Blue Roses (5 page)

“Sounds like you and Megan are best friends now. What happened here yesterday after I left?”

He scratches his scruffy chin, acting comfortable and casual around me. I, however, am standing tall and rigid with my arms crossed sternly.

He explains, “All my guys have been working hard to get the renovation done. Their wives and girlfriends haven’t been too happy. Yesterday, I told them they could knock off early. But only if they swung by here and picked up something to bring home.”

“They cleaned us out.”

He chuckles and looks over the empty shelves. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a baby boom nine months from now.”

“Well, thank you. Gardenia Flowers appreciates the business.”

“You’re welcome. Grab your purse. Do you like omelets, or waffles?”

I blink up at Luca’s blue eyes. Is he inviting me out for breakfast?

“Come on,” he says. “Your sister said you could. You don’t have any flowers to sell, so put a sign on the door, and let’s go get some breakfast. I haven’t eaten at Delilah’s yet, and I hear it’s good.”

My mouth waters a little.

“Okay,” I say.

I quickly write up a sign for the door and lock up.

Luca starts walking in the wrong direction.

“Delilah’s is up this way,” I say.

“I’ve got a lot to learn.” He turns and catches up with me easily, thanks to his long strides.

The guy must be six foot three, at least. I’m not short, but I feel short next to him. I’m five foot nine, which is an inch shorter than standard height for models.

I did some modeling in my early teens, just for local malls and catalogs. I really thought I might have a career in modeling, but then I stopped growing. Naturally, I did the exact opposite of modeling, and got into wrestling.

I catch our reflection in the shop windows we pass by. We look like we could be a couple.

He’s wearing his usual boots and jeans. I’m wearing my favorite sandals, with leggings and a long tunic-style shirt that covers my butt. The shirt is teal, and I’m wearing it with a green belt. Teal makes my green eyes look closer to blue, so I wear this color a lot.

I’m only thinking about my clothes because Luca keeps looking over at me. His mouth moves, like he’s on the verge of saying something about how I look, but he stops short of commenting.

What he doesn’t know is that ever since he first walked into the flower store a few weeks ago, I’ve stepped up my game. Instead of throwing on shorts and whatever shirt isn’t wrinkled, I spend time picking out clothes. Just in case he comes in.

He grins at me. “You’re thinking about something good,” he says. “You’ve got mischief all over your face.”

I rub my stomach. “Just thinking about waffles.”

We arrive at Delilah’s. The restaurant is impossible to miss, with its eight-foot-tall teapot perched high above the door. The building sits on the corner of the block, and is a local landmark.

We walk in, and the waitress seats us in a big corner booth. This booth is normally reserved for larger parties, but the place is quiet since it’s Thursday morning. On the weekend, the brunch lineup practically circles the block.

“That was quite the teapot over the door,” Luca says.

I look over the menu and tell him what I know about the teapot. Years ago, when I was a kid, Delilah’s had a flat teapot made out of plywood. They upgraded to a three-dimensional teapot when some kids from the art college offered to make it as their final project. I understand it’s made from styrofoam, and coated with a hardener.

The waitress brings tea for me and coffee for Luca, then takes our order.

Now my mind’s on styrofoam, so I tell Luca about my adventures trying to cut letters for a sign for the flower shop. You can’t cut the foam with a knife, because it shreds apart. You have to use a hot wire, but nobody’s hand is steady enough to cut it straight. Most commercial signs are cut by lasers these days.

Luca interrupts me, saying, “You sure talk a lot about styrofoam for a first date.”

I nearly choke on the tea I’m sipping.

“Honestly, it’s been a while,” I say. “Is this a date? I thought you wanted to pump me for information about the locals.”

His eyebrows quirk up. “This counts as a date. This is number one.”

“Oh, we’re counting. Interesting.” I bite my lower lip and fiddle around with the tea bag in my pot.

“Number one,” he says.

Now my brain is screaming at me:

Tina, he’s counting! This is number one. You know what happens on date number four. You read it in Cosmopolitan magazine! Date number four is when he grabs you and your pants magically disappear. Try not to think about treating Luca’s body like your personal jungle gym.

“Your sister said you don’t date very much,” Luca says. He’s speaking softly, but his voice is so deep and rich that it cuts easily through my internal chatter.

“I don’t.”

“Your sister didn’t say why.”

“I go on a lot of first dates, but not second dates. Do people really date anymore? I’ve had a few boyfriends, but it seems like this gradual transition you don’t notice. One minute we’re just friends, like in a group of friends, and then we’re together.”

“And then what?” His sky-blue eyes are locked on me. His focus and presence is almost overwhelming. He’s not just making conversation, waiting for his next chance to talk.

He’s listening.

My eyes burn and my chest aches. I don’t know if I can handle this. He’s too intense.

I look over at the door. I’ll make an excuse and leave. This was a bad idea.

The waitress arrives with our food.

“I hear you’re the one who bought the garage,” she says to Luca.

He turns and gives her a charming smile. “We’ll be re-opening soon.”

The waitress looks about fifty. I can see she’s charmed by Luca in person, but she’s just old enough not to collapse in a pile of giggles.

“I’ve been taking my Honda to Baker Brothers since the day I bought it,” she says. There’s an edge to her voice, like she’s more than willing to give up her tip in exchange for expressing her feelings.

Luca gives me a quick wink before turning back to her.

“I hope you’ll keep bringing your Honda in,” he says. “We’ll have some service bays dedicated to bikes, but I plan to retain all the loyal Baker Brothers customers.”

She’s warming up. “Really?”

He turns up the sunshine. “It’s my personal pledge, to keep you satisfied.”

The waitress practically melts for him. She twirls a lock of dyed-auburn hair around her finger and asks if he’d like more coffee.

