The Perfect Groom

“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 letting her down easy. “Plans are solid.”

Ivy felt she’d wandered into the middle of a twosome.

“Don’t count on me to make the rounds of your social circuit this year, Barbara,” Noah continued. “My winter schedule may be different from the heavier seasons, but it’s just as busy. In fact—” his glance touched Ivy with a spark of humor “—I’ve just joined a very active church where I expect to give quite a lot of my free time.”

Which church? An instant suspicion tickled Ivy’s spine. Was he talking about her church? Had Aunt Arletta done it again?

Aunt Arletta wasn’t above a top-drawer selling job when it came to campaigning for Grace Community Church, and true enough, they carried several very active programs to service the community as well as three worship services on Sunday and several Bible studies and prayer meetings during the week. But she might just tie a knot in Aunt Arletta’s panty hose if her aunt had been urging Noah to attend on her account.

“Ah, yes, soup kitchens and urchins, hmm?” Barbara said. “Well, perhaps another time. I have to run. Give me a call, Ms. York, when you have time to find that framer’s number, will you?”

“Would you like me to call the framer for you?” Ivy responded.

“Sure, why not? Just let me know.”

“I will. Thanks for coming in, Miss Reeves.”

Ivy turned back to Noah. He shrugged, as though to suggest he had nothing to say about the encounter, and grinned. His dark eyes glinted with friendly humor.

“Now, about your merchandise,” she said in a firm voice. “What kind of a price are you looking for?”

They wrapped up the business end of the transaction, then before Ivy could wonder whether he’d try to extend his contact with her or attempt anything close to a personal conversation, Noah said, “Nice doing business with you, Ivy. I’ll leave through the store, if you don’t mind. I can look around.”

“Sure, help yourself.” Leading the way, Ivy strolled back into the showroom.

Ivy turned her attention to a customer choosing wallpaper and matching drapes, and she became engrossed in color schemes and styles. Long moments later, a trill of laughter and a deep chuckle intruded upon her concentration.

Glancing toward the sound, she spotted Noah on a ladder removing one of her finest black walnut mantels from the wall display. Sherri waited at the ladder’s base, her eyes alight with pleasure as she gazed up at Noah as though she were Juliet doing a reverse balcony scene with Romeo.

“Do you want to take this with you or have it delivered?” he asked the older woman waiting beside Sherri. Mrs. Gilliam, Ivy noted. A regular customer, she’d looked at the mantelpiece more than once but usually declared it too expensive.

“Oh, um, I have my van,” the woman answered. “I’ll take it now, if you’ll carry it out for me.”

“Be glad to, ma’am.” Noah answered graciously. “Soon as Sherri rings you up, you just pull your van round back and I’ll have this wrapped and ready to load. Do you have someone at home to unload it for you?’

“Ah, yes.” The woman’s salt-and-pepper head nodded, but her voice held an overtone of disappointment, as if hoping Noah might offer to deliver her purchase. “Yes, of course.”

“Oh, thank you, Noah. I could never have taken that down without you,” Sherri gushed before turning to the customer. “Will that be cash or charge, Mrs. Gilliam?”

“Charge, I suppose,” Mrs. Gilliam said, running an appreciative hand along the dark polished wood. Intricately carved with racing horses, the heavy piece was the most expensive mantel in the shop. Ivy’d begun to think she’d never sell it without a drastic price reduction.

But Noah had. Her gaze followed him as he carried the object into the back room. Ivy finished with her own customer before stepping through the storeroom door.

“Got any real packing material back here?” he asked her without looking her way as he searched a corner of the storeroom.

“The heavy-duty wrapping is behind the door over here.”

“Yeah, that’s the stuff.” He pulled the roll of batted paper out and hoisted it with ease onto the one counter Ivy kept clear for the purpose of wrapping large items. Having a person with muscle power about the store had its advantages, she admitted to herself. “Wouldn’t want to expose this thing to a possible scratch. About lost my back teeth when I heard Sherri quote the price.”

“Good work always commands a good price.”

“You know, this thing was so high up no one could see the delicate details,” he said, looking it over carefully. “Even needs a little dusting. I bet you could’ve sold it a lot faster if customers could see it better. Some of your wall could do with a rearrangement.”

