Bed Of Roses (The Five Senses Series Book 4) Read online

  Cover Copy

  With the right amount of nurturing, love will bloom.

  This close to Valentine’s Day Malin Eckert’s flower shop is entering their busiest season. As if the added work isn’t enough, her father’s drinking has spiraled out of control and Mal discovers she’s been named guardian of a fifteen-year-old sibling she never knew about. To make matters worse, Mal’s crushing on a customer, a serial dater who drops by the shop with alarming regularity to send flowers to other women.

  Gunnar Sims never had the best luck with women, a fact that doesn’t stop his growing attraction to his florist. His new business is losing money and he should be concentrating on that, but instead finds Mal an enticing distraction.

  In spite of her best intentions to keep Gunnar firmly in the friend zone, Mal finds herself falling for the classically handsome gym owner. As her affection for Gunnar and her sister, Gabriella, grows, Mal’s heart hangs in the balance when it appears both could be taken away from her.

  Content Warning: Hard bodies, spoiled princesses, and a levelheaded woman who knows how to smell the roses.

  Bed of Roses

  Gemma Brocato

  A Five Senses novel

  Copyright

  Bed Of Roses, Copyright © Gemma Brocato, 2015

  All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without prior written permission of the publisher

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Brocato, Gemma

  Bed Of Roses / Gemma Brocato

  1. Contemporary Romance — Fiction. 2. Literature & Fiction—Fiction. 3. Romance—Fiction

  Dedication

  For Marian, Betsy, Linda, and Debbie—my sisters in blood and in heart

  Acknowledgements

  Without help from a lot of quarters, this book might never have happened. My family: my publicity-shy husband, whom I affectionately call Mr. Gemma and my two children, Erin and Andrew. You support me and cheer me on and remind me of the good that happens

  when you share a great love.

  My editor, Corinne DeMaagd, who spotted all the problems in the manuscript and help

  refine my words to achieve this work.

  For Goldie and Linda for your assistance in proof reading my work. I’m only human and you make it a lot easier.

  Anna Ladd—your assistance in making the cover of this book so gorgeous is greatly appreciated.

  And to my dear friends, Joanne Wadsworth and Tera Shanley for holding my hand on the formatting and publishing side of this crazy business. You are a bundle of awesome I’m delighted to call friends and mentors.

  A special thanks to my readers for joining me on the journey to Granite Pointe.

  You make it magic.

  Chapter 1

  “Malin!”

  Malin Eckert jumped a second after Chloe shouted her name and pushed the door of the refrigerated case into Mal’s backside. Chloe’s attempt to get her attention resulted in Malin banging her head on the rack inside the unit, causing her teeth to clash together. Damn Monday morning. She backed out of the case, massaging the rising bump. She cast a baleful look at her shop assistant.

  Chloe shut the door, cutting off the soft hum of the fans. “I’ve been calling your name forever.”

  “Forever? Come on, Chloe. We’ve talked about your need to exaggerate before.” It was a character trait they’d worked to curb since the perky, happy, over-the-top girl had started working at The Secret Garden nearly a year ago. They hadn’t made much progress.

  The chagrinned look in Chloe’s contact lens-enhanced turquoise eyes made it clear the girl didn’t think she’d stretched anything.

  Mal shrugged, the gesture an admission that she was prepared to give up hope. “What did you need? Where’s the fire?”

  “Oh. There’s no fire. Well, maybe there is. At least you might think so.”

  Malin tilted her head, raised her eyebrows, and waved the long-stem rose she clutched between her fingers, silently urging the girl to get to the point.

  Chloe grimaced, then spewed the rest of her message. “Mrs. Aubrey-Smith called. She’s on her way in.”

  In the dim recesses of Malin’s mind, a mournful bell began tolling. Mrs. A.S. had become more than an annoying pebble in her shoe. The snooty matriarch had escalated into a giant freaking boulder from the day Malin had accepted the job as her darling Ashleigh’s wedding planner. Nothing, absolutely nothing, Mal had suggested was good enough for the society wedding of the century.

