Page 6 of The Bear's Blooming Mate

“I enjoyed listening.” Philip gave a lopsided smile. That disarmed her more than it should have.

“My brother is not a big talker, believe me,” Finn said.

Brother!She glanced between the two men, the family resemblance clearer now that they stood side by side. Although where Finn was polished and easygoing, Philip had a rougher, steadier air about him.

“Well,” Finn said, sensing the awkwardness stretching between them, “shall we take a look at your plans?”

Elsbeth nodded, eager to move the spotlight off herself. “Right. Yes. Of course.”

She turned back to Philip. “I imagine you have better things to do than be dragged into someone else’s flower farm drama. But thank you again for being so polite.”

Philip hesitated. “Actually…I don’t mind hanging around. And I might be able to help.”

Finn perked up. “Philip’s in charge of the vines over at Thornberg Vineyard. He’s the reason the wines taste as good as they do.”

“Oh.” Elsbeth blinked. That explained the dirt under his nails and the way he spoke about the land like it was an old friend. “I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” Philip said, and she believed him.

“I made lemonade,” she said a little too brightly and nodded toward the porch.

“Wonderful,” Finn said, with that same self-satisfied look at his brother, who rolled his eyes and shook his head.

But whatever was going on between them seemed good-natured enough. Elsbeth kind of enjoyed seeing their interactions. As an only child, family drama was something she had no actual experience with.

If only.Her throat constricted. If only she’d had a sibling, losing her mother might not have seemed so absolute. It might not have left her feeling so completely alone in this world.

The farmhouse porch was cool and shaded, the wood creaking gently beneath their feet. It needed work, but it was her favorite place to sit in the evening and look out across the farm.

“Please, sit.” She indicated the wicker chairs she’d rescued from a thrift store, their faded cushions giving them a worn-in, homey feel.

“I’ll just grab that lemonade,” Elsbeth said, ducking into the house as the two men settled into the chairs.

In the kitchen, she pressed her palms against the cool countertop and took a steadying breath. What a first impression she’d made, mistaking one brother for another and then rambling about her plans like a nervous schoolgirl. She filled three glasses with lemonade. The ice cubes clinked against the glass, and the scent of lemon and mint filled the air, bright and summery. Reminding her of long afternoons helping her mom weed her precious flowerbeds.

Elsbeth took a moment to compose herself as grief threatened to paralyze her. Then she took a deep breath, lifted the tray of drinks, and headed back outside.

On the porch, the brothers were engaged in a quiet conversation that ceased as she approached. Philip straightened in his chair, his eyes finding hers with an intensity that made her pulse quicken.

“Here we go,” she said, handing them each a glass. “It’s my mother’s recipe.”

“Thank you,” Philip said, his fingers brushing hers as he accepted the drink. A jolt of electricity coursed through her and she nearly spilt her glass. What was it about this man?

Finn took a long sip and made an appreciative sound. “This is wonderful.”

“Thanks,” she said as she took the farthest seat away from Philip. His presence was far too unsettling. In a good way. But a way she did not need.

Elsbeth had come to Bear Creek to fulfill her mother’s dying wish of making her dreams come true. Of owning her own flower farm.Notfalling for the first man who showed up at her door. Even if he did make her feel special in a way no other man ever had.

“So,” Finn said, stretching his legs out in front of him, “why don’t you walk us through your plans? Sounds like you’ve already covered a lot of ground. Figuratively and literally.”

Relieved to be getting down to business, Elsbeth nodded, set her glass down on the small table, and flipped open her sketchpad. “I’ve mapped out the entire growing area,” she said, spreading the sheets across the table. “Each bed will be around thirty inches wide, with walking paths in between. I’ve got succession planting schedules set up, zinnias, cosmos, snapdragons, you name it. But the slope here worries me.” She pointed to a corner of the page. “Heavy rain could ruin everything before it even gets started. And then this section needs irrigation. I have the pipework in the shed, I just need advice on laying it.”

Finn leaned in, studying the sketch. “I can draw up some plans for low retaining walls here,” he said, tracing a finger along the edge. “As for this section, Philip is the man you should talk to about irrigation pipes. Philip?”

“Sure.” Philip leaned forward then, setting his glass aside. “If you don’t mind, can I see the soil there again?”

Elsbeth blinked, then nodded. “Of course.” Although it seemed strange that Finn was handing part of the job over to his brother.

---