Flowers on Main. Sherryl Woods

as Jess. She went with her gut more often than not, and this felt right. Maybe if she hadn’t been going over her options for days now, if the decision to stay here hadn’t already been made, she would have waited, taken some time to examine this from every angle. As it was, she felt certain that this was something that could work, something she’d be good at, something she’d enjoy.

      Before she could talk herself out of it, she reached for her cell phone and called the number of the management company listed on the discreet sign in the lower corner of the window. It was a number she should have known by heart, since her uncle had started the management company and one of her cousins was running it these days.

      When Susie answered, Bree almost faltered. Should her cousin know about this before anyone else in the family? The answer was tricky since there were still some hard feelings among the various branches of the O’Brien family that went back to the construction of Chesapeake Shores. She waved off her doubts.

      “Susie, it’s me, your cousin Bree.”

      “Well, hey there. I’d heard you were in town when Jess opened the inn, but I didn’t catch much more than a glimpse of you at the party.”

      Bree laughed. “Big bashes like that give me hives. I put in an appearance for family solidarity and all that, then hid out in the kitchen helping the chef.”

      “I thought you’d be back in Chicago by now.”

      “I decided to stick around. That’s why I’m calling, in fact. I’m interested in leasing the space that’s available on Main Street.”

      “Really?” Susie said, not even trying to hide her shock. “I thought you were doing so well with your plays.”

      “I was doing well enough,” Bree hedged. “But I want to do something different. How about I come by now and sign the paperwork?”

      “It’s a two-year lease,” Susie reminded her. “We don’t like instability downtown.”

      “I’m not crazy about instability myself,” Bree said. “Two years is fine.”

      “Do you mind if I ask what kind of business you’re planning to open?”

      “A flower shop,” Bree said, her voice brimming with excitement. “Flowers on Main.”

      “You even have a name for it?”

      Bree laughed. “And that’s about all I have at the moment. And a lease, if you’ll wait for me to get over to the office.”

      “I’ll wait,” Susie promised. “I want to hear all about why you’ve decided to come back home.”

      Mostly so she could report it to the rest of the family, Bree was certain. Still, word would get around soon enough. She just had to make sure that Gram, Mick, Abby and Jess heard about it from her before anyone else went running to them with the news.

      And by the time she talked to her family, she was going to have a whole lot more than a lease and some vague idea that she could reinvent herself as a florist. Otherwise they’d start worrying about her the same way they fretted about Jess, convinced that she’d jumped into something without thinking it through.

      Which, of course, was exactly what she was doing. But for the first time in months, she actually felt a stirring of excitement deep inside, a resurgence of self-confidence. Maybe her destiny had been to work with flowers all along. Or perhaps this was just a stopgap measure until she got her feet back under her. Either way it felt right for now.

      “You’re going to do what?” Marty demanded, his tone incredulous when Bree worked up the courage to call and tell him she wasn’t coming back to Chicago. “Surely you’re not serious. What can possibly have possessed you to even consider giving up the theater to open a flower shop? Are you having some kind of breakdown?”

      His scathing tone stiffened her resolve. That a man who’d claimed to love her could even ask such a question in that tone was proof that she’d made the right decision. Chicago was not the place for her, and he was most definitely not the right man.

      “Thank you,” she said wryly.

      “For what?” he asked, clearly confused.

      “For making it clear that I’m doing the right thing.”

      “What are you talking about? I certainly said no such thing.”

      “No, you said I must be having some kind of a breakdown.”

      “Well, aren’t you? No one in their right mind would give up the opportunity you’ve had here to stay in that little hick town playing with posies.”

      “I think I’m more suited to ‘playing with posies,’ as you put it, than to being demeaned at every turn by you.”

      “When have I ever demeaned you?” he demanded, sounding genuinely shocked by the accusation. “All I’ve ever done was to support your work and offer constructive criticism.”

      “Potato, potahto,” she said.

      “What the hell does that mean?”

      “Your version of constructive criticism is to tear me down until I’m no longer convinced I can write a coherent thought or a well-drawn character. Oh, I’ll admit, in the beginning I was so in awe of you that I took every word as a pearl of wisdom, but I see now that in taking your criticism to heart, in molding my stories to win your approval, I was losing myself. The voice that I brought to my first play faltered in the second one and disappeared completely by the third.”

      “You’re blaming me because your third play was a disaster?” he asked, incredulous.

      “No, absolutely not,” she said swiftly. “I blame myself,because I listened to you. Don’t get me wrong, Marty. You taught me a lot in the beginning. You’re an amazing playwright. But I can’t be a carbon copy of you. I needed to be myself, and somewhere along the way I forgot that.”

      He was silent for so long, she thought maybe he was too furious with her to speak. But then he said, “Maybe that’s true.”

      She was so stunned by the admission, she didn’t have a response.

      He went on in that same thoughtful tone. “Now that you understand that, though, this is exactly the wrong time to turn tail and run. You need to come back here and get back to work. I’ll still help you, if you want it, or I’ll leave you alone.” He turned on the familiar charm. “You’re good, Bree. Those last reviews aside, you can’t lose sight of that. Besides, I miss you. I need you back here with me.”

      That almost swayed her. Marty never admitted needing anyone. Then she remembered how quixotic his moods could be. He might need her today, but by tomorrow his ego would kick in, and he’d need no one, least of all her. Besides, if she was leaving Chicago at least in part because their relationship had turned toxic, then she could hardly go back because of some faint hope that it could change. She couldn’t allow him to charm her into forgetting how things between them had deteriorated.

      No, she decided firmly. She needed to stay right here in Chesapeake Shores, at least for now. She needed to tackle something new, get a fresh start. The thing about writing was that it could be done anytime, anywhere. If inspiration struck, she had her computer and she had her contacts in the theater. Staying here didn’t mean she’d never write another play, just that if she did, it would be hers from act one scene one right on through to the closing curtain.

      “It’s too late, Marty. I’m not coming back, at least not for the foreseeable future.”

      “I’ll come there. I’ll change your mind.”

      “Please don’t even try.” It might feed her ego a bit to have him come, but more worrisome was the possibility that she would succumb to his persuasion. She knew all too well how skilled he was when he wanted something. “If you care about me, even a little, you’ll let me make this change. Accept it and wish me well.”

      “A few