by Vivian Arend
“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.
CHAPTER NINE
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.
I grab my purse and run out to meet him.
He’s standing on the front step, talking to my sister. They’re laughing about their shared adventure, selling out the flower shop on Wednesday.
“There’s our Teenie,” he says. “Thanks, Meenie.” He gives her a nod goodbye. She waves at me and disappears into the house.
“You clean up good,” I say, looking him up and down. He’s wearing a button-down shirt with dress slacks and stylish leather shoes. I feel underdressed in my flower-print sundress, topped in a cardigan.
“And I see you brought the flower shop with you.”
I look down, frowning at my dress.
“My best friend Rory didn’t like it, either,” I say.
“That was meant to be a compliment,” he says.
“Thank you. What movie are we going to see?”
“It’s a surprise.” He offers me his elbow in an old-fashioned sort of way.
I tuck my hand into the crook of his arm and walk with him to the street.
He steers us over to an old-fashioned-looking motorbike and hands me a helmet.
A bike. I should have known. And I’m wearing a dress.
The sun has just gone down, and the world around us is midnight blue.
I’m nervous to get on a motorbike for the first time in my life, but one look into Luca’s eyes makes me feel confident. He’s not some punk kid who’s going to drive fast to impress or terrify me. I can trust him.
He helps me fasten the helmet’s buckle under my chin, his hands enveloping mine.
He turns and throws one long, muscled leg over the bike. I climb on behind him.
My heart’s pounding.
I’m on a motorbike, with my arms wrapped around Luca Lowell. I’m about as nervous as Rory would be at a performance of the Vagina Monologues.
He starts the bike’s engine, and the night air fills with a deep rumble. The vibration between my legs is… interesting.
We’re off, riding down the street.
The skirt of my dress ruffles up in the breeze, and I’m sure everyone’s getting a great view of my panties, but I don’t even mind. I’ve got my arms around Luca’s big, strong torso, and I don’t want to ever let go.
We ride past the local movie theater. I try to ask him where he’s taking me, but he doesn’t hear me over the rumble.
Eventually, we pull off the main road and ride into another residential neighborhood. He pulls up behind a giant, white trailer and parks the bike.
My legs feel like they’re shaking when I step off the bike. The engine’s off, but I can still feel the rumbling vibration in my body.
I look around us, at the big trailers, catering truck, and filming equipment.
He said he would take me to a movie, and he did. We’re on a film set.
I pull off my helmet and run my fingers through my wavy hair.
He ruffles up his hair as well. Damn. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. No wonder people ride bikes.
“Are we allowed to be here?” I ask, glancing over at the elaborate filming setup that’s taken over the block.
“We’re invited,” he says. “I’m renting them some bikes from my collection. They said to come by tonight and watch. We don’t have to stay long if you’re not having fun.”
“Are you kidding? This is awesome.”
He offers me his elbow again, and we walk toward the action, stepping over thick cables criss-crossing the ground.
Luca finds some people he knows, and they set us up with some folding chairs, right near the action. We watch as the crew sets up a shot, taking a hundred measurements and notes, and then a bell rings and they’re filming.
The scene is a guy picking up a girl at her house, then driving away on a motorbike that looks almost exactly like the one we rode here on.
Luca turns to me, his blue eyes looking pale grey in the artificial light. “I was really hoping for a kiss.”
I lean over and kiss him, right on the lips.
He pulls away, looking surprised. “I meant in the shot they’re filming. It’s an action-romance movie.”
I cover my mouth with my fingertips, mortified.
He grins. “If I’d known getting a kiss from you was so easy, I would have asked sooner.”
“Oh, Luca.” I shake my head, still so embarrassed.
Someone with a headset approaches us with takeout cups. There’s one coffee, and one tea. After the girl walks away, Luca takes the tea from my hands and sets it down on the ground, on the other side of his chair.
He slides over toward me on his chair, so his hips and legs are in contact with mine.
