I take care of my own.”

  Aimee blinked. She had no idea what this Venus person was babbling about. There was not one single viable stem in the southeast.

  “It’s okay, I can explain. You see, roses are like my flower of choice, and Aries knows it. With him being the god of war, he thought he could generate some discord in a lot of relationships if he took out all the roses just before June gets really geared up. Are you following me, hon?”

  “You mean Aries? Like in mythology?”

  “Yes, of course. Do you know someone else named Aries?”

  “N–No,” Aimee managed. This woman was certifiable. She wondered if she should call her friend Becky to come over from the mental health center to assess the poor dear.

  “I’m not crazy, Aimee. I know that meeting the goddess of love isn’t an everyday occurrence, so I won’t hold it against you.

  Not after all you’ve done for me.”

  “Done for you?”

  “Of course. I have to admit that your shop is special to me, and not just because you named it for me. I chose you. It was a no-brainer, really. I me
an, a florist whose name is Rose! So, I gave it to you, and for years now, you’ve dedicated yourself to hooking people up.”

  Aimee was lost. “What did you give me?”

  “The gift. You have a goddess given ability to create the perfect arrangement of roses to help soothe a quarrel, to celebrate a wedding, to welcome a new child into the world, to mark an anniversary, and yes, above all, to make Valentine’s Day, my day, special. It’s your gig. You made the last Valentine’s Day so special, we’re covered up with June weddings.

  “Anyway, I’m here to make sure you don’t lose the use of your gift. Zeus knows I need your help, what with all the divorce we have to contend with. I really hate Aries for inventing that one.” Frown lines marred the flawless perfection of Venus’s face.

  “Oh, my,” Aimee whispered.

  “I can see you need convincing.” Venus touched her hand and said, “Look into my eyes, honey. Don’t be afraid.” Aimee swallowed hard and made eye contact with the most perfect set of blue eyes she’d ever seen. Suddenly, the room seemed to spin and something like silver and gold dust swirled around her.

  In the haze, she saw a garden. A beautiful garden filled with row upon row of perfect roses. Every color, every variety, all carefully tended by the nurturing hand of a tall, handsome man.

  The vision dissipated, and Aimee once again focused on the blue eyes of the woman standing before her.

  “Aires can’t touch this man’s garden. It’s protected by Zeus, and Aries wouldn’t dare incite Daddy’s wrath.” Venus giggled. “He’s afraid of lightening. Can you believe? The god of war, he cowers like a baby when Daddy throws his lightning bolts.” Her laughter was as light and carefree as the tinkling bells on Aimee’s shop door.

  This is for real, Aimee thought. How can this be for real?

  Is this what sleep deprivation does to a person? At some point, do you begin to hallucinate?

  “You’re not hallucinating, honey. You gotta have a little faith. I’ve brought you this far. I won’t desert you now.” She dug into her heart-shaped purse and pulled out a card, then handed it to Aimee. It had a man’s name and a Macon, Georgia address on it.

  “Go and see this man. He has all the roses you’ll need for the rest of your life.” Venus winked, then continued. “It might take some convincing to get him to part with them for commercial use, but it’s time the two of you combined resources . . . if you know what I mean.”

  Aimee shook her head. “I don’t. I truly don’t.” Venus leaned against the counter. “I’ll give it to you straight, honey. You’ve done the loner thing too long. You deserve some big, broad shoulders to help carry the load.” She leaned back and put on her hat. “I’ll pay him a visit, so he’ll be expecting you.” She fussed with the angle of her hat before continuing. “There’s no time to lose. June first and the Rose Day Parade are only three days away. And that’s just the beginning of the month’s love- ly festivities.”

  Venus grabbed her purse and sashayed to the door. “Get rid of that horrid sign that says ‘No Roses’ and replace it with one that says ‘Get Your Roses Here.’ Have your friend, Becky, come in tomorrow to watch the shop. You should make the trip to see Ken first thing in the morning.”

  “But–”

  Venus turned, her hand resting on the doorknob. “Don’t lose faith. Help’s less than a hundred miles up the road.” Aimee looked at the card. “I don’t know.” She couldn’t afford to take a day away from the shop.

  “I’ve gotten my people out of tighter scrapes than this. If I could work something out with Hades and Persephone, trust me, a few roses are a piece of cake. Now, be a good messenger of love and promise me you’ll go first thing in the morning.”

  “I promise,” she heard herself say. I must be nuts.

  *

  At nine a.m. the next morning, Aimee pulled into 222

  Lover’s Lane. Unbelievable. And the man’s name? Kenneth Hart man. It was like something out of a B-movie, yet here she sat.

  She killed the ignition. Convincing her friend, Becky, to give up her day off and cover the phones at the shop had been a dicey proposition. In the end, she’d just told her that she had a line on the mother lode of roses, and she had to go check it out personally.

  Mr. Hartman apparently lived in a two-story, yellow Victorian, complete with white gingerbread trim and picket fence.

