The Perfect Groom. Ruth Scofield
old picture frames?”
A group of three entered the shop, two women and a child. Saturdays in the old-fashioned Brookside shopping neighborhood were usually Ivy’s busiest days and Tina had called in sick, leaving only Sherri and her to handle the crowd.
“Oh, yes.” Now Ivy knew why the woman looked familiar. In addition to the resemblance to her brother, her picture had been in the papers a dozen times in the society columns. Barbara Reeves headed up several charity affairs every year. “I’ll get it for you, but, um, can you wait a moment? My assistant is at lunch and I need to take care of the front counter.”
Barbara shrugged and wandered to the finely carved wood mantelpieces on another wall. “I’m not in a rush. You really do have a lovely shop here. I’d no idea…”
The door dinged again as other customers entered. Ivy finished her transactions with the two young women, and turned to help the next when a pounding alerted her that someone wanted her attention at the shop’s back door. Thankfully, Sherri, her most faithful help, returned just in time to answer it.
“Got a delivery,” Ivy heard a deep voice pronounce. Instant recognition danced across her consciousness, and she almost tripped over her own feet to look into the back room.
“Sherri, I’ll take care of this.” She smiled at the customer, then glanced at Barbara Reeves apologetically, murmuring “A moment more, please,” while she stepped into her crammed storage-cum-office area.
He looked bigger in the small room than he had outdoors. Taller and broader. At least he was neatly dressed in clean jeans and she had to admit the cherry-red shirt complemented his dark hair and eyes.
Holding a big cardboard box with the words Tomato Soup printed on its side atop his shoulder, he took time to look around with interest.
“Noah something, isn’t it?” she murmured.
He brought his gaze around to look at her. His mouth curved into a half smile with a disarming charm of gentle flirtation. His eyes glinted with an expression clearly intent on letting her know he didn’t believe her casual memory. “That’s right.”
Ivy pursed her mouth. She wouldn’t let that smile get to her—even while those sparkling brown eyes gave her tummy a dip. What was he doing here?
“You work for a gardening business, don’t you?”
“Something like that,” he said, his smile widening. He seemed to think they shared a joke, as though they played a game. “Where do you want this stuff?”
“Wait a minute.” She put up a defensive hand. Surely the man didn’t think she’d called him in an attempt to see him again, did he? But his knowing expression said that was exactly what he thought. Well, she’d put a stop to that bit of nonsense right now.
“I don’t recall ordering anything from you,” she said distinctly as if speaking to a child. “I don’t carry gardening equipment.”
“Well, at least you remember my line of work,” he replied, retaining a wry, teasing tone. He swung the box to the floor, taking up the three feet between them. “And like you, I own my business, The Old Garden Gate. Now, I have six outdoor wooden sculptures of trees and little critters for you. Great to hang on a porch wall or decorate a deck.”
“I specialize in interiors.”
He gave her a speculative look, causing her to smooth her hair behind one ear. “I sold one recently for a fireplace decoration.”
“But I didn’t order them,” she insisted. “I wouldn’t.”
“Well, somebody ordered them. See?” He raised his brows and held out the small square of paper scribbled with the name of her shop and order. “Wall’s Intrigue. Dated last Monday.”
“Whose initials—” She glanced more closely at the carboned form and clamped her mouth shut. A.A. Aunt Arletta!
In any of her correspondence, notes, or gift tags to the family, her aunt never used her full name, Arletta York, she merely signed A.A. And here it was again. Surely Aunt Arletta wouldn’t interfere in the shop’s ordering lists again after Ivy scolded her for overflowing their supply of stained-glass bathroom wall fixtures?
The irrefutable evidence hung limply from between a masculine thumb and forefinger, waiting for her to accept it. Glancing into Noah’s face, she clamped her teeth on a flare of high irritation. The man was right about one thing; her aunt had probably ordered the merchandise to bring Noah and Ivy together again. Throwing her at men’s heads had become Aunt Arletta’s latest hobby.
They were usually nice enough men. Ivy simply wasn’t always enamored of Aunt Arletta’s taste. Or her tactics.
That wasn’t this man’s fault, she admonished herself.
“All right,” she said with a sigh. She might not like it, but she wouldn’t embarrass her aunt or Noah by refusing to honor the order. Ivy did wonder how she could corral Arletta without deeply wounding her feelings. The shop’s cash flow already ran closer to the zero line than was healthy. “Let’s see your merchandise.”
He bent to open the box, and brought out one of the objects for Ivy’s inspection. To her surprise, it was a wood carving from a chunk of oak of two bear cubs climbing a pine tree. And it was good. The work showed more rough talent than training, but it had great appeal.
All business now, she said, “Let me see the rest.”
Noah crouched down and pulled out the others—frogs and turtles, butterflies and birds, and dogwoods and tulips. Kneeling beside him, Ivy examined each one and glanced at Noah with renewed interest. “Did you do these?”
“Yeah, that one’s mine.” He stood and hung his thumbs from his jeans back pockets, watching her appraise the work. “A buddy and I do these in the winter when we don’t have a lot else going on. He’s the true artist, though. I just fill in my off-season time.”
“Mmm…” She might have a few customers who would go for the primitive work. “It’s the wrong season for most of these.”
She stood also, and glanced around at her stuffed-to-the-ceiling shelves. “I’m setting out my holiday stock next week. Have you anything for the Thanksgiving and Christmas shoppers? I can use more Christmas stock. I already have enough wreaths coming in, but if you could come up with something different, something with a flair, bring it in. Meanwhile, I’ll put out the bear and racoon and see what kind of interest it gets.”
“Fair enough.” He looked pleased. “Our outdoor work has slowed down quite a bit. I’ll talk to Matt and see what he suggests.”
“I thought I heard a familiar voice back this way,” Barbara Reeves said, ignoring the Private sign and pushing the door wider. “Noah, darling.” The blonde’s voice took on a near purr. “How are you? Haven’t seen you in weeks. Where’ve you been keeping yourself?”
Noah dropped his hands to his sides. Ivy wouldn’t have said he went on red alert, but she had a distinct impression of wariness.
“Hello, Barbara.” He smiled vaguely. “I’ve been pretty busy.”
“I called you last week,” Barbara said, flipping her silky hair back with long, well-manicured fingers. “Didn’t you get my message about the Shores’ dinner?”
“Guess not. My phones were out for a couple of hours one day while the phone company did some work up the road.”
“Well, I suppose that now your season has entered its resting phase, you’ll have more time to accept my invitations,” Barbara said with the familiarity of an old friend. “What about Saturday night?”
“Um…” He shifted his stance. “Have plans for Saturday.”
“Too bad. Can’t you break them?”
“Nope.” His gaze grew determined, but his tone softened, as though