Holly Berries and Hockey Pucks

CHAPTER 1

QUICK NOTE: If you enjoy Holly Berries and Hockey Pucks, be sure to check out my offer for a FREE Price Family novella at the end. With that, happy reading!

The door to Jillian Morgan’s shop slammed open with a blast of cold October wind. The large white bucket of flowers, which only moments before had been held in her hands, hit the floor. To make matters worse, water sloshed across the floor and soaked her tennis shoes. It wasn’t even eight, and this was not the way to start a day. She brushed a wayward curl out of her eyes, and even though she wasn’t open yet, she smiled at the potential customer standing in front of her. The only saving grace was that he had remained dry.

Good morning. How can I help you?

He pointed to the door over his shoulder. I just saw your closed sign. The man was close to six feet tall and slender, with short dirty-blond hair and hazel eyes. He gave her a sheepish smile. I can come back.

No, it’s fine. She didn’t remember seeing him in her shop before and wondered if he was just passing through town.

He bent over and retrieved the bucket. Looks like your day isn’t off to a great start. His smile was bright and friendly. If you get a mop, I’ll clean up the water and you can save the flowers.

No, that’s alright, but thank you. She stepped over the puddle to stand behind the counter and brushed back another stray curl. How can I help you today?

He looked at the flowers still on the floor and flashed her a grin. Tell you what. Let me help you clean this up, really, and I’ll give you my flower order. He tipped his head to the side. And for my trouble, you can give me ten percent off.

Since he insisted on being a nice guy, she relented. I’m Jillian, owner of this shop. She wasn’t used to someone offering extraneous help with much of anything, and that included raising her daughter, Melanie. After a moment of hesitation, she said, Thank you.

He stuck out his hand. I’m Brett and I’ve only lived in town for a couple of months.

That kind of explained why she hadn’t seen him before. Besides, between running the shop and spending as much time as she could with Melanie, she didn’t socialize much. There just weren’t enough hours in the day. Welcome to Dickens. And you’re just in time for the holiday season. From Labor Day until the New Year, we’re always up to something around here, but mostly it’s all about Christmas, considering the name of our little town.

It’s charming. Even though I grew up near Boston, my parents used to bring me to the tree lighting ceremony here every year.

She leaned against the counter. I think that’s one of my favorite nights during the holiday season. It’s magical. She could hear the wistful tone in her voice and snapped back to florist mode. Do you have any idea what you’d like today for an arrangement?

Brett began to pick up flowers and set them in the now upright five-gallon bucket. I’m not sure. Something bright and cheery, maybe with some daisies. He held up a lily. And whatever this is?

She suppressed a grin. He looked cute with his hands full of flowers dripping water. "I can include some daisies and lilies in the arrangement. Are there any other flowers you’d like? He continued to fill the bucket with flowers from the floor until the last ones had been scooped up. Why don’t you look around and see if any of the arrangements in the cooler strike you, or I’m happy to put together something new."

She hurried through the archway into the back room, where she grabbed the mop and floor bucket. When she came back into the main shop area, Brett was studying each prearranged bouquet with great interest.

Did you make all of these morning?

She dropped the wet mop into the squeeze part and wrung it out and proceeded to wipe up the last of the puddle. Actually, last night. She pushed the mop and bucket back into the storage room and when she returned, she asked, Did you find something?

He gestured to an arrangement that had white roses, lilies, and colorful Gerber daisies. I like this one. These are much prettier than the supermarket flowers I’ve been buying. He winced. Sorry. I’ve been meaning to come in sooner.

I’m glad you’re here now. She pulled it from the case and pointed to the cards on the counter. I can have it delivered by lunchtime. If you want to add a card, help yourself.

Can I take it with me? I’d like to personally deliver it.

She gave him a smile. The personal touch is always appreciated. She slipped the vase into a protective wrapper and stapled the top. Is there anything else I can get you?

Would it be possible to have an arrangement made up for me each week for the rest of the year? Similar size, but make them with different color schemes each week, and for the holidays, can you create themed arrangements in seasonal colors? Oh, and do you know where I can get a few wreaths?

Sure, I can do all of that. Same day and time each week?

Yes, please.

She pulled out her order pad and made notes about the upcoming orders. She was pleased to have the job. Right before Thanksgiving, I’ll have wreaths for sale and if you’d like, I am accepting preorders now.

He pulled out his wallet to pay for the flowers. Put me down for two large wreaths and if I could pick up the arrangements every Wednesday around four thirty, that would be good.

