Daddy's Little Matchmakers. Kathleen Y'Barbo

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СКАЧАТЬ After all, Mom and Dad had only kept her employed at their shop in Houston out of love. All three of them knew there wasn’t near enough work for three florists.

       And thus when the call came regarding the surgery, Amy gladly spent the spring caring for her grandmother, tending the garden, the roses and her precious nana in equal parts until all were blooming. Nana’s choice to move into Sandy Shores, the new assisted-living community out on Harbor Drive, had surprised Amy. Until, that is, she visited and saw her grandmother had landed solidly in her element. Always the social butterfly, Nana loved being in the middle of everything, something she couldn’t manage at home.

       Amy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Nana no longer needed her and, as of tomorrow, neither did the Gazette. Was it time to move on? And if so, where would she go?

       Across Main Street, the painter completed his work on the clinic door then stepped back to admire the finished product. “Eric Wilson, DVM,” she whispered as she read the words beneath the sign.

       Amy’s thoughts again shifted to Dr. Wilson. Everything she knew about the man came from her grandmother, Nana Spencer, whose knowledge of all things related to Vine Beach was arguably more extensive than any data uncovered by the reporters at the Gazette. And according to Nana, the veterinarian, a widower of undetermined length, had moved to Vine Beach to take over Doc Simmons’s practice upon the older man’s retirement and to see that his girls were near his late wife’s family.

       A car door slammed, drawing her attention to the parking lot beside the animal clinic. There she saw the object of her thoughts walking toward what was likely the back door of the clinic. He looked busy—possibly distracted by whatever boisterous behavior had caused him to end their call so quickly—as he ran his hand through thick dark hair. He lifted his head, and their gazes met awkwardly across the distance. At least she thought he saw her. For a second Amy wondered if she should acknowledge him. The vet waved, solving the problem of how to respond, so she did the same.

       Checking her watch, Amy gathered up her novel and rose. Four more hours of work, and her temporary job at the paper would end. Then she’d be forced to decide whether to allow the temp agency to place her elsewhere or perhaps to pack her things and move on.

       Surely there was work for a trained florist somewhere. Trained florist. More like a girl who’d picked so many flowers as a child that her mother finally taught her how to make something pretty of her mess. Amy giggled at the thought.

       “You have a nice laugh.”

       She jumped, dropping the novel as she whirled around to see Eric Wilson crossing Main Street. Scrambling for the book, she tugged at the edge of her blouse and tried not to allow her embarrassment to show.

       “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

       His worried expression made her smile in spite of her flustered state. “No, it’s fine. Really.” She lifted her hand to smooth back her hair and promptly dropped the book again.

       The vet leaned to reach for the novel and so did Amy. Before either could accomplish the task, their heads bumped. Wincing, Amy felt the heat rise in her neck. As she took a step backward, Eric retrieved the book.

       “I’m sorry,” he said again as he thrust the book toward her. “Seems I’ve now got two reasons to apologize.”

       “No, really.” Amy took the book and held it tight against her chest. “I’m fine.” She glanced down at the smudge of brown decorating her blouse and saw the source: a nasty smear of dirt in a matching color on the novel’s back cover. She quickly flipped the book around and adjusted its location to cover the spot then slowly lifted her eyes to meet his stare.

       An awkward moment passed and then he reached to offer her his hand. “Eric Wilson,” he said. “I’m new to Vine Beach.” He gestured to the clinic behind him. “Bought the practice from Doc Simmons a few months ago.” A pause. “And you’re Amy. The classifieds girl.”

       Amy shook his hand as she pondered the statement. The vet must have noticed her expression of confusion for he hastened to add, “I called back and someone told me Amy the classifieds girl was at lunch. Sitting in the park. Reading a book. And so, since I was on the cell and could plainly see that there was a woman sitting in the park next to the newspaper office reading a book, I…” He released her hand and took a step backward then looked away. “Anyway,” he finally said, “I wanted to apologize for hanging up the call so abruptly. Things just got a little noisy and then the dog got loose and, well, I really hadn’t intended for them to overhear, anyway.”

       “Happens all the time,” Amy hastened to say as she tried not to study his handsome features or notice the slight hint of what might be tiredness in his eyes. His lovely eyes, she amended.

       “Especially lately,” he said softly. “What I mean is, the girls are getting settled into their new home and new school, which means things have been a little…”

       “Noisy?” she supplied.

       “Yes,” Dr. Wilson said on a long exhale of breath. “They’re good girls, and I’m very glad I’ve got my mother here to help. But managing three girls while trying to get a vet practice off the ground has been an adventure.”

       “Your daughters are adorable.” At his look of surprise, she shrugged. “I’ve seen you…that is, them, at church and, well, they’re adorable.”

       “Oh, yes, right.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Thankfully they all look like their mother. They miss her, I’m afraid.”

       Dr. Wilson’s eyes widened, and Amy knew he’d given her more insight than he’d intended. She hurried to cover the awkward moment with the first thing she could think of. “It’s hard to move with children, I would imagine.”

       “Yes,” he said, seeming grateful for the gentle veer away from what was probably a sore subject. “Though the unpacking was much easier than the packing. It’s amazing the amount of things girls collect. Ribbons, bows, dolls and don’t get me started on the amount of clothes they have. And the shoes? Why does anyone need more than a dozen pairs of shoes?”

       His chuckle was low and swift, and Amy quickly joined in. “Hey, now. We women need our accessories, and a girl can’t have her shoes be mismatched with her outfit. It just isn’t done.”

       “Oh, believe me, I know. I suppose they inherited the shoe gene from their mother. She was forever explaining why she needed yet another pair.”

       The town clock struck the half hour, and Amy jerked her attention in that direction. Time to return to her desk. “It’s my turn to apologize, Dr. Wilson. You see, my lunch hour’s over and…” She tilted her head toward the newspaper office. “I should get back to work.”

       He followed her gaze then, as an expression of recognition dawned, and nodded. “Please, call me Eric.”

       “Eric,” she echoed. “If you’ll call me Amy.” Shifting her book to the other hand, Amy reached out to shake his. His grip was firm, his smile slow in appearing. “It’s been nice meeting you.”

       The vet seemed unsure of what to say. “Nice, yes,” he echoed. “And I’ll call again soon, Amy.” His eyes widened as he must have realized his word choice left his intentions in question. “To sell the boat,” he added. “Probably Monday. I should have a decent photo to use by then.”

       “Monday. СКАЧАТЬ