“What’s wrong with the wall?” He was right, but she was curious to know why he thought so.

“It’s too random. Looks disorganized.”

She blinked at his pointed reply. Obviously, subtlety wasn’t one of his strong talents.

“That’s because…because I don’t have enough space to show like a gallery,” she said, almost sputtering. Why she even thought she owed him an explanation was beyond her usual good sense. “I put up the work as it comes in.”

Actually, she’d done that only in the last month. Usually she took time to reevaluate and rearrange the wall often.

“Looks like it, too. Might sell better if you group by color ranges. Or artists. You have three Burkes scattered over the wall that would show well together above one of the mantels.”

“Only three? I thought I had two in one place and two in another.”

“I sold one to that Ms. Reeves,” Sherri said. “After she came out from talking to the two of you in the storeroom.”

“Oh.” Ivy glanced at the picture wall. Sure enough, an empty spot showed where the Burke that Barbara had bought once hung. “I’d be glad to rearrange your wall for you, if you’d like,” Noah said. “I have a little time on my hands this week. No charge.”

“I’ll consider it,” she answered. She knew the wall needed work; in truth, she’d been putting it off until Monday night after store hours when she planned to replace some of the art to show holiday wreaths. And with Aunt Arletta ordering things behind her back, and sometimes committing Ivy’s time to help friends decorate with only thanks for compensation, she didn’t need someone else handing out unsolicited advice.

A honk sounded beyond the outside rear door.

“Well, thanks for the help with Mrs. Gilliam’s purchase,” she said with sincerity, even though his critique of her shop’s display area still rankled.

Yet he had been helpful, she reminded herself. She pulled the heavy door wide and struggled to be gracious as well as cooly professional. “It was kind of you. Here, I’ll hold the door open.”

“Glad to help.” Halfway through the door, he paused. His dark eyes studied hers for half a second. “You’ve seen my work at Reeves house. Perhaps you’d consider carrying my card in your recommendation file. After coming to see my place, of course. Wouldn’t expect you to tell your customers about my work unless I meet your standards.”

“Right” That was really why he’d come today, she thought. She wouldn’t admit to a tiny bit of disappointment that he hadn’t come simply to see her again. Hidden agendas reminded her too much of Leon, the last man to whom she’d been engaged. Leon had wanted to control everything she did. He’d even had the nerve to fire her store assistant; that was the beginning of the end for Leon.

It was definitely the end of any remnant of her fantasy of a perfect marriage. Obviously this man had more depth to him than met the eye. But she’d never allow herself to become personally entangled with an overly controlling male again—ever.

“Send me a list of your services and prices and I’ll give the idea some thought,” she finally told Noah.

Yeah, right.

She didn’t think so.

Several hours later as she slipped into the pew for the midweek prayer and praise service at church, she knew her wish to keep contact with Noah strictly on a professional basis was a vain one.

“Noah,” Aunt Arletta greeted the young man enthusiastically. “I’m so happy to see you. Sit here with us.”

“Thank you, ma’am. It’s good to feel welcome.”

Feeling like a grinch, Ivy scooted down the bench pew to make room for him. His smile was both genuine and sweet.

Hers felt more like a nervous rabbit’s.

Chapter Three

Ivy dropped her keys on the kitchen counter of the apartment she shared with her aunt and sank into a chair. She let all her muscles relax. For the past week, with the exception of Sunday, she’d spent at least twelve hours a day at the store preparing for the approaching holiday shopping season. Last night she hadn’t arrived home until midnight and she’d left again at seven this morning.

The day had been one ripe for a double headache.

One of her suppliers called with the news he’d be two weeks late with a Christmas delivery; a three-year-old child had tried climbing the shelf display then pitched a temper tantrum when she gently insisted he get down—without a mother in sight for a full five minutes; the man who cleaned her floor quit for greener pastures; and her feet hurt. After letting Sherri go home early, Ivy had stayed until almost seven. She wasn’t even sure if the sun had made an appearance today. But at least her store was reasonably prepared for the holiday rush.

She sniffed. The fragrance of a chicken casserole filled her nostrils, making her tummy clench with hunger. What would she do without Aunt Arletta? she mused. Probably live on takeout. She hadn’t taken time for lunch, either.