  Malin dropped her head into her hands, scratching her cheek with the thorn on the flower she still held. “Ouch.” She dabbed her finger across the site of the stinging pain. She pulled her hand back and, sure enough, she’d drawn blood. “Just freaking perfect. Now I have to meet Bridezilla’s mom with blood on my face. Where’s my dad?”

  “He’s in the garden.”

  Anxiety mowed over her like a steamroller, crushing her lungs and making it hard to breathe. She had to get Dad out of sight. He’d exchanged harsh, ugly words with Mrs. A.S. early in their planning meetings. The woman insisted she never wanted to cross paths with him again, threatening to pull the contract from The Secret Garden. And she’d do it—of that Malin had no doubt. Then all the Aubrey-Smith society friends, Mal’s potential customers, would follow. Mal would be ruined.

  She cast a frantic gaze around the shop and searched for a reason to send her father on an errand. When she spotted an arrangement on the countertop, she hurried across the room to shove the rose into the vase. The more expensive bloom wasn’t the perfect flower, but it worked for this emergency.

  “Take Dad with you to deliver these. Then go get us coffee. Or ice cream, or anything you want. Keep him out of here for at least an hour, understand?” After adding two more creamy white carnations, Mal tucked a couple of sprigs of leather leaf into it, completing the look. She grabbed a spool of red and white ribbon, and with deft fingers, twisted a length into a bow while her shop assistance watched. “Chloe, go. I’ll be done with this by the time you round him up. Go!”

  Her sharp command motivated Chloe to action. The girl’s spiky black hair bobbed wildly as she hustled toward the back of the flower shop to find Ben Eckert. They had to get him out of Dodge before a showdown with Granite Pointe, Massachusetts’ biggest snob. Mal’s stomach hurt. Pressing her hand against it, she tried to still the elephant-stomping-on-grapes pain.

  Her cell phone rang, but after consulting the display, she ignored it. There wasn’t time to answer a call from a number she didn’t recognize. She reached behind her and grabbed the calligraphy pen she used to inscribe cards. It only took a second to ink the message that had come with the order on the answering machine overnight. She’d just crossed the last T when Chloe dragged Dad through the back door. Mal blew gently on the card to dry the ink.

  Chloe admonished him as they entered the shop. “Ben, it’s January. It’s much too cold to sit outside without a coat. Where’s your jacket?”

  “I left it on the hook. I was only going to be out there for a minute.”

  Malin looked up sharply. Dad’s words were slurred. Please God, let it be because he was cold. Any other reason was unacceptable. His cheeks and nose were ruddy, but that wasn’t unusual since the temperature had hovered around forty all morning. “Dad, you okay?”

  Dad’s broad, beaming smile did nothing to ease the ache of concern gnawing at her throat. They’d bee
n doing so great. Except… Dad hadn’t talked about his AA sponsor in at least a week. Not good.

  “Mal, my girl, I’m finer than frog’s hair this morning.” Dad’s eyes twinkled. “Young Chloe tells me Mrs. ASS is on her way in, and I’m being forced to vacate the premises. I was having a lovely break in your little garden. It’s probably best for me to leave since I don’t care for her attitude. Or the way she treats you.”

  She shushed her dad as Chloe brought his coat from the back room and handed it to him. “Dad, do not call Mrs. Aubrey-Smith that. You’re in enough hot water with her as it is. I need this job. Without it, I can’t take a lease out on the shop on Charles Street.”

  “Ach! I don’t know why you want to make more work for yourself. You’ve got a great thing going here.”

  “Dad, it’s all part of the dream. Now, come on. You’re going with Chloe to deliver these flowers. Then get me the largest vanilla latte money can buy at Kaffeland. Tell them to add an extra espresso shot. I’m going to need it.”