  She got out of the car and walked to the gate. After she pushed it open, Aimee stood on the sidewalk. Climbing rose bushes, heavy with blooms, grew along the fence and front porch railing, thriving in the warm sunshine of spring. Unable to resist, she walked over to a red Mr. Lincoln Rose, and cupping it in both hands, buried her nose in its soft petals. So fragrant and beautiful. Perfect in fact. The glossy green leaves showed absolutely no sign of insect damage.

  It’s like they’d been produced in a hot house rather than along a sidewalk leading up to someone’s front porch. And beyond these, down the sloping lawn, there were row after row of roses of every variety and cover, just like she’d seen in the vision.

  Aimee rubbed her eyes. How could this be happening? How could she have seen something she’d never seen before?

  Focus, Aimee. None of that matters, a voice inside her head said. You need roses and you’ve found them, just like you were told you would. Now, go get them.

  She focused on the wood and glass front door and took a fortifying deep breath. Roses. She needed roses, and this man, by some trick of nature, had them. She just had to convince him to sell to her. She could do this.

  She walked up the sidewalk to stand on the wide front porch. With her finger poised above the doorbell, she almost lost her nerve, but the door swung open before she had a chance to sound the warning of her presence. She looked up into the soft brown eyes of possibly the most stunning man she’d ever met . . .

  the man she’d seen tending roses when Venus had touched her yesterday. He stood well over six feet tall with tousled, sun-streaked, sandy brown hair, the kind that grew just a bit on the long side and made a woman’s fingers itch to feel its texture. He wore a pair of red flannel pajama pants and nothing else.

  “Oh–I’m sorry,” she stammered. She pressed her hand against her throat and explained, “I was just about to ring the bell.” He didn’t seem at all uncomfortable. He stooped down and picked up the morning paper that lay at her feet. In the process, he allowed his gaze to travel from her toes to her face and back.

  Goose flesh erupted over Aimee’s entire body. Breathing became a cumbersome task. Her eyes were drawn to his broad shoulders and muscular chest lightly covered with silky brown hair.

  He cleared his throat. When she looked back up at his face, she noticed that a rakish grin pulled at one corner of his sensuous mouth. “Can I help you?”

  His deep, South Georgia drawl, softened by remnants of sleep, tugged at every point of awareness in Aimee’s body. She recognized that she really needed to pull it together before he slammed his vintage door in her face, but it didn’t seem to be in the cards for her immediate future. Not with him standing there, all that beautiful bare skin exposed . . . enticing her.

  “I’m looking for Kenneth Hartman?”

  “That’s me,” he confirmed. “Do you have an emergency?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come in,” he said.

  All vestiges of sleep seemed to leave him in an instant.

  Aimee wished she could find her tongue and make her brain work as quickly.

  “Is your child in the car? Do you need me to help bring him or her in?”

  “Him, and no,” Aimee said, puzzled.

  “Okay. I’ll just throw on a shirt, grab my bag, and you can take me to him.”

  He turned and sprinted up the stairs.

  “No, you don’t understand. My child is fine.” He stopped mid-way up and walked back down. Maybe she should have waited to clear up the misunderstanding after he’d put on a shirt. Geez, she felt almost compelled to touch him. She clasped her hands behind her back. “Are you
a doctor?”

  “Yes. A pediatrician. It’s not unusual for folks to show up here on the weekend with an emergency. I just assumed . . .”

  “I’m sorry. I had no idea you were a doctor.”

  “Let’s start over. Please call me Ken.”

  “Thank you, and I’m Aimee. Aimee Rose.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Aimee.” He folded his arms across his chest. “So, what is your emergency?”

  “I’m here about your roses.”

  The gorgeous man frowned. “My roses?”

  “Yes. Venus sent me.”

  “Venus?”

  “Aphrodite? She said she stopped by and told you about me? I own Aphrodite’s Garden in Perry?”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know a Venus Aphrodite. What a name.”

  He smiled. Dear Lord, could a person’s heart actually leap in response to a man’s smile?

  “Yes, meeting her was pretty overwhelming. She insisted that I come here. She assured me that you’d be willing to help me meet demand for June. You know, weddings, anniversaries, and then there’s the Perry Rose Day parade.” Ken smiled again. “Why don’t you have a seat in the parlor, Aimee. I think I’m going to need a cup of coffee to process this.” He turned to walk toward the back of the house. “Can I get you some?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Make yourself at home,” he invited.

  She could do just that, she thought. What a house. So inviting and cozy. She removed her jacket and sat on a red, velvet loveseat that practically surrounded her in its comfort. She could just imagine a small fire crackling in the fireplace on a cold winter day, chasing away the morning chill. Today, warm sunshine streamed in through lace-covered windows promising another warm, late spring day.

  “Here you go.”

  He handed her a cup of coffee. He’d pulled on a plain white t-shirt, she noticed. She also noticed the disappointment that rocked through her.

  “Do you take cream?”

  “No, black is fine.”

  He settled into the other corner of the small couch. He was so close, she could smell the warm, manly scent of him . . . that enticing scent that clung to a man first thing in the morning. He took a long sip of coffee, sighed and then said, “So, someone sent you here about my roses?”