Blue Roses (9 page)

Rory comes over at noon Sunday for our usual routine.

She sends me a message from the front of the main house, and I tell her to come around back because I’m still sorting my laundry.

She walks in the door cautiously. She’s got her big takeout cup full of coffee, and a box of donuts. Her eyes narrowed, she looks around the open space. Scowling, she walks over and checks the bathroom.

“I swear he’s not here,” I tell her.

“I can smell him.”

She opens the coat closet.

“He’s not in the closet,” I say. “Or in the main house. I promised I wouldn’t spring him on you before you’re ready, and I won’t.”

“Good.” She pushes back her dark, curly hair and ties it up with an elastic. Her golden brown eyes are still darting around the cottage.

I run around, retrieving dirty laundry from the various places I hid it before Luca came over.

“We did play Scrabble last night,” I say.

Her body tenses, but she doesn’t run. “And?”

“His board strategy is more aggressive than I’m used to, but I liked it.”

She looks down at her feet, her cheeks turning red. “I’m happy for you,” she mumbles.

I finish grabbing my laundry, and we walk over to the main house.

My sister Megan is home, doing some baking. The flower shop is closed Sundays, so this is the one day we both have off together.

Rory and I say hello on our way through the kitchen to the laundry room.

“Mom phoned from Italy,” Megan says to me. “The gossip about you and Luca has gone global.”

“Oh, crap.”

Megan grins as she punches down bread dough. “You know that game where people whisper things, and the story changes with each person it goes through? Anyway, Mom thinks you’re dating the leader of a crime family.”

“How did she get that?”

“Someone made the leap from motorbike repair to biker gang, I guess. She was threatening to come home.”

“I hope you talked her down. I will not be held responsible for cutting short her
Eat Pray Love
year abroad. No way.”

Megan snorts. “Sounds like she skipped the Eat and Pray and moved right on to the Love. She’s sharing her apartment with someone. A guy. She told me when they share the bed, it’s platonic and they sleep foot to head. I think what she really means is sixty-nine.”

Beside me, Rory lets out a strangled cry, and bolts away to the laundry room.

Megan stares after my best friend. “Is
that
still happening?”

“Be nice,” I say. “She’s trying.”

“Speaking of sixty-nine, how was your date last night? I noticed you pulled the blinds shut during dinner. That roast looked good. I was going to come over later for some leftovers, but I noticed the whole garage was rocking on its foundations.”

I smirk at my sister. “The cottage’s seismic upgrades were really getting a workout last night.”

“You’ve got a pretty big smile on your face. I’d say you were getting a good workout, too. Did he
Roadhouse
you against the wall? Or did he
Dirty Dancing
you up in the air, over his head?”

“I got out some pottery clay I bought special for the occasion, and he
Ghosted
me through a dozen repeats of
Unchained Melody
.”

“He’s a real man,” she says. “Does he have a brother?”

“Hmm. Come to think of it, I don’t know. He didn’t talk much about his family.”

I pull out my phone and start composing a text message. Last night, he didn’t stick around for long after we put our clothes back on. He helped me wash up from dinner, and mentioned a few times that he had to get up early to meet a new subcontractor at the garage.

We haven’t talked yet today, and I’ve been waiting for an excuse to message him.

I send a text:
You remember my sister Megan, right? Brown hair, green eyes, works at your favorite flower shop. She just asked me if you happen to have a brother.

“And send,” I say, pressing the green button.

“You sound just like Mom when you talk to your phone like that.”

I stare down at my phone. Seconds pass. I’m used to messaging with Rory, who replies back so fast, I wonder if she’s psychically answering me before I ask.

Megan notices me staring at my phone. “Give him some time. I’m sure he’ll still have a brother in ten minutes.”

“Good point.”

Megan goes back to her baking, and I go off to do my laundry with Rory.

Our routine hasn’t changed in years. In between folding loads from the dryer, we laze around in the rec room, watching movies and eating donuts.

Rory leaves after dinner, and I check my phone for the thousandth time.

There’s still no response from Luca.

I carry my folded laundry back out to the cottage and put everything away.

I check my phone again. No response.

The flowers from last night are sitting on the table, next to the note.

I look at the pretty charm bracelet on my wrist. It’s such a thoughtful, personal gift. He really made me feel special.

Special.

I think back to the first time I met Luca, when I gave him dating advice. I told him he needed to make a girl feel special and unique.

He certainly accomplished that last night. But today he hasn’t even called.

I frown at the darkened screen on my phone.

Do I need to teach him that he has to call a girl the day after he sleeps with her?

Or is he already done with me?

I really wish he’d call.

Monday morning, I pick out the day’s outfit with a hopeful heart.

Luca hasn’t returned my text message from yesterday, but I have a feeling he’ll come see me at the flower store today.

I want to wear something really simple, so that my new charm bracelet is the star.

I tie my curly brown hair up in a high ponytail, and get dressed in dark jeans, cobalt blue flats, and a plain white V-neck shirt.

When I get outside, the late spring sky is grey and threatening rain, so I drive my car instead of walking.

I drive past the Baker Brothers garage slowly, looking for any sign of Luca. The windows are still covered in paper, so I can’t see anything.

The garage’s sign looks great, thanks to the recent restoration. Luca had a guy who specializes in hand-painting signs come in and spruce up the letters. He also added a line about motorbikes, exactly as I suggested. I really hope it was good advice I gave him.

I open the flower store and keep myself busy, my heart skipping a beat every time someone comes in the door.

It’s nearly lunch time when a woman I don’t recognize comes in.

She pretends to be looking at the ferns and orchids, but I can feel her eyes on me. I ask her if I can help her, and she quickly scuttles back out again.

