Chance to Bloom Page 9

  Nothing too intimidating. Nothing too personal. Nothing that was likely to bring back memories and emotions he’d rather not deal with.

  Jack sat down on the creaky, wobbly-wheeled chair and shifted his weight to make sure the thing would hold him upright. Jesus, did his dad own anything that wasn’t at least twenty years old? It was as if every piece of furniture had been plucked from a rummage sale. And maybe it had, for all Jack knew. Looking around again, he didn’t really recognize much of anything from the childhood home he’d grown up in. The home his parents had shared and worked on and furnished together, back when they’d both been alive and relatively happy.

  Maybe moving into this place had been his dad’s way of getting the same kind of fresh start that Jack so desperately wanted.

  Needed.

  Craved.

  It didn’t make sense to Jack that his dad would’ve wanted a fresh start surrounded by other people’s second-hand stuff, but it was just another thing in a long list of things that didn’t make sense—things that Jack would’ve done differently.

  He snorted as the thought occurred to him that here he was, approaching thirty years old, and the only thing he had to show for it was that exact same second-hand shit.

  Maybe he hadn’t done things so differently from his old man, after all. He leaned back in the chair and shook his head. That wasn’t exactly an encouraging thought.

  No.

  Nope.

  Not gonna go down that path.

  Jack was different. A lot different. Sure, there might be some things that were unavoidable, some similarities that were dictated by circumstances and genetics. But Jack wasn’t the same cold, unavailable, uninterested man that he remembered his father as from his childhood.

  Objectively, it could’ve been worse for Jack growing up. His dad hadn’t beat him, had hardly even yelled at him. Even those things would have required him to show more interest in Jack than he had. For Jack, that lack of interest, that lack of caring what Jack did or where he went or what he might be feeling was worse than any amount of yelling or screaming could ever have been.

  There had been plenty of times—particularly after his mom’s death—that Jack had just wanted his dad to acknowledge him, to at least pretend to see him. Instead, Gary had thrown himself into his work, spending longer and longer hours away from home. Then, when he was there, he never failed to make it clear to Jack what a disappointment he was. When Jack had made the football team, Gary had complained that he wasn’t the quarterback. When Jack had spent an entire summer mowing yards for money, Gary had said he could’ve done more, applied himself better.

  He just couldn’t ever win with his dad, no matter what the situation. Finally, Jack had stopped even trying.

  Now here he was in his dad’s apartment, feeling like a stranger as he decided what, if anything, he’d keep around to remind himself of a man he never really got a chance to know.

  Slowly, methodically, without thinking or feeling—just doing—he began to separate the papers on the desk into piles. He would glance at the paper, read a few lines, and then put it in its place.

  Important-looking papers on the left, receipts on the right, miscellaneous junk in the trash can.

  It was simple, but whatever. It was his system, his method, and not only was it working to clear the cluttered desktop, but it was helping to clear his mind.

  When he’d run out of papers to sort on top of the desk, he took a minute to survey his work.

  Much better. Very different.

  Time to dive into the desk drawers.

  It only took a little bit of shuffling to come across a bundle of brightly colored envelopes—the kind that usually held the kinds of sappy, cheesy cards that Jack had never really had a reason to buy—and certainly not for his father. Someone had clearly stepped up to fill that void, though, and more than just once or twice. The stack of cards was so thick that he had to use both hands to get all of them out of the drawer and onto the top of the desk for a better look.

  Thumbing through, there were some thanking him for wedding arrangements, graduation flowers, prom corsages and boutonnieres—the sorts of things he would expect from a long-time florist.

  But then there were others, too.

  Birthday cards and Christmas cards and just a few regular old greeting cards that Jack separated into their own little stack. And while most of the other ones—the thank you cards—were from a lot of random people, the other ones were from one person in particular.

  Ethan.

  Jack opened one at random and read a few lines.

  Happy birthday, Gary! I can’t believe it’s been another year already. Time sure flies when you love what you do and who you surround yourself with!

