by Kent, Julia
Luca gives me a pity chuckle.
We’ve reached the door to the flower shop. I pull out my keys and pretend I don’t notice the flirty look he’s giving me.
I push open the door, and Luca follows me into the cool interior.
“Chilly,” he says.
I start laughing.
“What?” He looks at me like I’m very strange. He’s not wrong, I guess. I did offer him a massage. And I’ve already planned six of the twelve pin-up photos I’d take for his imaginary calendar.
“It’s just funny to hear a big, tough guy like you say the word chilly.”
We walk in past the ferns, which tickle my bare arms. I’m wearing a flower-print sundress today, and gladiator-style sandals.
He says, “I’ll have to watch what I say around you. I’ll stick to big-tough-guy words, like bullets, and barbed wire, and battleships.”
I flick on the lights and pivot to face him.
“Bullets, barbed wire, and battleships? You could put those three things together and make a great tattoo.”
He laughs. “That’s a good idea, but I don’t believe in tattoos.”
“What are you talking about?” I laugh and reach out to squeeze his forearm. “How can you not believe in tattoos?”
He looks down at my hand on his arm.
Tina, you’re touching his arm. You asked him if he likes massages, and now you’re forcing one on him. Bad Tina! Let go of his arm. Stop squeezing his muscle. It’s real, it’s spectacular, and it’s not yours to squeeze.
His eyes flick up from my hand to my eyes. “Nothing against other people’s choices, but I prefer my skin exactly how it is,” he says calmly.
I pat his arm and look down at his skin. The fine hairs are almost golden in color. I pull my hand away.
“You have very nice skin,” I say. “You don’t need anything else. You’re perfect, exactly how you are.”
He turns and walks over to the sliding doors that run across the walk-in cooler. “I’m not perfect,” he says, his back to me. “Which is why I’m here today. I need more of those apology flowers.”
“Already? It’s only been two weeks since your last one.”
“Different woman.”
I swallow hard. The only thing worse than learning Luca has a girlfriend is learning that he has two.
I pull down some vases from the upper shelves behind the counter and set them out. Then I grab some of the freshest-looking blossoms from the last auction and start trying color combinations.
Luca watches quietly, not offering more information.
“You’re dating two women at once?” I ask.
“Is that what you wanted to know about when you sent me a friend request?”
“My friend Rory did that. She was on my computer. I’m so sorry. I was going to unfriend you, but that’s so rude.”
He grins. “I don’t really do Facebook or any of that kid stuff.”
“Good. Then you didn’t see all my embarrassing photos.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” His grin gets wider. “You’ve got a lot of pictures of your cat.”
“Muffin. He’s a great cat. He does not like taking a bath. His favorite activities are sleeping in sunbeams and hiding twist-ties in people’s shoes.”
Luca leans over to take a close look at the peach-colored roses between us. “To answer your question, no. I would never date two women at once. Even just one takes up so much time.” He points to the cobalt blue vase. “This one will do.”
I grab a knife and whittle away at a green insert so it fits in the vase.
“Luca, the thing is… never mind.”
“What? More dating advice?” He stretches out his arms. “Hit me. Don’t hold back now. I won’t tell anyone you’re giving free relationship counseling over here without a license. We have florist-client confidentiality.”
I stab the green insert a few more times, then drop it in the vase.
“It’s just that… if you really love someone, they’re not taking up your time. Sitting in traffic takes up your time. Waiting in line takes up your time. But being around someone you care about is a gift.”
His eyebrows bunch together, and he stares steadily into me with those sky-blue eyes.
“How did you get to be so wise?” he asks.
“I knew someone who didn’t have much time, and he chose to spend it with the people he loved.”
Luca pushes his hands into his jean pockets and looks down at his boots.
“I’ll take that under advisement,” he says softly.
The door chimes, and another regular customer comes in.
I put on my professional florist face. “When do you need the arrangement ready by, Mr. Lowell?”
“How about closing time again? You’re here until six?”
“I’ll have your order ready. Would you like anything written on a card?”
He tosses his chin upward cockily. “The usual.”
He turns and walks out.