  She took the coat from his hands and helped him into it, stepping close enough to discreetly sniff. No telltale aroma of whiskey on his breath. Thank heavens. The constant worry over whether he was drinking again almost made her want a drink. It might relieve the anxiety but would not solve the problem.

  She buttoned up his jacket as she spoke. A car with an obnoxious hood ornament careened into the slanted handicap parking space in front of the shop. In spite of the glare on the windshield, the matron of Granite Pointe society was visible and looked very determined. She flipped down her visor and ran a tube of pale pink Tom Ford lipstick around her collagen-injected lips. If a woman had the best looking lips cosmetic surgery could engineer, it stood to reason she’d buy a fifty-dollar lip color to enhance them.

  Mal shook her head and turned her father toward the alley door where the delivery van was parked. Chloe scooted up next to them with the arrangement, muttered “good luck,” then urged Dad through the portal just as Mrs. A.S.’s shadow filled the wide, wood-framed glass door. As the woman entered, the silver bell jangled more than it tinkled, its response to all the negative energy sweeping into her store with the mother of the bride.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Aubrey-Smith. What brings you in today?”

  “Hello, dear.” The matriarch of Granite Pointe’s first family air-kissed Mal’s cheeks, right, left, then right again. “We need to completely change our selection for Ashleigh’s flowers.”

  What the what? This would be the third, no fourth, time. Malin had to concentrate to keep from rolling her eyes. “I thought we’d settled on the tropical flowers. I know Ashleigh loved the colors.”

  The bride had insisted on fuchsia roses, orange callas, and green orchids, claiming the colors made her happy. And Mal had already made arrangements to import the orchids at great expense. Her mind leaped through all the steps she’d need to take to stop the order.

  Lines of disapproval dented the woman’s forehead. The last Botox injections must be wearing off. “Well, the Sheridan’s wedding was this weekend and they hijacked our color scheme. That took some nerve, if you ask me. All the same colors, right down to the sunset callas. Our wedding must be different.”

  Okay, they were going to turn the world completely upside down because some other society bride had used similar colors? “Have you talked this over with Ashleigh? Does she want to change?”

  Mrs. A.S. waved her fingers in the air, dismissing Mal’s question. “It does not matter. This is Ashleigh’s only wedding. It will be perfect.”

  It wasn’t common for a mother to disregard her daughter’s wishes when planning a wedding, but it did happen. As far as it being her little precious’s only wedding, Mal had serious misgivings. Last week, when she’d delivered the mid-week floral arrangements for the lobby of the Bay Breeze Inn, she’d seen the bride sneaking past the front desk with a man who wasn’t her potential groom.

  Mal opened her mouth but stuffed the words back in her throat. She could not alienate this client. “Okay. Well, there will be a charge to cancel the special order.”

  The aging diva pursed her plump lips together, creating vertical crevices all around her mouth. It wasn’t a good look. “Money isn’t an object when entertaining guests.”

  Her derisive tone carried an unspoken you simpleton. Mal believed only the woman’s impeccable breeding kept her from voicing it. Or maybe she simply considered Mal not worth the effort.

  “Of course.” Mal struggled to keep her voice calm and even. She picked up a pair of flower snips and worked them open, closed, then open again. The action was calming and helped her remember the customer was always right. She couldn’t forget this woman was capable of destroying her future as a wedding planner. “Did you have a new color scheme in mind?”

  The bell above the door tinkled again as a new customer stepped into the shop. She chanced a look away from Mrs. A.S. long enough to call toward the front of the store. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  “Take your time. I’ll browse.”

  The familiar bass voice floated back toward her and eased up her spine in a sexy swirl. It was him. Gunnar Sims. The regular Monday morning customer she’d developed a crush on. It didn’t matter that every other week he purchased a lavish bouquet for a different woman. He was just that attractive. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, sunny blond hair, and Nordic blue eyes. He looked like a sophisticated Viking raider. But his looks weren’t the only thing that attracted her. His intelligence and personality were bigger turn-ons than his body.