  Jack slipped the card back into its envelope with a frown. If he’d been expecting just a generic happy birthday, have a good day, that was certainly not what he’d found.

  It wasn’t just the kind of card a person sent to their boss because they felt obligated. It was the kind of card a person sent to a friend.

  Jack had such a hard time thinking of his dad and Ethan as friends that his brain simply refused to make the connection. No matter how many times he tried to make sense of it, he just… couldn’t.

  But there was the evidence, in writing, staring him in the face.

  From: Ethan

  To: Gary

  Merry Christmas! As I look back at the things that have happened in my life over the past year, there’s been one bright spot among so much darkness. Being able to talk to you—knowing you have my back—has really been the thing that has made me pull through.

  You’ve been like a father to me, and—

  Nope.

  Done.

  Jack tossed the card onto the pile without finishing the rest and stood up, suddenly full of the restless energy he’d spent the past hour getting rid of.

  He never should have looked in that drawer, never should have started reading those cards. They weren’t addressed to him, after all. He just hadn’t been thinking, and certainly hadn’t expected to find that.

  Like a father?

  Seriously?

  “At least he was like a father to one of us,” Jack muttered, closing his eyes for a minute and taking a deep breath to try and get himself together.

  It just didn’t make sense. But there had to be some reason Ethan felt that way. The guy wasn’t crazy, or stupid. He was perfectly likable. Lovable, even. So what in the hell had made Gary treat Ethan so differently than he’d treated Jack?

  How could Gary have acted like a father to a stranger, but not known how to treat his own son?

  Jack’s head and stomach hurt just thinking about it. For years, he’d given up on ever having a real relationship with his dad, and he’d assumed the feeling was mutual. And for all those years, Gary had been there in Bridgewater, leading some kind of double life, some kind of bizarre parallel reality where he was nice, and thoughtful, and… fatherly.

  What. The. Fuck?

  He needed to get out of the apartment, needed some time to think, to breathe.

  Ever since Jack had returned to Bridgewater—through Ethan’s actions, the things he’d said, those cards—Jack had been discovering a side of his father that he couldn’t have imagined. It was sort of nice to know that the old man had been like a father to someone—even if it couldn’t have been Jack—but it only left him with more unanswered questions.

  Sure, Ethan was a nice guy, a special guy. Jack had been able to see that from the moment they’d met. Anyone could see it. But had Jack really been that bad? Had he been that difficult to love?

  He walked out the door and locked it behind him, wanting nothing more than to drive right back to Ethan’s house and ask him for something—anything—that might give some insight, any little clue that might tell him more about why his dad had done the things he’d done.

  But what would Ethan think? What would he say? How would Jack even bring it up?

  Sorry about earlier. Oh, and b
y the way, could you please tell me about my dad? He seems to have loved you more than me.

  Yeah, no.

  Not only would that be the most awkward conversation Jack could even imagine, there was no way to even bring it up without sounding like an ass. It wasn’t like he and Ethan were in the best place at the moment, and even though a part of Jack wanted to go to Ethan anyway, in spite of everything else that had happened between them, just for the remote chance to get one of those bright smiles, some of that sunshine back into his life, he knew deep down that it wouldn’t work out that way.

  That was just a fantasy, all the things Jack had never realized he’d wanted until the moment he’d met Ethan. It wasn’t realistic, though.

  It wasn’t going to happen.

  Better to just put those feelings on lockdown, pretend like he’d never read those cards—or better yet, like they didn’t even exist—and go about his life.

  It wouldn’t be fair to ask Ethan about Gary, about things Ethan wouldn’t know and would have no way of guessing. Ethan wasn’t any more responsible for Gary’s actions than Jack was, after all.

  Jack would just put the whole thing out of his mind, or at least lock it up deep enough inside that he didn’t have to deal with it again anytime soon.

  Just like he did with everything else when it came to his dad.

  Chapter 9

  Ethan

  From the moment Ethan had walked through the door at the flower shop, his gaze had alternated between the clock and the door, just waiting on Jack to get there.

