Secrets Of The Tulip Sisters. Susan Mallery

she would very much like to get lost in. Maybe while he slowly undressed and reached for her as they...

      “Helen?”

      “What? Oh, thanks. Although I’m not sure I should thank you for stealing from your daughter’s private greenhouse.”

      “She’s not going to notice one flower missing.”

      “You take one every week. At some point she’s going to catch on.”

      He winked. “She hasn’t yet.”

      No, she hadn’t. Because Kelly would have mentioned the thefts, had she spotted them.

      Yes, it was true—father and daughter worked together on their tulip farm. In addition to growing millions of blooms for florists and grocery stores, Kelly had a small, private greenhouse where she cultivated special flowers. Flowers Jeff occasionally stole and brought to Helen.

      Today’s offering was red with a yellow base. But what was most remarkable were the long, slender petals that came to a needlelike point. They were delicate and exotic and incredibly beautiful.

      “Tulipa acuminata,” Jeff said.

      Helen didn’t know if the words were Latin or just scientific, but hearing him say them made her girl parts sigh in unison.

      “It’s stunning,” she said. “I’ll put it in my office and not tell my best friend, which makes me a bad person and it’s all your fault.”

      “I do what I can.”

      He took a seat at the counter. His regular seat. The one she thought of as Jeff’s chair. When she had a moment between customers, it was where she later sat. Sad, but true.

      “Want to see a menu?” she asked.

      He raised his eyebrows. “Is that your idea of humor?”

      Because he’d been coming to the café all his adult life and knew everything they served.

      “I’m trying to mix things up,” she said.

      “I’ll have an omelet.”

      “With bacon, avocado, cheese.” A statement, not a question.

      “You know what I like.”

      If only that were true. If only she knew the words or moves to get him to see her as more than a friend. Unless, of course, he wasn’t interested. Which he probably wasn’t, because he was a decisive man. So she should get over him and move on with her life. Only she didn’t want to get over Jeff. She wanted to get into him. Or have him get into her, or...

      “I need more coffee,” she muttered. And a hormone transplant. Or maybe just some more Billy Joel.

       3

      Leo Meierotto, the fortysomething site supervisor, stuck his head in Griffith’s office. “Boss, you’ve got company.” Leo’s normally serious expression changed to one of amusement. “Kelly Murphy is here.”

      Because Leo was local and in a town the size of Tulpen Crossing, everyone knew everyone.

      “Thanks.”

      “Think she wants to buy a tiny home?”

      Considering she lived in a house her family had owned for five generations, “Doubtful.”

      Maybe she’d shown up to serve him with a restraining order. Or did that have to be delivered by someone official? He wasn’t sure. Avoiding interactions that required him to get on the wrong side of law enforcement had always been a goal.

      He told himself whatever happened, he would deal, then walked out into the showroom of the larger warehouse. Kelly stood by a cross section of a display tiny home, studying the layout.

      He took a second to enjoy looking at her. She was about five-five, fit, with narrow hips and straight shoulders. A farmer by birth and profession, Kelly dressed for her job. Jeans, work boots and a long sleeved T-shirt. It might be early June, but in the Pacific Northwest, that frequently meant showers. Today was gray with an expected high of sixty-five. Not exactly beach weather.

      Kelly’s wavy hair fell just past her shoulders. She wore it pulled back in a simple ponytail. She didn’t wear makeup or bother with a manicure. She was completely no-frills. He supposed that was one of the things he liked about her. There wasn’t any artifice. No pretense. With Kelly you wouldn’t find out that she was one thing on the surface and something completely different underneath. At least that was what he hoped.

      “Hey, Kelly.”

      She turned. He saw something flash through her eyes. Discomfort? Nerves? Determination? Was she here to tell him to back off? He couldn’t blame her. He’d been too enthused about his plan when he should have been more subtle. She was going to tell him to leave her alone.

      Not willing to lose without a fight, he decided he needed a distraction and how convenient they were standing right next to one.

      “You’ve never been to my office before,” he went on. “Why is that?”

      “I don’t know. You’ve been back about a year. I guess I should have been by.” She turned toward the tiny homes. “You build these?”

      “I do. Have you seen one before?”

      “Only on TV.”

      He grinned. “Gotta love the free advertising.” He gestured to the model next to the cross section. “Micro housing is defined as being less than five hundred square feet. They serve different purposes for different people. In sub-Saharan Africa, micro housing provides sturdy, relatively inexpensive shelter that can be tailored to the needs of the community.” He pointed to the roof. “For example, we can install solar panels, giving the owners access to electricity. In urban settings, modified homes can be an alternative to expensive apartments. They can also offer shelter to the homeless. For everyone else, they fill a need. You can get a single-story house for an in-law or a guest cottage with a loft. You can take it on the road, even live off the grid, if you want.”

      She studied him intently as he spoke, as if absorbing every word. “I like living on the grid, but that’s just me.”

      “I’m with you on that. Creature comforts are good. Come on. I’ll show you where we build them.”

      He led her around the divider and into the back of the warehouse where the actual construction was done. Nearly half a dozen guys swarmed over the homes. Griffith saw that Ryan was leaning against a workbench, talking rather than working. No surprise there. He ignored the surge of frustration and turned his attention to Kelly.

      “Clients can pick from plans we have on hand or create their own. If it’s the latter, I work with them to make sure the structure will be sound. A house that’s going to stay in one place has different requirements from one that will be towed.”

      She nodded slowly. “You’d have to make sure it was balanced on the trailer. Plus it can’t be too high. Bridges and overpasses would be a problem. Maybe weight, as well.”

      “Exactly. A lot of people think they want a tiny home but when they actually see what it looks like, they’re surprised at the size.”

      “Or lack of size?” She smiled. “I can’t imagine living in five hundred square feet.”

      “Or less. It takes compromise and creative thinking.”

      “Plus not a lot of stuff.”

      They walked back to the show area. She went through a completed tiny house waiting to be picked up.

      “I can’t believe you fit in a washer-dryer unit,” she called from inside.

      “Clothes get dirty.”

      “But still. It’s a washer-dryer.” She stepped back into the showroom. “It’s nice that