How sweet. He must have a weekly dinner with his girlfriend. She wondered if Heather, her best friend and owner of the Library Cat Bookstore, might have some idea about this new hunk in town and who he might be dating. I can definitely do that. She handed him a business card. I close at five but if there is any time when you’re running late, just give me a call and we can figure something out so you’ll still be able to pick them up.

Thanks. That’s really nice of you.

She ran his credit card and handed him the electronic pad to sign. Thank you for your business. She cringed at how perky her voice was, but a steady customer, not just for the bouquets but wreaths too, was a nice boost for the rest of the year. One last question. Will you want the flowers in vases each week or will you want to reuse the one you have with today’s arrangement?

He picked up the flowers and glanced at the clear cut glass vase. This is pretty and multipurpose but for next week, let’s have another vase. That way they can be washed in between.

Perfect.

He gave her a warm smile that made the gold in his eyes sparkle. Jillian, I’ll see you next Wednesday.

With that, he was gone. She leaned against the counter and watched as he disappeared down the street. He was handsome. Not that she needed a complication of the male variety.

Her cell pinged. It was her mom. Her daughter was asking if they were still going to the skating rink tonight. There were signups for hockey and she was determined to make the team.

Without hesitation, she answered, Yes. She wanted her daughter to gain the same sense of confidence on the ice she’d had as a kid. Hockey had given her more than just confidence; it had helped pay her way through college, and that’s where she had met Melanie’s father, even if he had turned out to be an absentee dad. He was chasing the dream of becoming financially successful and maybe someday he’d figure out she was worth more than a monthly check, fancy gifts for special occasions, and an occasional phone call and an even rarer visit. The last time he had seen her was almost four years ago.

Brett carried the vase of flowers to his car. A smile played over his face. Jillian was a surprise; he hadn’t expected the owner of Petals to be a pretty young woman who jolted his heart into action. It had been a while since Racine had broken off their engagement and he had no interest in getting involved with anyone new, but it felt good to appreciate the pretty woman with cornflower-blue eyes and blond curls. She was the picture of the girl next door and he was already looking forward to next Wednesday. But first a quick stop at his mom’s work, and then he had signed up to start coaching the local youth hockey team and tonight was the first practice.

Mom, where are you? He walked through the empty kitchen and carried the vase into the living room, where his mom was sitting in his father’s recliner, a box of tissues on her lap and discarded ones littering the floor.

Setting the vase of flowers on the coffee table, he said, Hey, Mom. His voice was gentle as he dropped to one knee and touched her hand. What’s going on? His heart was cement in his chest.

Her hazel eyes were rimmed red and bloodshot. Brett, when did you get here? I must have lost track of time.

Just now. He pointed to the table. Surprise.

She patted a hand over her chic-styled silvery-blond hair and placed a freckled hand against his cheek. Are those for me?

They are. I finally made time to investigate the flower shop and I just had to pick some up. Dad always bought you flowers. A fresh wave a grief washed over him as he remembered all the Wednesdays his dad had come home carrying a bright bouquet for her.

Your father brought me a bouquet every week all the years we were married.

I remember sometimes he picked wildflowers. I think those were some of your favorites.

Her eyes got a faraway look. Before we moved to Dickens, we had that huge flower garden where I could cut them every day. Every table in our home had vases of colorful blooms during the summer.

And Dad bought different flowers every week. He handed her a tissue.

She dried her cheeks. I’m glad you came over today, and thank you for the flowers. They’re lovely, but you should find a special girl you can buy flowers for every week, and not your mother. A sad smile graced her mouth.

Mom, I don’t have time to date. I’m still unpacking my apartment and getting used to my new job. He eased back on the sofa. But I did make a call to the youth hockey club. At work, someone mentioned they were looking for an assistant coach. He gave a one-shouldered shrug. I thought it’d be good to get back on the ice.

Is this a pre-Christmas miracle? Mom flashed him a genuinely pleased smile. You haven’t held a hockey stick in over ten years.

I don’t want to rehash the past, Mom, but I can still skate, and who knows? Maybe there’s a kid that would be interested in learning from me. He got up and grabbed a small trash can. I’ll clean this up, but I do need to get to work. Any chance you’d want to make meatloaf tomorrow night for dinner, with baby carrots and all the good stuff?

She shook a finger at him. I know you have an ulterior motive to get me off the chair, but how can I say no to my favorite son asking for his favorite meal, and in the middle of the week?