  Watching.

  Waiting.

  Watching some more.

  By noon, when Jack still hadn’t shown up, Ethan wasn’t sure whether he felt relieved or even more anxious. Maybe even a little worried.

  He was coming back, wasn’t he?

  He had to, right?

  But yeah. Of course he would. He did own the place, after all. Ethan wondered if, in a hotel room down the street, Jack might be feeling just as anxious about talking to Ethan as Ethan felt at the thought of being face-to-face with Jack after the way he’d stormed out.

  Ethan frowned. Maybe Jack was feeling something similar, but he really didn’t seem to be the nervous, anxious type.

  More likely, he was just busy doing… something. Something that didn’t include the flower shop or dealing with any of Ethan’s feelings.

  That was probably it. Why would Jack worry about what Ethan thought, anyway? He’d be done with everything soon enough when he sold the place. No need to worry or care about Ethan’s feelings one way or the other.

  So why, then, was Ethan so worried about what Jack thought? It’s not like he’d never been around a hot guy before. But there was more to it than that. There was more to Jack than that. Ethan felt that, under different circumstances, he’d want to know more about Jack—about his life, his thoughts, where he’s been, what his plans were, all of those things. He genuinely seemed like a nice guy, and it certainly didn’t hurt that he was pretty damn easy on the eyes.

  But these weren’t normal circumstances, and while Jack wasn’t the enemy, the fact that he could even think about selling Beverly’s Blooms was enough to keep Ethan from following his natural instinct to open up and engage a little more. Those conflicting emotions—curiosity versus wariness—had been tugging at his mind ever since the moment he’d met Jack. Those emotions had kept him up for several nights, and could very easily consume the rest of his day, if he allowed them to.

  Ethan had already probably spent too much time thinking about the things he didn’t have any control over that morning, but even though he knew better than to let the thoughts consume him, it was easier said than done.

  He sighed as he pushed the stool back from the counter and stretched his legs. There weren’t many mornings when he could afford the luxury of sitting around until lunchtime, but today?

  To hell with it.

  Not even the beautiful, fresh shipment of flowers they’d received that morning could motivate him.

  One thing that did motivate him to move, though, was the fact that it was time for lunch. Time for an excuse to get out of the shop for thirty minutes, even if it was just to walk next door to the coffee shop for a white chocolate mocha.

  At least he’d be able to vent to Luca, the owner, for a few minutes. And if Ethan sat at a table out front, he’d be able to see if Jack happened to pull up—a double win as far as he was concerned.

  Without wasting another minute, he walked over to the door, flipped the sign from Open to Closed and stepped outside, letting the afternoon sun wash over him for a minute before walking the dozen or so feet over to the front door of Magic Beans.

  He’d barely even opened the door before he heard Luca’s familiar voice.

  “Ethan! The usual?”

  With a grin and a nod, Ethan stepped back outside and took a seat at one of the few empty patio tables. He might be losing his job, but at least he still had good friends. Luca and Frankie, and… well, that was about it, actually. But those two were usually more than enough to give him the kind of help and support he needed.

  Especially now—and really, ever since Gary had passed away. Gary had been another person who would’ve fallen into the “good friends” column—and more than that: a mentor, a father figure. Ethan still felt the loss every single day, even if it was slowly getting easier to deal with.

  “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Luca’s sing-song voice pulled Ethan from his thoughts and made him smile as Luca handed Ethan his mocha.

  It was practically impossible to feel too down when Luca was around—and not just because he was usually carrying that sweet, sweet goodness in a cup that Ethan couldn’t get enough of. Luca always had a nice thing to say about… well, everything, really.

  “I was hoping you’d stop in today,” Luca said, grinning at him. “I wanted to ask you about your hot new boss—Gary’s son, right?”

  Ethan nodded and looked down at his drink to hide the frown that had immediately crossed his face at the mention of Jack. “Yeah, that’s him. He came in here?”

