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

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re with Aphrodite’s Garden. I haven’t heard of it, but I don’t get down to Perry very often. My practice keeps me close to home.”

  “I’m a florist,” she explained. “I’m sure you probably know that pretty much all of the south’s roses have been destroyed.”

  “Yes. The ladies from the local chapter of the American Rose Society told me about it. I’ve been concerned about mine, but so far so good.”

  “An amazing stroke of luck, I’d say. Who do you supply?”

  “The children’s hospital, the nursing home, whoever needs them.”

  “Who does your arrangements? Do you work with a florist?”

  “No, never,” he said.

  “I don’t understand, Ken.”

  “My flowers aren’t for sale. I grow them because I enjoy them and because I have a knack for it. They make people happy.

  Seeing the look on a sick child’s face when I bring them into their hospital room, that’s all the payment I need.”

  “But Venus said–”

  “As I said, I don’t know anyone named Venus.”

  “She gave me your card.” Aimee pulled it from her back pocket and handed it to him.

  He examined it, frowning. “I’ve never seen this.” He handed it back to her.

  This was not working out the way she had envisioned. But Venus had warned her that she might need to convince him. Aimee set her cup on the coffee table, then turned to Ken. “You may find this difficult to believe, but I don’t do this for the money either. I have what some call a gift for arranging roses in such a way that they make the perfect statement for any occasion. Arranging roses, having them in my hands, is something I must do. And if I help bring people together with my arrangements along the way, that’s what’s gratifying for me. The money I make just helps me take care of my son and the essentials of life. I’m not rich and never will be.”

  “There are thousands of varieties of flowers. Why not just use them?”

  “It has to be roses.”

  “Why?”

  Aimee paused. “I guess you could say I have an affinity for roses. When I do arrangements without them, it doesn’t work the same way.”

  Ken leaned closer to her. Aimee inhaled. She could feel his warmth, and she had the insane urge to touch the dark, morning stubble lining his strong, angular jaw.

  “Which are your favorites?” he asked softly.

  “Red,” she said immediately. “The variety of colors are endless, but classic red has always been my favorite. Simple . . .

  timeless . . . vivid.”

  He touched her hand with the tips of his fingers. She was surprised at first, but it felt so right, so natural, she didn’t pull away. “Will you help me?” she asked

  His lips were so close. With only the slightest movement, she could kiss him. On the heels of that thought, such an intense longing swept over her that it stole her breath. Where was this coming from? She felt like she’d known him all her life rather than these few brief moments.

  He must have felt it, too, because he turned his hand over and clasped her fingers, then turned his hand again and laced his fingers with hers. What was this hold he had on her? He looked into her eyes, and she felt drawn to him . . . wanted everything at once. She wanted him to hold her, wanted to run her fingers through his thick, tousled hair, wanted to know how it would feel to be kissed by him . . .

  He said something, but she couldn’t make out the words.

  Her attention centered on his fascinating lips. She scraped her teeth over her lower lip. His gaze followed the movement as if he were fascinated. He leaned forward, giving her time to stop him, but she didn’t, couldn’t. He pressed a short, sweet kiss to her lips that didn’t begin to satisfy. He brushed her hair away from her face with both hands. “So beautiful.”

  She grasped his wrist with one hand, touched his face with the other. “Ken,” she whispered. “What’s happening?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  He tilted her head and slanted his mouth across hers. He swept his tongue along the seam of her lips, silently asking her to let him deepen the kiss. She hesitated. She wanted to go on kissing him forever, but she’d come here for a reason. When he sweetly breathed her name against her lips, she forgot everything but the feelings stirring inside her.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and continued kissing him. He tasted like coffee and mint and sweet dreams.

  He broke the kiss, but trailed his mouth down the side of her throat. “This is insane,” he said.

  “I know, but I can’t seem to stop . . .” Had she said that out loud?

  He explored her face with soft, feather-light kisses.

  “Aimee,” he whispered, leaning back, he looked into her eyes. As he continued to hold her in his arms, all Aimee could think was that she fit against his chest like she’d been made for him. When he again touched his lips to hers, she didn’t know how much more she could take. She had to think. She’d come here–a complete stranger–to talk to him, to obtain his help with something . . . The roses?

  She grasped his shoulders and pushed a little away. The smoky look in his eyes started a longing in her heart she couldn’t justify, the kind of longing she knew would turn into a persistent ache. They were complete strangers. How could she feel so much so quickly for someone she didn’t even know?

  Ken stood and walked to the window. He raked a hand through his hair, taking in deep, gulps of air.

  What must he think of her? She’d never done anything like this before. Nothing like this had ever happened to her. Sure, there had been men in her life since her divorce, but nothing long-term.

  For a very long time, there had been no one. The only constants in her life were her son and her shop.

  She looked back at Ken. This man was a complete stranger.

  Realization hit her like a sucker punch to the gut. He must think she would . . . that for the roses, she would . . . Oh, she couldn’t even think it! She had to get out of here.

