Secrets Of The Tulip Sisters. Susan Mallery

      “What?” she asked.

      “It’s okay,” he admitted. “I want to make it better, but I don’t know how to do the finishing touches.” He could design the hell out of three hundred square feet, but when it came to things like paint and throw pillows, he was as lost as the average guy in a housewares department.

      “I wish I could help, but I can’t.” She flashed him a smile. “I’m totally hopeless at that kind of thing, too. Now if you want to know the Pantone color of the year, that I can do.”

      “The what?”

      “The color of the year. Every year the design world picks colors that are expected to be popular. You know, for clothes and decorating.”

      “Why would you know that?”

      “Um, Griffith, I grow tulips for a living. If I don’t get the colors right, nobody wants them at their wedding or on their coffee tables.”

      “Oh, right. I didn’t think of that.” He frowned. “Don’t you have to order bulbs before you plant them? What if you get the colors wrong?”

      “Then I’m screwed and we lose the farm. Which is why I pay attention to things like the Pantone colors of the year. It’s not so much that people won’t buy yellow tulips regardless of what’s popular, it’s that I’ll lose sales by not having the right colors available when my customers want them. I like being their go-to vendor when they need something.”

      He’d known she cared about her business, but he hadn’t thought of her as competitive. Better and better.

      “Do you focus on having the right colors in the field flowers as well as those you grow indoors?”

      She studied him for a second, as if surprised by the question.

      “They’re different,” she admitted. “What we have for the annual tulip festival are more focused on popular colors as well as types of tulips. I use the greenhouses for wedding seasons as well as for the more exotics. It’s easier to control the process when you don’t have to deal with Mother Nature.”

      “I hear she can be a real bitch.”

      Kelly laughed. “If there’s a spring hailstorm, I won’t disagree. Ten minutes of hail can ruin an entire crop.”

      He winced. “That sucks.”

      “Tell me about it.”

      They smiled at each other. He had a feeling she’d forgotten about why she’d come to see him, which was how he wanted things.

      He’d known who Kelly was since high school. She’d been a couple of years behind him, but he’d seen her around. She’d been relatively quiet. Pretty, but not in a flashy way. Her freshman year, they’d worked on the yearbook together and he’d gotten to know her. Still, he’d been that guy and she’d been younger. He hadn’t known if he wanted to make his move or not. Then things had blown up with her mother and he’d hurt Kelly’s feelings and, before he could figure out what to say or do, he’d graduated and gone off to college.

      To be honest, he hadn’t thought about her all that much until he’d moved back to Tulpen Crossing, but now that he was here, he found her on his mind a lot. Her five-year relationship had conveniently ended six months ago. He figured there’d been enough time for her to have moved on. Now all he needed was to get her to buy into the plan. And if the lady said no, well then he would back off.

      “Come on,” he said, motioning to the door leading to the walkway between the warehouses. “I want to show you something.”

      Her expression immediately turned wary. “Etchings?” she muttered, then flushed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply...” She cleared her throat and stared at the floor, then back at him. She sucked in a deep breath, then asked brightly, “What did you want to show me?”

      “Just the other warehouse.”

      “Okay.”

      Her voice was doubtful, but she followed him along the covered walkway, then into the second building.

      It was smaller and currently unoccupied. There were piles of material around the perimeter, plans tacked to the walls and empty pallets next to a small forklift.

      “Is this for overflow when you get really busy?” she asked as she walked over to a stack of boxed solar panels.

      “No. This is why I do the other work.” He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy designing homes for people. They’re so excited and enthusiastic. It’s just there are other places, other people, who are desperate for shelter. That’s the work I do here.”

      Her brown eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

      “I work with several nonprofits. They collect materials and ship them to me. When I have enough, I ask for volunteers and we put together micro housing in kit form. It’s then sent to wherever it’s needed most.” He pointed to the solar panels. “Those are for sub-Saharan Africa. They’ll be self-sufficient as far as electricity. I’m working with a guy I know in Oklahoma who’s experimenting with different ways to purify water. Right now the units are too big and too expensive, but eventually we’ll be able to send them with the houses. These are more basic than what I sell here, but they’re still shelter.”

      He walked over to the designs on the wall. “One of the organizations has me build tiny houses for homeless shelters. Same premise, different materials, depending on which part of the country they’re for. A couple of times a year, they send me interns to coordinate everything. We’re getting ready for a build next month. I’ll be putting the word out for volunteers.”

      Her mouth wasn’t exactly hanging open, but it was close. Good. Griffith didn’t do the work for the attention, but he wasn’t above using it to impress Kelly. Because when it came to a woman like her, a guy had to be willing to take advantage of whatever the gods offered.

      “I’d like that,” she told him. “To help. This is a great project. All of it. I had no idea you were doing this.” She shifted her gaze from the materials to his face. “It’s amazing. Everyone always says they want to make a difference, but so few of us have the opportunity to do so directly. With this, there’ll be homes for families when there weren’t homes before. That could mean the difference between life and death—literally.”

      “You get it,” he said before he could stop himself.

      She smiled. “Doesn’t everyone?”

      No. Jane hadn’t. His ex-wife had gone along with him when he’d moved to Africa to work with his mentor, but she hadn’t liked it one bit. She’d made that clear on a daily basis. He supposed he had culpability in the problem. He’d been the one who was supposed to join an international architectural firm and design museums and elegant skyscrapers. Instead he’d fallen hard for micro housing. Jane hadn’t approved.

      “You’d be surprised how many only want to write a check,” he said instead. “Not that I’m knocking the check writers. They provide the funds.”

      “It takes both sides of the equation. Without your work, the check would be meaningless.”

      “My thoughts exactly.”

      She stood a comfortable distance from him. Her posture was relaxed and open. She’d forgotten why she’d come to see him. Which probably meant it was time to remind her.

      “What did you want to talk to me about?”

      She blinked in surprise, then her whole body changed as she remembered her mission. “Oh, right.” She cleared her throat. “I, ah... Well, the thing is...”

      He waited patiently. “Yes?”

      “You are, um, around a lot. Around me.”

      Around was better than stalking. A lot better. He gave her his best smile again, hoping it would help.

      “You’re