The other customer is still looking around, so I pull out a notecard and write the usual:
SORRY I’M A JERK. - LUCA
I crease the card and tuck it into an envelope.
I wonder what he did this time.
Chapter 7
Wednesday morning, I hustle to get all the flower orders done quickly.
On my way in this morning, I bought a bag of hard candies and two trashy gossip magazines that I intend to read from cover to cover.
My flowers are all taken care of now.
With a happy sigh, I pull the stool up to the counter.
I settle in and flip open the magazine cover.
The front door chimes.
Luca comes in, looking unhappy. Handsome as always, but unhappy.
“I have a complaint to lodge,” he says.
“Your lady friend didn’t like the arrangement I made you on Monday?”
“She loved it.” He keeps frowning at me.
“And?” I wave to the magazine open on the counter between us. “As you can see, this article about the bad boy Prince of Wales isn’t going to read itself.” I lean forward and whisper, “He’s always got something going on. Right under the Queen’s nose.”
“You weren’t here on Monday at closing.”
“My sister Megan and I share all the shifts here. She took over after lunch that day. Did she do or say something wrong? She was probably just making a joke. Some people don’t get her humor.”
“She was perfectly nice, but she’s not you.”
“We do share a lot of genetic material. Therefore, she’s more like me than the other six or seven billion people on this planet.”
“Then I should ask your sister to go out with me.”
I look down and pretend to read the article about Prince Harry. Luca’s way too hot to be serious. He’s playing a joke on me, and I’m not falling for it.
“Sure, ask away. I don’t think she’s seeing anyone right now.”
“How about you? Are you seeing anyone?”
I grab my other magazine and the hard candy from behind the counter. “Just my Prince, and this bag of future dental work.”
“You’ll be finished eating those candies long before Friday. Come out with me for drinks.”
“What kind of drinks?” I keep my gaze down on my magazine. If I look into Luca’s striking blue eyes, I’ll get the giggles and agree to anything.
“We could call it networking drinks,” he says. “You were right about the people around here hating me. They’re all pissed about losing their service garage. I was thinking that since you have the remarkable ability to spot all my many shortcomings a mile away, you can tell me everything I’m doing wrong.”
“Sure. Don’t change the name of the shop.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Keep calling the place Baker Brothers. Add on a smaller sign saying you specialize in bikes. You can keep doing some oil changes on cars for a few years, until people get used to you. When you get too
busy for cars, find some other places to refer the business to. Don’t just tell people to look in the phone book or online. They hate that. Go out and try some other garages, then refer people to one that you personally vouch for.”
He’s very quiet for a moment, then says, “You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”
I glance up, and I’m snared by his eyes.
“Forget drinks,” he says gruffly. “I’ll buy you dinner. Anything you want.”
“Friday’s no good. I’m busy.” This is about as big a lie as any I’ve said inside this flower shop, almost as brash as saying I like Baby’s Breath in floral arrangements.
“We could get an early dinner, or a late one. I’ll work around your busy schedule of magazine-reading.”
“Some other time.”
“Today’s only Wednesday,” he says. “Maybe you’ll change your mind by Friday.”
“Anything could happen.”
He nods his head at the candies. “Those are the fruity ones with the soft centers.”
I open the bag and offer some to him.
Luca plucks out a half dozen candies, all blueberry.
“Those are the best ones,” I say.
He waggles his eyebrows. “I know.”
“Thanks for leaving me… one.”
He reaches in and takes the last blueberry candy.
“We’ll talk again,” he says, and then he walks out, boots thudding on the floor. I stare after him helplessly. His butt looks so good in those jeans that I wish he’d walk slower.
I unwrap a lemon candy and stick it in my mouth.
What the hell just happened?
First of all, I was robbed of my blueberry candies.
Second, I think Luca Lowell asked me out on a date. He made it sound like it was about business, and then like it wasn’t.
I smack my hands to my face. I said no.
What is wrong with me?
My sister walks in. She doesn’t even say hello before she dives for my candy.
“Megan, I think Luca Lowell just asked me out. He came in today, and he didn’t buy flowers. He asked me out for drinks.”