  He turned back to her then. She still sat in the corner of the sofa where he’d left her. He took a step toward her, a puzzled look on his face. She stood and backed away from him, horrified by her behavior. She couldn’t blame him. She’d been a willing participant.

  More than willing.

  “Aimee, I’m sorry.”

  “No, no,” she said, as she continued her retreat. “I’m the one who should apologize. This clearly was a mistake. I didn’t come here to, I mean–I’m sorry.” She picked up her jacket and bolted for the door.

  “Aimee, wait!”

  She had already sprinted down the sidewalk and wrenched open the door to her car when he stepped out onto the porch.

  “What about the roses?”

  Without looking back, she got in her car, slammed the door, and pulled out of his drive, leaving a trail of gravel dust in her wake.

  *

  “Thank goodness you’re back,” Becky said as Aimee entered her shop. “The phone has been ringing off the hook. I have at least fifty orders here. I also made appointments for two people to come in to talk to you about doing their weddings.” Aimee removed the sign from the window, walked behind the counter, took off her jacket, and set her purse down. “Guess we’d better start calling them back to cancel.”

  “Cancel? I thought you said you had a line on some roses.”

  “It was a dead-end.” The phone rang. “I’ll change the voice mail message to let people know we don’t have any roses. Then we can just let the incoming calls roll over to that while we call these folks back.”

  The heart-shaped bells strung on the door handle tinkled as someone entered the shop. Aimee looked up from the stack of orders she held in her hand to see Venus strolling across the room toward her. Today, she wore a form-fitting red jumpsuit with a wide white belt and a gold Cupid broach pinned to the lapel.

  “You blew it, honey,” she said without preamble.

  A curious Becky looked f
rom Venus to Aimee, expecting an introduction. No way was she going there. “Umm, Becky, would you mind giving us a second? I need to speak to this customer in private.”

  Becky gave her a look that said she’d demand complete details later. “Sure.”

  After her friend was securely in the back with the door closed, Aimee said, “What did you think you were doing?”

  “I was trying to salvage the Year of the Rose for us. You gave up too soon. And you almost had him eating out of the palm of your hand.” She shook her head, clearly disappointed.

  “You didn’t exactly pave the way like you said you would.

  He had no idea who you were.”

  “I thought you could handle it, and you were doing quite nicely.”

  “I behaved . . .” Aimee found that she couldn’t finish that sentence, so she said, “I couldn’t control myself.”

  “I know.” Venus flipped her long, thick ponytail over her shoulder and propped her head in her hand as she leaned against the counter. “Wasn’t it wonderful?” she sighed.

  “I felt like a . . . a . . . Oh! I don’t even know if he’s married!”

  “He’s decidedly single.”

  That bit of information pleased her immensely, but she’d never admit it. “Well, regardless, I can’t imagine what he thought.

  That’s why I got the heck out of there.”

  “Without even looking at the roses.” Venus clucked her tongue disapprovingly.

  “You did something yesterday, didn’t you? When you looked into my eyes, you did something. I saw him working in his garden. How could that be when I had never met him before?”

  “Just a little magic, honey. Something you haven’t had nearly enough of in your life.”

  Aimee closed her eyes and groaned. “I suppose that magic included us not being able to keep our hands off each other.” Avoiding the topic of magic, Venus said, “Didn’t you like him?”

  “Too much. I’ve never lost control like that. Ever.”

  “Then I’d say it’s high time. He sure likes you.”

  “This is not about anything between Ken and me, because there is not and will not be anything between us. The roses are the issue, and he’s not interested in selling them.”

  “I told you it might take some convincing. I really didn’t intend for the sparks to fly so quickly or so intensely. Man, you two practically defined spontaneous combustion.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

  Aimee frowned. “How do you know all this?”

  “I know everything that goes on between my chosen ones, honey. And you and the good doctor were destined to be together.

  You’re soul mates.”

  “You really believe you’re the goddess of love.” Venus looked back at Aimee, all amusement gone. “Don’t you?” she asked as she pinned Aimee with a look that wouldn’t let her go.

  Aimee didn’t know why, but she did. How else could all that had happened since Venus had walked into her shop be explained? “I believe it.”

  “So, what are we going to do about this mess we’re in?

  June first is less than forty-eight hours away. I refuse to give Aries the upper hand.”

  “It doesn’t look like there’s anything I can do about it.”

  “You have to convince Ken to give you some of his roses.

  Honestly, honey, he could give you all you need for that stack of orders and not even miss them. He has more than he can give away before they wilt and die.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t go back there.”

  “You must.” She touched Aimee’s hand. “Trust me, he wants to see you again.”

  “If that’s true, why can’t he come to me? I gave him the name of the shop and told him it was in Perry.”

  “You’re forgetting he’s a doctor. He has patients depending on him.”

  “It’s the weekend.”

  “He’s on call. He can’t just pick up and leave.” She had a point. Aimee chewed on her thumbnail. “It would be uncomfortable.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Just go to him. Remember, if you touch, you won’t be able to control your, um, urges.”

  “What is this, Venus? I mean, what was that between Ken and me? I’ve never experienced anything like it.”