  A sharp rap of knuckles on the granite countertop drew her attention back to Mrs. Aubrey-Smith.

  “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

  “Really Malin,” she intoned, pronouncing her name May-lin. Deliberately. Mal had explained no less than three time it was Mahl-in. It was one of Mrs. A.S.’s sneaky ways to keep underlings in their places. “It’s your job to know what would be best. You should know the most current trends. You are a wedding planner. Isn’t this what we pay you for?”

  Mal did a fast count to five, tipping her head to the side as if deep in thought. “Yes, of course. The latest fad sweeping aristocratic European weddings is a monochromatic palette. Tones of white, cream, and ivory, with only a small bit of colored ribbon used for emphasis. I’ve seen pictures of Princess Caroline of Lichtenberg’s ceremony. Simply lovely.” She let a reverent sigh gust past her lips. “Perhaps we could consider that.”

  “It’s a royal trend, you say?” Damn if the woman’s nose didn’t twitch like a pit bull smelling blood.

  “Oh yes. You can do an Internet search for pictures. But…” She trailed off, and as expected, Mrs. A.S. leaned in, waiting for her next words. She lowered her voice and continued. “What if we built on the trend and started one of our own?”

  “What do you have in mind? Something befitting the first family of Granite Pointe, I assume.”

  Choking noises erupted from across the store. Darting her eyes Gunnar’s direction, she caught his exaggerated eye roll behind the woman’s back. She bit her lip to curb the grin that begged for release. Thankfully, Mrs. Aubrey-Smith didn’t notice. Malin shook her head at him, then turned her attention back to the self-appointed first lady in front of her.

  Drawing a deep breath, she forged ahead with her idea. “I took a refresher course in November at floral design school. Part of my continuing education requirement.”

  “There’s a design school for florists?”

  “Oh yes. They even offer a bridal boot camp to help their students stay on top of trends. Anyway, we did some interesting work with mixed media, you know, not just flowers, but beads and berries.” She walked to the display case and selected a few items, then carried them to the worktable. After picking up her scissors, she started trimming. Sweet, earthy scents of snipped grass emanated from the trimmed stalks. “We could use one large statement flower, like this gardenia, then surround it with stephanotis, another white flower, toss in a couple of white roses, some blush-c
olored hypericum berries and bamboo shafts.” She added a variegated fern, twisted everything together and wrapped the entire grouping with a wide white silk band.

  “I don’t know…”

  Oh, Mrs. A.S. did too know. Her eyes gleamed. She’d never seen anything quite like this design before, which meant none of her society friends had either.

  Gunnar sidled up next to Momzilla and leaned on the counter. He turned his smile on the aging diva. “You don’t mind if I watch, do you? I like to see creativity at work.”

  “Of course not.” The woman lifted her nose into the air and gave a pretentious sniff.

  “Thank you. I think Malin is a genius. How lucky are you to have her working on your daughter’s wedding? You were very clever to book her services.”

  Malin eyed him, wondering what he was up to, but didn’t stop fashioning the bouquet. The fragrance of the gardenia, clean and fresh, invaded her senses. She loved working with the pretty, aromatic flower. The small arrangement was taking shape quite nicely. She plucked three pearl-headed pins from the pincushion on the work surface and carefully guided them into the stephanotis blooms. Holding it aloft, she turned it from side-to-side, allowing her customer to admire it. Bone deep satisfaction in creating something so lovely settled on her. She’d have sighed at the perfection suspended between her hands, but she was too busy holding her breath, waiting for Mrs. A.S.’s reaction.

  The woman tilted her head to the side, a faint smile curling her lips. She turned to face Gunnar. “What do you think?”

  Oh, Lord, did she really just ask a man what he thought of a bridal bouquet? In Malin’s experience, most guys rolled their eyes back in their sockets after the first three minutes in her shop. He winked at Mal, then considered the flowers in her hands. This could go horribly wrong. Mal bit her cheek and hunched her shoulders.