She gives me side-eye. “He was asking me about you when he picked up his flowers Monday. We are talking about the super hot guy who bought the garage?”
“Yes.”
She strikes a bodybuilder pose. “With the big muscles?”
“Yes.”
“And dreamy blue eyes like a prairie sky in the summer?”
I laugh. “Yes.”
“He’s kinda big. Maybe you should share him with me.”
I pull away the candy bag before she takes them all.
She giggles. “Just kidding. He’s all yours, sis. When are you going on this date?”
“I said no.”
She looks thoughtful for a minute. “Okay. Yup. That makes sense.” She points to the fresh-cut parrot tulips on display and quickly changes the topic. “Those are gorgeous, but the yellow and red together makes me think of hot dogs.”
“What do you mean it makes sense that I said no to Luca? Is there something wrong with me?”
Megan takes my magazine. “There’s nothing wrong with you. I’m glad you’re not being stupid. He’s really charming, and so hot, but we don’t know him.”
“His Facebook profile is all business. Nothing else. I’ve sold him flowers twice, and that’s it.”
She looks up from the magazine, her green eyes crinkling at the edges with her smile. “At least he buys flowers. That’s a good sign.”
“Except he was buying apology flowers for a woman he pissed off.” I cough. “Technically, two different women.”
The smiling crinkle leaves her eyes. “Ouch.”
“Exactly.”
I turn and start gathering my purse and things so I can go home.
She flips through the magazine. “Oh, Prince Harry. You naughty boy. Tsk, tsk.”
“Do you think Luca’s out of my league?” I ask. “Assuming whatever he did to have to buy those flowers wasn’t too bad.”
“Luca Lowell? He’s in his own league.”
That wasn’t the answer I was hoping for. My insides twist up with negative emotions.
My voice flat, I say, “Thanks a lot.”
She grabs my arm as I walk by her on my way out. “Tina, I’m sorry. I just meant that he’s not your usual type.”
I shake my arm away. “Whatever.”
She calls after me half-heartedly, but I don’t turn back.
Chapter 8
Thursday morning, I’m shocked by what I find when I open the flower shop.
“We’ve been robbed,” I gasp.
The shelves have been stripped bare of flowers. Only a few potted plants remain.
I run to check the cash register. It’s full of money.
The slot where we keep receipts is full of paper—all receipts dated yesterday afternoon.
I look over at the calendar. Was yesterday some holiday or event I forgot about? Nope. Just a regular Wednesday.
Did we run an advertisement or sale? I pull out my phone to call my sister.
“What?” She sounds sleepy.
“Megan! What the hell happened yesterday? And if the store was so busy, why didn’t you call me to come in and help? I would have come in, you dummy. You sold this stuff all by yourself?”
“Not exactly,” she says slowly.
“Was it a last-minute big event? No, because then you wouldn’t have all these little receipts.”
She snorts with laughter. “You don’t know, do you?”
I growl into the phone, “MEENIE!”
She growls back, “TEENIE.”
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“I’m going back to sleep. Have a nice day!”
She’s gone.
I put my phone away and pull out the box of phone numbers for suppliers. I need to get more flowers in before our regular Friday delivery.
The door chimes, and in walks Luca Lowell. With the grin on his face, he’s the walking embodiment of Mr. Tall Smug and Handsome.
“You’re welcome,” he says.
I wave at the empty shelves. “You did this? I should have known.”
He comes up and leans on the counter casually. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and he’s got reddish brown hair dotting his square jaw. I’m hit with the urge to run my fingers through his wavy brown hair, where it curls around his ear. There’s something about his scruffiness that makes me want to touch him, even more than when he’s clean-shaven.
“Put that away,” he says, pointing to the supplier cards in my hands. “Your sister already super-sized the new order that’s coming in Friday morning. She’s a funny one, your sister.”
“Megan?” I snort. “Real funny.”
“She told me your nicknames are Teenie and Meenie. That’s just about the cutest thing I’ve ever heard, and I’m not a man who uses the word cutestlightly.”
“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 have
n’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.