“You cold?” he asks, his chest rumbling.
“Not bad. I’m glad I wore a sweater.”
He wraps one long arm around my shoulders. He’s not wearing a jacket, so the heat of his arm comes through his shirt and warms my shoulders.
He reaches up with his free hand and softly strokes my jaw. I almost can’t believe he’s touching me, but he is.
I tilt my head up to face him. He leans down slowly, his eyelids lowering. I close my eyes, and he kisses me.
Bells are ringing. It’s the sound they make on set, either when the filming starts or ends—I can’t remember.
He kisses me, and every kind of bell I’ve ever heard goes off.
His lips are full, and envelop my lips. I’m hesitant, until he coaxes my lips into movement. Once I start, there’s no holding back. His gorgeous lips feel as good as they look.
His hand moves away from my chin and down to my bare leg. He squeezes the spot above my knee, then slides up one heavenly inch.
My lips part, and his tongue greets mine. Our tongues are shy at first, like two kids meeting on a playground. We take tentative licks and bumps, then move on to playful tongue wrestling.
His hand slides up my leg, one more inch. My whole body is thrumming, like it did when I stepped off the bike.
More bells are ringing.
His hand lifts off my leg and cups my breast.
I suck in my breath and pull away from the kiss.
He quickly pulls his hand away and mutters an apology, shaking his head. “Too much for the second date,” he says.
We both look around. It feels like every single one of the dozens of cast and crew on the set is looking at us. I’m sure it’s only three or four people, but it feels like all of them.
He leans away from me, picks up the beverage containers, and hands me one.
I sip my drink and pretend to be really interested in what the lighting technician is doing.
My head is light, and my whole body is reeling from that kiss. Can this whole evening really be happening? It’s like a dream, and I don’t want to wake up.
I take a few sips of my tea and enjoy the confusion and magic of this post-kiss moment.
I’m half-way through the cup when I realize it’s not tea.
I lean over and whisper, “Luca, I think I’m drinking your coffee.”
We trade cups, laughing over the fact neither of us notice sooner.
“I thought the coffee was just really weak,” he says.
“And I thought they brewed my tea using a goat’s backside.”
He chuckles. “You’re not a coffee fan.”
“Is that supposed to be good coffee?”
He takes a sip and looks thoughtful. “I don’t know. You’ve ruined me forever. All I can taste is your lips.”
“I’m sure the feeling will pass.”
He gazes down at my mouth. “I don’t want it to.”
I angle my body away from him, aware of all the people around us. They seem bored with the slow setup between filming takes, and happy to watch me and Luca for entertainment.
“Let me finish my tea before it gets cold,” I say.
“I can’t drink this coffee if you think it tastes like a goat’s backside. You won’t kiss me again if I do.”
“It was nice enough on your lips.”
He grabs my cup, and dumps both the tea and the coffee on the grass next to us.
“Problem solved,” he says, and he pulls me into another kiss.
I try to complain about my tea, but his lips smother my words.
I give in to the moment, not caring who’s watching.
His kisses are incredible.
Hours pass pleasantly.
After two hours of making out and watching the filming, Luca drives me back home.
We’ve kissed so much, my lips are actually the tiniest bit sore.
I hold on tight on the way home, savoring the feeling of him wrapped in my arms. I don’t want the ride to end, but it does.
We kiss goodnight in front of the main house, standing on the lawn.
“Luca, I had a wonderful time, but I’m not going to invite you in.”
He looks over my shoulder. “I wouldn’t want to go in anyway. Your family’s nice, but nosy. Your sister’s watching us from the window.”
I turn and wave at Megan. She waves back, and doesn’t leave the window.
I shake my head. “Sorry about that. She’s probably making popcorn for the second half.”
“There’s a second half?”
I stand up on my toes and reach up to his neck, pulling him down to me.
He kisses me eagerly, running his fingers through my hair. My curls mean my hair isn’t the easiest for a guy to run his fingers through, so he moves to my back.