“Kind of late home, aren’t you dear?” Her aunt popped into the kitchen and turned on the stove burner under the teakettle. “Well, never mind. You’re just in time for a quick shower.”

Shower? Her thoughts had run on the lovely image of a long soak in a bubble bath.

“What do you mean?” Ivy asked, knowing full well it meant her aunt probably wanted to go out somewhere. Couldn’t be grocery shopping—she’d done that last night She frowned. No, that had been three nights ago. Maybe she had a meeting of some church committee.

Ivy hoped it meant her aunt only needed a ride somewhere and not Ivy’s company for the evening. After talking with customers all day, she was too tired to even crack a smile. “It’s Tuesday.”

“Ah, yes. Tuesday.” Aunt Arletta met with a seniors group for Bible study and dessert on Tuesday afternoons, which usually satisfied her craving for company—at least for that day. On Tuesday evenings, they stayed at home.

Not for the first time Ivy wished her aunt had learned to drive. The fact she hadn’t had caused Ivy and her mother, Brenda, more than one problem while Ivy was growing up. Aunt Arletta didn’t think anything of making plans without consulting anyone else first, but she was such a dear and contributed so much to other people’s comfort, Ivy never had the heart to refuse her. It hadn’t been so bad before her dad died; she was his aunt, after all. He cheerfully ran errands for Aunt Arletta or drove her to wherever she needed to go.

Ivy shifted from her outer wrap and let her head drop back to rest against the chair. Closing her eyes for a moment, she pulled up memories of her dad—something she often did when she felt tired or down.

Jonathan York had been of average size, but Ivy had thought him tall enough to touch the ceiling. They’d ridden bikes together, shoveled snow and made snow forts all winter, roller-skated in the hot summer evenings, jaunted down the sidewalks side by side every Saturday morning on their way to shop. They munched on donuts while strolling home, a bag of groceries in each of their arms, and he’d simply grin widely at her mother’s scold over spoiling her. She’d been her daddy’s girl and she’d adored him. No one would ever mistake her for anyone else’s child, her mother said frequently, with their matching coppery curls and hazel green eyes.

Without realizing it, Ivy sighed. She still missed him dreadfully. When her father died of sudden heart failure, she’d just turned fourteen. She thought her world had stopped, and in a way, it had. Things changed rapidly for her and her mother afterward; although they’d never had much in earthly goods, their life became even leaner. Bless Aunt Arletta. They never would have made it if she had not moved in with them, throwing her own small income and nurturing instincts into the family pot.

It was Aunt Arletta who had taught her about her heavenly Father. And how to talk with Him and what the scriptures said of Him.

Aunt Arletta did a lot for the family, but she never learned to drive. They’d had the old car, then, already four years old when her dad died, and her mom took over the duties of ferrying the family. But they soon found that balancing the various needs was often difficult; taking the bus hadn’t always fit Ivy’s schedule or routes, and cabs were too expensive. Too proud, her mother refused to ask for help from anyone besides Aunt Arletta. They couldn’t always depend on someone else to cart one of them around, her mom had said. They just had to “make do”.

Ivy was usually the one who made do. If she hadn’t a ride to somewhere, she walked. She walked almost everywhere as a teen.

Ivy’d learned a great deal about personally making do. She made her choices of clothing and activity do triple duty, and budgeted her time and money with care, even while lavishing her time on learning all she could about fine furnishings, color palettes and design. The contrast between the exquisite furniture, fine art and carefully designed interiors she studied and the reality of their humble apartment made a deep impression on her, and she’d determined even then to have a better home one day.

She took her first part-time job at a department store the month she turned fifteen and a half. During college, she switched to an upscale furniture store and juggled full-time hours with school. She socked away every penny she could, waiting for the day when she could invest it.

She and Aunt Arletta, since her mother remarried and moved out west, still made do with their small apartment and frugal budget while she poured all her profits back into the store. But one day she’d have a big house and more than one new car. If their Christmas season was good, this was the year Wall’s Intrigue would more than break even. Someday, Ivy dreamed now, she’d have money enough to buy a brand-new car right off the dealer’s lot and take Aunt Arletta on a long driving vacation.

“So what’s going on?” She let her daydreams go with a sigh.

“We have a guest coming to dinner.”