I pull out my phone and check it again. No message from Luca.

I send him a new text message:
Have you been sending spies over here to the flower shop?

He responds immediately:
No. Why?

I frown at the phone. I should be glad he replied, but this isn’t the sort of sweet, romantic message I was hoping for.

Me:
Some blonde chick was just in here staring at me.

I wait five minutes for a response and don’t get one.

The door chimes again. I look up, expecting to see Luca, coming to surprise me with something thoughtful.

Instead, I get the blonde woman.

This time she walks right up to me and points the screen of her phone at my face.

“Did you make this?” she asks.

There’s a photo of flowers on the screen. I recognize the raffia tie from our regular supply. More importantly, I recognize the extravagant arrangement. It’s the one Luca dropped a bundle on the first time we met.

I look up into the blonde’s ice blue eyes. She’s older than me, maybe close to forty, but really pretty, like a Barbie doll.

I answer carefully. “If it came with one of our cards, then it was either me or my coworker.”

“I saw Luca in here two weeks ago, talking to the other girl. It was busy, and he was helping her sell flowers.”

I nod slowly, pretending to be thinking. On the Wednesday before last, Luca was here, helping my sister sell out the store so I had Thursday off. That was our first date.

I look down at the woman’s fingernails. They’re manicured, with those thick, gel nails. Judging by the energy coming off her, I quickly assess that she is Luca’s ex, and if she finds out he’s dating me, she’ll bury those nails in my face like ten daggers of payback.

“I’m sorry, who?” I ask, feigning ignorance.

She spits out his name like it’s toxic. “Luca Lowell.” She studies my face. “The other girl’s your sister, isn’t she?”

“The one who works here? Yes.” I snap my fingers. “Oh, you mean Luca. The guy who bought the garage. He’s been getting to know some of the people who work up and down the street. Um… for business networking, I guess.”

“You warn your sister,” she hisses.

I take a step back, out of face-stabbing range. The counter is between us, but it’s not enough.

“Warn her about what?”

“You tell her that Luca Lowell is nothing but trouble. He’s a tease and a liar.”

Her eyes widen as she stares down at something. I follow her gaze to my charm bracelet. I start to hide it behind my back, but she comes around the counter in a blur of motion and grabs my wrist.

“What’s this?” she asks. “Is that a motorbike charm? Is this from him?”

I yank my wrist free, and then shove her back.

“None of your business,” I growl. “Please leave.”

She staggers back, looking stunned, then comes at me, arms flying.

What this woman doesn’t know, is that I can handle a fight. Both my sister and I were on the girls’ wrestling team in high school. While our friends were trying out to be cheerleaders and running around in pleated skirts, Megan and I were learning how to pin down opponents.

The blonde doesn’t even know what hit her.

She’s down for the count.

The door chimes, and Luca comes rushing in to find me sitting on top of his ex-girlfriend, with her face pressed into the floor and her arm twisted up behind her back.

“This isn’t what it looks like!” I cry out.

He steps behind me, locks his hands under my armpits, and lifts me off the blonde.

“Really?” he says. “Because it looks to me like you’ve got my former real estate agent in a head lock.”

After he sets me down, he helps her to her feet.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” she says.

Gruffly, he says, “Leave now, and we’ll pretend you never did.”

She hangs her head and runs for the door.

He looks down at me, a look of admiration on his face. His blue eyes are burning bright.

“Tina, I never knew. You’re quite the little bruiser.”

“I’ve got some moves.” I frown over at the door, checking to make sure she’s really gone. “Who was that?”

“A woman I deeply angered. Real estate is a tough business. She worked for months trying to put together a deal on another garage, and she took it poorly when I bought a different one.”

“Oh. I thought maybe you slept with her and never called the next day.”

He reaches out and squeezes my bicep. “You’ve got some muscles there. Can you do a chin-up.”

“Of course I can.”

“Prove it.” He holds his arm straight out.

My heart is still pumping hard from the altercation. I feel like I could lift a car.

I grab hold of Luca’s upper arm. I bend my legs and lower myself so my arms are straight, then pull myself up with a grunt.

Now I’m hanging from his arm, my knees bent.

His arm wavers, but he holds it steady. His eyes dare me to let go. I flash my eyes at him, inviting him to set me down if he starts to get tired.

Through gritted teeth, he says, “In the interest of full disclosure, I didn’t call my former real estate agent the day after I slept with her.”

Through equally gritted teeth, I reply, “I knew it. She was way more pissed than someone who didn’t get a business deal.”

“I thought it would cheer her up about not getting the commission.”

I’m breathing heavily, but I won’t let go. “You really don’t know the first thing about women, do you?”

“My mother passed away when I was five. I was raised by my father and uncle. I only know two things about women, and that’s all I need to know.”

My muscles are burning, but I hang on. “What two things?”

“That I like women, and that you’re the cutest one I’ve ever met.”

“For a big, tough guy, you sure say the word
cutest
a lot.”

He groans and lowers me to the ground. “You win.” He shakes out his arm, then massages the red marks left by my fingers.

“What do I win?” I ask.

“My heart.”

He reaches into his pocket and hands me a tiny, heart-shaped charm.

He explains, “I didn’t want to scare you, so I took it off the bracelet before I gave it to you.”

“Cute!” It’s just cute enough that I’m not quite so upset about the news he slept with the crazy real estate agent. I accept the heart and hold it on my palm.

“Now you have my heart,” he says. “Promise you won’t break it.”

I attempt to pick the heart up with my fingers to examine it closer. My arms are shaking. My hands are numb from hanging off Luca’s arm like some wild-eyed sugar-crazed kid on the monkey bars. I fumble the heart and drop it on the ground.