  “It’s love, honey. Geez, I’ve been at this for centuries, and it still amazes me when humans don’t recognize true love when it slaps them in the face.”

  “I thought Cupid fired his arrows and made people fall in love.”

  “He handles love, like you said. I handle soul mates in my own unique manner.”

  *

  Aimee pulled into Ken’s driveway and shut off the engine.

  What would she say to him? Not having roses for June was almost as scary a prospect as believing she’d found her soul mate. Her first marriage had been a huge mistake. They’d been two teenagers who’d given in to a youthful passion that had produced her son and had married and divorced before Ethan had started first grade.

  Since that time, she’d invested all of herself into raising her son and making her business viable. And now it seemed that somewhere between the goddess of love and Dr. Ken Hartman laid her destiny or her demise.

  She got out of her car and made her way up the sidewalk to the front door. She rang the bell. No response. The black SUV

  parked in the driveway seemed to indicate that the doctor was in.

  So, she followed the wrap-around porch to the back of the house.

  A spectacular rose garden dominated the landscape. At lease an acre of beautiful, healthy roses stretched out before her. Aimee closed her eyes and breathed in their scent. Heaven.

  She opened a gate and walked the garden’s winding path, stopping here and there to examine the beautiful blooms. After a time, she came to a small potting shed. One of the doors was slightly ajar. She approached slowly. She didn’t want to tip Ken off to her presence, giving him the opportunity to send her on her way.

  She had to speak to him about the roses. She wouldn’t get distracted today.

  The door was open, and Ken stood in the center of the long, narrow structure with his back to her. Light flooded the space from the tall, multi-paned windows that lined the walls. She drank in the sight of him. He looked wonderful in faded, well-worn jeans and a black t-shirt. She looked away, willing herself to turn off the attraction she felt for him. When she looked back, she noticed a growing pile of long-stemmed roses lay in front of him. Every color of the rainbow seemed to be represented. On the other side of the worktable, an easel holding a canvas had been positioned so that she couldn’t see the painting. Open jars of paint took up what little space the roses didn’t occupy on long wooden table pushed up against the wall.

  “Hello,” she said tentatively.

  He turned toward her, surprised. “Aimee!”

  “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion. The door was open.”

  “No, come in. I was just thinking about you. About our conversation yesterday. You left so suddenly–”

  “I know. I’m sorry–”

  “I’m sorry–” they said simultaneously.

  They laughed, and some of the tension in the moment evaporated. Aimee picked up a blood red rose with waxy, rich green leaves. She closed her eyes and inhaled its fragrance. Its scent was like no rose she’d ever smelled. It imbued her with a calm energy. She looked up into Ken’s warm, brown eyes and saw her future. Their future. But she had to stay focused. The roses came first. She needed them to make June special for the couples she served. How could they get married, celebrate anniversaries, fall in love, and stay in love without roses? And such roses. She could do amazing things with Ken’s roses.

  Ken laughed. “I wish a beautiful woman would look at me the way you’re eyeing those roses.”

  Aimee shifted her attention to Ken. She could imagine any number of women looked longingly at him. “I’m sorry. It’s just, they’re incredible.” She picked up several and examined the ones hidden beneath. “I’ve never seen suc
h perfect specimens.”

  “They’re always that way. Perfect. I have to admit that I don’t understand it. I really don’t know much about roses. I just know they grow for me. Most of the outdoor garden came with the house. I’ve been thinking of adding greenhouses so I can grow some in winter and experiment with creating new varieties.” Aimee smiled. “Venus said your garden is protected by Zeus.”

  “She came by yesterday. Interesting lady. She’d been here before. In fact, she comes by a couple of times a year. She’d never identified herself.”

  “Why does she come here? Do you sell her roses?”

  “No. I’ve never sold them to anyone. She just likes to walk in the garden. I didn’t think anything of it. People stop by to see the roses all the time. I give them as many as they want. They make people happy.”

  Aimee couldn’t bring herself to come right out and ask if he believed Venus was a mythological figure, so she asked, “What do you think of Venus?”

  “She’s eccentric.”

  “She’s a beautiful woman.”

  Ken shrugged. “I suppose.”

  He didn’t seem to have anything further to say on the matter. She picked up one of the jars on the table. “Do you paint?”

  “A little.”

  “A Renaissance man. A doctor, a horticulturist, and an artist. I think I know why women stop by, and I don’t think it’s to see your roses. Have you never married?” She regretted the question immediately, but curiosity held her apology.

  “No. I guess you could say I never met the right woman.” She found that difficult to believe. She could easily imagine scores of women throwing themselves at a man like Ken, her included . . . if she were interested, which she wasn’t. Men had a way of making life complicated. She didn’t need more complications.

  Time to steer the conversation back to the business at hand.

  “How many varieties of roses do you have?”

  “I don’t know. Pretty much every color and several variations of each.”

  “What are all these for?” she indicated the roses piled on the table.

  “In honor of June being National Rose Month, I thought I’d take roses to the nurses at the hospital and the ladies at the nursing home.”