“Okay.” She didn’t bother to ask who. Aunt Arletta frequently asked her friend, Shirley, who lived two doors away to a meal. “What’s it being Tuesday to do with it?”

“Well, tomorrow is your light day.”

“Mmm…” Ivy closed at four on Wednesdays, but starting next week she’d begin her holiday hours when they’d be open until eight every night except Sunday when she closed the store entirely. “You haven’t set the table yet. Want me to do it?”

“No, dear. You run along and have your shower. Oh, and Kelly called a few moments ago.”

“They’re back?” Ivy scrambled out of her chair and headed down the hall to her tiny bedroom where she could return a call in peace. Two weeks without talking to her best friend left her with a hole to fill. Their friendship would be different now; marriage always changed loyalties and priorities. Rightly so, she’d told herself over the years as one by one her friends had entered into that state. But she and Kelly had been the last holdouts in their crowd and had made solemn vows they wouldn’t let marriage put distance in their friendship. Even so, Ivy mused, she wouldn’t see as much of her friend from now on. It was the way of things.

She punched Kelly’s number and spent a pleasant thirty minutes listening to how wonderful Hawaii had been for a honeymoon.

“Ivy, are you almost ready for dinner?” Aunt Arletta called.

“Five minutes, Aunt A.”

Showering quickly, she also shampooed her auburn curls. She gave her hair a halfhearted swipe with the towel, then decided to let it dry naturally. Rummaging through her closet, she grumbled about having to dress again at all. She’d much rather wear her pj’s and robe. She’d likely pass out as soon as supper was over anyway.

At the bottom of her chest, she found a loose navy sweat outfit and pulled it on. Shirley wouldn’t care what Ivy wore.

“…and Ivy opened her store three years ago. She inherited her father’s creativity, you see,” her aunt’s gentle voice murmured through the hall as Ivy sauntered down it in stockinged feet. “But she never could focus in a single direction, poor dear. So the interior design store gives her enough variety—”

Not focus? Aunt A never understood her occasional interest in architecture or how the two areas of design interacted.

Whoever her aunt was talking to, it wasn’t Shirley. Ivy reached the kitchen door and stopped cold. Her aunt’s small plump figure stirred a pot on the stove while a tall, athletic one filled three glasses with milk.

“Hi, Ivy. It’s about time you got out of that shower,” Noah said as though his presence in her kitchen were quite a normal occasion. His gaze swept over her face, free of makeup, and noted her still-damp hair, minus its usual smooth fall. “We’re starved.”

“Yes, we certainly are. And you must be as well. Sit down, children. Soup first. Then a nice chickenand-noodle casserole.”

“Noah!” She ignored her aunt’s direction entirely, trying not to let her mouth drop open like a buffoon. “Why are you here?”

“Taking shameless advantage of your aunt’s generous invitation,” he said, hooking a foot around a chair leg to bring it out from under the table. He appeared completely at home in her small kitchen, and wonderfully comfortable with Aunt Arletta. “She asked me the other day after I agreed to chauffeur some seniors on an outing. We’re making it a weekly adventure.”

“What?” Heart beating with sudden suspicions, she licked her lips to ask calmly, “What are you making a weekly adventure?”

“Our outings,” Aunt Arletta answered with delight. Ivy let her breath out, thinking herself almost too foolish to have thought her aunt meant she’d invited Noah for a weekly dinner.

Yet, knowing her aunt, the idea wasn’t so farfetched. She continued to listen to her aunt’s explanation, trying not to stare or be taken in by Noah’s handsome face.

“Noah’s agreed to play chauffeur and escort for the senior outings until spring. We had sixteen of us today, and having a nice young man like Noah to assist some of us into the bus was a pleasure. He took us right to the back of the Thomas Hart Benton House so that no one had to go up those steps. Used the ramps for the two in wheelchairs so all of us could go. Even old Robert Dearborn was pleased, and you know how crabby Robert can be.”

Ivy blinked. Noah touched her shoulder, reminding her to sit. Sinking into the chair, she narrowed her eyes at him slightly; no one could be that perfect.

Considerate and generous to older people and functioned well in a kitchen? What was he up to? What did he want? He’d only joined the church a week or two ago. He’d sat nearby during the worship service. While always polite, Ivy’d never encouraged his interest by one single eyelash sweep.