“Whenever you get a minute,” he says.

“I’ll brew a fresh pot.”

After she’s gone, I say, “You could charm the pants right off a pants salesman.”

He laughs. “I’ll take that as a compliment. And thank you again for talking to me about the locals. I was on the fence about keeping a bay for servicing cars, but you did your own magic, and talked my pants right off.”

“Then you talked
my pants
off and got me to play hookie from work and have breakfast with you.”

“And now neither of us is wearing any pants at all.”

I pick up my utensils and contemplate a plan of attack for my giant waffle.

“Who needs pants,” I say.

“Pants just get in the way,” he agrees.

“For our next date, pants are optional.”

He murmurs a wordless agreement.

My eyes widen in horror at my big mouth. I dig into the waffle to quiet myself.

Tina, do not think about pants-optional activities with Luca. Do not think about kissing him, or any of the jungle gym stuff. Calm down, girl. This is only date one.

And besides, there’s something very wrong with Luca that you haven’t yet uncovered. He’s always sending women flowers to apologize. Take it slow and figure out what’s wrong with him before you even consider going pants-optional.

Luca’s fork and knife squeak on his plate. I look over at his plate. The white dish is nearly bare. His omelet and hash browns are gone.

I watch as he inhales a triangle-shaped piece of toast in two bites. The man eats food like he’s angry at it.

He sees me watching, and slows down, in a self-conscious way.

I eat my waffle and watch with amusement as he carefully spreads marmalade on the remaining slices of toast.

I can’t take my eyes off his hands. His finger doesn’t fit through the tiny handle on the coffee cup, so he holds the cup in one hand. The small white cup disappears in his palm.

I’d like to disappear in those hands.

“How long have you been at the flower shop?” he asks.

“My mother bought it when I was five. I’ve never worked anywhere else.”

“College?”

“I’ve started a few different courses. Nothing finished.”

“Starting things is easy. Finishing is tough.”

“How about you? College?”

He winces. “This and that. I did an apprenticeship in Australia for a year.”

“You’re the exact opposite of me. I’ve never left the country. My life must seem claustrophobic to you.”

He studies me quietly for a moment.

I chew and swallow a bite of my food. I’m full now, so I set down my utensils and push the plate away.

“What’s Australia like?” I ask.

“I’ll buy you a book.” He grins. “How are you liking this date?”

“I think it’s going well.”

“If I ask you to go to the paint store with me and pick out paint colors, will that count as date number two?”

“No, it would just be a continuation of this date, number one.”

He looks up and nods for the waitress to bring us the bill.

“In that case, I’d better be on my way. Since you’re busy Friday, how about we get together Saturday? Let’s do something crazy, like go to a movie.”

“A movie? That’s not crazy, Luca.”

“You’ll see.” He hands me his phone. “Punch your address in there and I’ll pick you up at eight.”

I start typing in my address. He’s filed me in his contacts as
Tina Great Legs Nice Smile Kinda Bossy.

I glance up and see that he’s grinning. He meant for me to see that.

My best friend, Rory, pulls a hot cookie sheet full of cheese-covered nacho chips from my oven.

She’s got a hair net over her dark, curly hair. Most people would find the hair net odd, but Rory works in catering, and seeing hair in food makes her scream.

“Your oven is ridiculous,” she says.

The chips have all slid to one side, because the oven is a tiny European model. A regular stove wouldn’t fit in the kitchen. With this stove, the baking trays I own will only fit when propped up at a ten degree angle.

“You’re ridiculous,” I answer, because that’s one of our little games. She’ll make a comment about something, and I’ll turn it around to be about her.

It’s Saturday, and she’s hanging out with me until Luca comes over at eight.

She tucks the hair net away in her pocket and shakes out her curly dark hair. The white streak peeks through. Her hair is a few shades darker than mine, and she’s got one streak of white that occasionally reveals itself. She used to color the streak dark, just so people wouldn’t ask if she had paint in her hair, but she’s stopped worrying about that lately.

She keeps looking over at the clock on my fireplace mantle, amidst my photos. Her checking the time is making me nervous. She might stick around so she can meet Luca, but it’s more likely she’ll freak out and run off before he arrives.

“I changed my mind,” she says. “You can’t go on any dates. I won’t be able to relax until you tell me you’re back home, safe and sound.”

“Don’t worry, Rory. I’m not going to let him touch my undergarments.”

She bristles visibly at the mention of undergarments. I haven’t said any of her dreaded words, such as
panties
or
bra
, but the idea alone is enough to bother her.

We take our seats at the round table overlooking the back yard and start eating our nachos.

After a moment, she says, “Promise me you won’t move to Australia with him.”

We both look over at the big coffee table book Luca dropped off for me at the flower shop on Friday. It’s a collection of photos showing the diversity of Australia.

“He just bought a garage on Baker Street,” I assure her. “He’s not going anywhere. And neither am I.”

“There’s something wrong with him. I have a bad feeling.”

“Well, I have a good feeling.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “You have a
party
feeling in your you-know-what.”

“Maybe I do.” I don’t say it, but I’m surprised Rory was able to make a vague reference to sexual desire. I wonder if she’s making progress with her phobias.

We eat quietly. It’s coming up on seven-thirty.

I can’t help myself, so I ask Rory, “Do
you
ever get a party feeling in your you-know-what?”

She looks up, her golden-brown eyes wide and horrified. For a moment, I think she’s going to throw up, but she doesn’t. She stands, grabs her bag, and lets herself out the door without a word.

I finish eating, brush my teeth, and fuss around with my hair.

The intercom connected to the main house buzzes. I groan, because I know exactly what’s happened. Luca ignored my directions, just like every pizza delivery guy does, and went to the main house.