Secrets Of The Tulip Sisters. Susan Mallery

      Ryan blinked and looked around, as if genuinely surprised to find everyone else was back at work. “Huh. Sorry. I was listening to the game. I guess I got distracted.”

      Griffith could guess how the conversation had gone. One of the guys would have said break was over. Ryan would have said he would be there in a minute. Had the twenty-five-year-old been anyone else, the shop supervisor would have been notified. But Ryan was the boss’s brother. No one was sure if the rules applied—not even Griffith.

      He briefly thought of his parents who had always insisted he look after his baby brother—no matter how inconvenient it might be—sucked in a breath and told himself he would deal with Ryan another time.

      “Get back to work,” he said. “Now.”

      “Sure thing.”

      His brother got to his feet and ambled toward the door.

      Griffith watched him go and told himself any annoyance was his own fault. Ryan had never hustled—unless he was on the baseball field. There he could be little more than a blur of activity, but in life, not so much with the speed.

      * * *

      “I love it!”

      Olivia Murphy basked in the delighted tone and happy words of her client. Jenny was a sixtysomething recent widow who needed to sell the family home to fund the rest of her life. Getting top dollar was a priority.

      The ranch-style three-bedroom, two-bath wasn’t anything fancy. In fact hundreds of them existed in the older neighborhoods of Phoenix. Adding to that challenge were the lack of updates and the time of year. June wasn’t exactly peak selling season in the desert—not when midday temperatures routinely topped a hundred degrees. No one wanted to be looking at homes if they didn’t have to be. Winter was far more active in the real estate market.

      But Jenny couldn’t wait until winter, which meant making a splash on minimal budget. Olivia had spent hours on Pinterest, had haunted thrift stores and had begged and borrowed everything else. For less than five hundred dollars, she’d transformed the aging, very ordinary rambler into a cute, welcoming Cape Cod retreat.

      “I just can’t believe it’s the same house,” Jenny crowed. “Look at what you’ve done.”

      “I know,” Marilee Quedenfeld said, her tone a combination of modest pride and look-at-me. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it? The second you walk in, you feel the cool, ocean breeze.”

      Olivia kept her smile firmly in place. There was no point in saying anything. Working for Marilee these past four years had taught her that. If there was praise to be had, it went to Marilee. If there was a complaint, well, that went anywhere else.

      “You’re a genius,” Jenny told Marilee. “Everyone said you were the best, but I didn’t expect this. Thank you!”

      “You’re welcome.” Marilee put her arm around her client. “I know what you’ve been through and this is the least I can do.”

      Words Jenny would take at face value, Olivia thought, while Marilee was probably thinking something along the lines of Dear God, why doesn’t this woman take better care of herself?

      The contrast in their appearances was startling. Jenny was short, frumpy and had obviously surrendered to the aging process. Marilee, by contrast, wore an Akris punto polka-dot A-line dress and Valentino pumps. Her hair was a sleek, shoulder-length, dark blond bob, her makeup emphasized large eyes and smooth skin. She was close to fifty, looked thirty-five and occasionally tried to pass herself off as even younger.

      “Let’s go look at the rest of the house,” Marilee suggested. “You’re going to love everything I’ve done.”

      “I know I will.”

      Olivia stayed in the kitchen. It was safer there—she wouldn’t be tempted to blurt out a fact only the designer would know. While the momentary satisfaction would be great, she would pay for it later.

      Olivia had joined Marilee’s successful real estate business right out of college. She’d started as a secretary and had worked her way up to designing all the company’s marketing. As that wasn’t a full-time gig, she’d tried her hand at selling homes, but had discovered she didn’t have the right kind of personality. Marilee didn’t, either, but she was better at faking it.

      In an effort to keep from having to fill her day with secretarial duties, Olivia had started taking design classes. She quickly discovered she had a knack for more than putting together a great outfit on a budget and transforming a plain house into something wildly appealing. So far she was offering her staging services for only the cost of supplies, but she was toying with the idea of starting a real business and had the savings account to prove it. This house had been her biggest project by far. She might not be getting the credit, but she had plenty of before and after pictures for her portfolio.

      Jenny and Marilee left the house to return to the office. Olivia stayed behind to lock up and look around one more time.

      “Your assistant is such a pretty girl,” she heard Jenny say as they walked to Marilee’s Mercedes. “We should all be so young.”

      Olivia winced. Marilee would not appreciate being lumped into Jenny’s over-sixty age group, nor would she like Olivia being complimented. But that was for later.

      She checked that the rear slider was locked, pausing to admire the Adirondack chairs she’d found at a garage sale for all of ten bucks each. She’d set a thrift store tray on top of a ratty plastic end table. A few shells in an old mason jar with a little sand transformed the tired poolside into something beachy.

      Inside she’d covered Jenny’s lumpy sofa with an off-white slipcover, then added throw pillows in gray, blue and pale aqua. A textured throw rug in beige and cream covered most of the 1980s floor tile.

      In the master she’d recovered the headboard with striped gray-and-white sheets. She’d splurged on a new comforter, then had rearranged the furniture. A few accessories—starfish, a clock in the shape of a lighthouse and piece of driftwood—continued the theme.

      The master bath was pure illusion. Rolled towels and pretty jars of bath salts distracted from the outdated tile. A quick coat of white paint added a sense of freshness. She’d found a darling silk flower arrangement and put it into a child’s sand bucket. The touch of whimsy drew the eye away from the ugly tub.

      Her phone chirped. She glanced down and saw she had a text from Logan. They’d met over the weekend and he’d been trying to get together with her ever since. Honestly, Olivia just wasn’t in the mood. Yes, he was Kathy’s boyfriend and stealing him would be good fun, but for some reason the idea didn’t appeal.

      She scrolled through other texts and paused when she saw the one that had really caught her attention.

      You should come home for a visit. We could hang out. Miss you, babe.

      Every woman had her weakness. For some it was brownies, for others it was shoes, for her it was Ryan Burnett.

      The man made her crazy. She knew the reason—they’d never had their chance. She’d been cruelly ripped from his arms before they could become the most popular couple in high school. Later, at college, he’d been more interested in baseball than her, something he still had to pay for.

      She wanted to forget him and couldn’t. He was the promise of what could have been, of what she could have been. When she was with him, she finally belonged. She needed that—needed him. Ever since he’d moved back to Tulpen Crossing three months ago, he’d been asking her to come up for a visit. Which was ridiculous. That was the last place she wanted to be. Except for Ryan...

      She dropped her phone back in her bag and walked outside. After making sure the key was in the lockbox, she checked the front door, then drove back to the office. She arrived in time to hear Jenny raving about the marketing campaign Olivia had prepared.

      “I don’t know how you do it all,” Jenny gushed. “Marilee, you’re amazing.”