  “For coffee the other day.” Luca’s eyes sparkled as he clasped his hands together and wiggled his eyebrows. “Two coffees, as I recall.”

  “Oh, right. Yeah. He’s nice, I guess.”

  Ethan looked back up to see Luca staring at him incredulously. “Nice… you guess? This hot guy—do you think Gary was that hot like forty years ago or whatever?—anyway, this really hot guy swoops down out of nowhere and not only do you get to work with him, but he’s already buying you things, and that’s all I get? Nice? Surely you can give me a little more than that. I bet he’s less grumpy than Gary was, for sure.”

  “I miss Gary being grumpy,” Ethan said, flatly.

  Ethan did miss it, and everything else about Gary, too. Not to mention the stability and steadiness that Gary had provided in his life. No point in dwelling on that now, though.

  But damn, could his friends stop crushing on Jack just a little? Them going on and on about him wasn’t really helping Ethan’s emotional state. He couldn’t totally blame them, of course. Jack was undeniably hot. And nice. And built, and sexy…

  “Anyway, it doesn’t matter that he’s nice,” Ethan said, voicing his irritation, even though he hadn’t really meant to. “None of it matters.”

  “Why? Don’t be so down, Ethan. The glass is always half-full, remember?”

  Ethan tried to smile, but it turned into a defeated sigh instead. Normally, Luca’s optimism was one of the things Ethan loved about the guy, one of the things Ethan liked to think the two of them had in common. But lately it had been harder for Ethan to see the world that way, and there were some things even Luca couldn’t make better with his sunny approach to life.

  This was definitely one of those things.

  “The glass isn’t half-full today, Luca. Sorry. I just can’t see the good side of Jack trying to sell the place out from under me.”

  “Oh my… what? He’s gonna sell?” Luca sat down
across from Ethan, eyes wide. He’d apparently given up on any pretense of actually working, no matter that it was the lunch rush. “I didn’t know. But,” his face lit up with his characteristic smile, “I can still think of how it might end up being a good thing.”

  Ethan grinned despite himself—Luca’s good cheer really was infectious—and shook his head. “Really? I can’t. The whole thing is out of my hands now.”

  “It doesn’t have to be out of your hands.” Luca shrugged. “Buy the place yourself.”

  Of all the things he’d anticipated Luca might say, that thought hadn’t even crossed Ethan’s mind—wasn’t even on his radar, it was so far-fetched.

  “Oh, okay,” Ethan said, rolling his eyes even though the impossible idea sent a jolt of excitement through him. “Maybe I can write him a check and just hope he never cashes it. Come on, Luca. I don’t have any savings. I barely have the money for this coffee. How would I buy the flower shop?”

  “You think I had tons of money when I opened this place?” Luca jerked his thumb back toward the coffee shop. “Hello, that’s what loans are for.”

  Ethan snorted. “Yeah, because I’m a great candidate for a loan. I live with my mom. I have shitty credit. I can just see the bankers lining up to hand me money now.”

  Luca raised an eyebrow and his sunny smile slipped a little. “Fine. You’re probably right. But you won’t know you’re right until you try. Try, Ethan. What’s the worst they can say? No? Who cares? You’ll be no worse off. And they might say yes. They might solve your problems.” He paused for a moment, and when Ethan didn’t immediately object, he leaned in and continued. “You’ve been running that place for years anyway. I’ll vouch for that. Come on, Ethan. What do you have to lose? Unless, I mean… is that even something you’d want to do? It is hard work, I’m not gonna lie.”

  “Of course I’d want to,” Ethan answered immediately, then paused and cocked his head to the side. For something he’d never thought of before—and for such a big, life-changing decision—he sure hadn’t hesitated with his answer. Was there something to the idea? “And you know I’m not scared of doing the work. It would be sort of perfect, though. I’d have the stability I need, and I’d finally get a chance to put some of the more unconventional marketing and design ideas into place—things Gary hadn’t really been too excited about.”