I’m your only kid, so I’d better be your favorite. He dropped a kiss on her cheek. If you need anything before tomorrow, give me a call.

She stood up and gave him a hard hug. Be patient with me.

He could hear the catch in her voice. I will. Everyone says the first year is the hardest. But you’ve got me and we’ll get through all the firsts together. He held her tight, his chin resting on top of her head. I think we should go out for Thanksgiving dinner. There’s plenty of time to make a reservation. He didn’t want to tell her he already had. We’ll talk about it tomorrow night.

I’m not sure, but I’ll think about it. She released him with a final squeeze. Thanks for stopping. I woke up feeling blue and you added a sparkle to my day.

Why don’t you go to the library today, and tomorrow the market? Or better yet, you could stop at that little bookstore in town. You might meet some people.

Brett, you’re pushing me again. She gave him a small poke You need to get to work and I have a shopping list to make.

I’ll call you later.

You’ll do no such thing; you don’t need to hover. Besides, you have hockey practice tonight.

This time, the smile reached her eyes and his internal knot relaxed.

That’s something I haven’t said in a long time. Have fun. She opened the kitchen door and ushered him out. See you at six tomorrow. She closed the door behind him, effectively pushing him along.

His parents had moved to Dickens in January, and his dad had been diagnosed with cancer in March. He’d been with his father in the final weeks of his life and had helped take care of him. It was only after his dad passed that he had found a job and officially moved to Dickens. And now, it had been four months and he was learning to live without his rock. Sadly, there hadn’t been time for his mom to make new friends or find a support network before Dad had gotten so sick. Hopefully today would be the first step if she’d go the bookstore or library; one thing she had always loved was to read.

He looked back at the one-story house where his parents had planned to spend their retirement years and his heart ached for what would never be. Life rarely turned out as you planned and Brett knew that firsthand. His dream career and his engagement were both like wisps of smoke, gone with the wind.

CHAPTER 2

I can’t wait to go to hockey. Melanie flopped on the floor. Will all this stuff fit in my bag?

Jillian sat cross-legged on the floor next to the open gear bag, tired from a busy day in the shop. She had never really gotten into a good groove after dumping the bucket of flowers in front of her new customer, Brett.

So far, Melanie’s skates were inside along with her helmet, pads, face mask, socks, pants, and gloves. She searched the two inside pockets. She found Mel’s pelvic protector. Kiddo, where’s your mouthpiece container?

Melanie shrugged. I dunno. She looked around and hopped up from the floor. I see it. She grabbed it off the bed and giggled as she made a wild toss to Jillian, who caught it by stretching to the right.

Jillian decided not to admonish her about throwing things in the house tonight.

Melanie clapped her hands. You caught it! Her laugh filled the room. Gram says I’m gonna be a Mite. She says you were a Mite too.

I was. All kids who are under eight are considered Mites and in a couple of years, you’ll move up to Squirt.

She scrunched up her nose. Those are funny names.

They are, but when you grow up and become a famous hockey player…

Like you were, Momma? Her head tilted to one side and it was easy to see the excitement in her eyes. Gram tells me stories about each trophy she has in your old room. She says you were a big deal.

I wasn’t famous, honey. My college team won a championship and we all worked hard to make it happen.

But Gram says you were the captain and everyone liked you.

That was a long time ago. Now it’s your turn to learn the basics and become a good team player. That’s critical for the success of any team.

Melanie crossed her arms over her chest and dropped her chin. What if the boys don’t want to let me play? Some of the kids at school said only boys are on the team and I’ll be the only girl.

Jillian’s heart twinged. I don’t think you’ll be the only girl; that’s just kids talking. She remembered that very same fear. She scooted across the floor and folded her arms around her mini-me, from the blond curls and blue of her eyes to the small dimple in her cheek. There was nothing of her tall, dark, and very handsome father in this little girl, and that was a good thing. The last thing she wanted was another reminder of the man who up and left his daughter without so much as a second thought.

I’m going to tell you the same thing Gram told me every time I began to work with a new team, she said. Work hard, play hard, but most of all, have fun. That’s what playing a sport is all about. If you’re not having fun, it’s not worth it.

Melanie looked at Jillian, her eyes wide. Does that mean I don’t have to keep playing if I don’t like it?

Jillian shook her head. "Bug, you know our house rule. If you make a commitment, you have to honor it, and you’re agreeing to