Blue Roses (10 page)

Luca frowns at me. “That’s not a good sign.”

“Says the guy with a stalker.”

He crouches down and grabs the heart charm, then tucks it into his pocket again.

I put my hands on my hips.

“Well? Why didn’t you text me back?” I ask.

“My spelling is atrocious,” he says. “If you would have phoned, I would have picked up and talked to you, though.”

I’m so surprised, I actually take two steps back. I am literally taken aback by this strange confession.

“You blow me off all day because you’re a bad speller?”

He looks sheepish. “Plus, I don’t do texting.”

“Just because you’re a bad speller? You can always use Autocorrect.”

He winces and looks even more uncomfortable. “Tina, I don’t do text messages, because I’m an adult. That’s kid stuff, with the little pictures and whatever.”

I stare at him in astonishment. “Excuse me for being into kid stuff.”

He rubs his forehead and looks over his shoulder toward the door.

“I should get back to the garage. Let me know if any of my other stalkers come by.”

“You know I will.”

And then he leaves.

I check the calendar to see if it’s a full moon. I’m not surprised to find it is. I have had some weird Mondays, but this one takes the cake.

I try to get back to work, but now I’m thinking about that skanky blonde. Yuck. I’m so grossed out that he slept with her. Even if it was just once, I’m not happy about it.

Now that I know the story behind the first apology arrangement, I wish I didn’t. I hope I never find out about the second one.

My sister comes in after lunch to take the second half of the day.

I tell her all about the excitement she missed.

When I’m done, she wrinkles her nose. “So, he doesn’t have a brother. That’s too bad.”

“Megan, focus. He bought two arrangements. Who do you think the second one was for?”

I told myself I didn’t want to know the story, but now it’s basically the only thing I can think about.

Her eyes get huge, and she says in a scary voice, “The second flowers were for the stalker who’s going to murder you. Mwah-hah-hah. Sleep with one eye open.”

I grab my purse and leave, rolling my eyes.

Outside on the sidewalk, the sunshine hits me, along with an idea. I don’t need to go home and sulk over Luca not calling me. If I want to earn that heart back, I could at least make a move.

I walk up Baker Street until I get to the garage. There’s still paper all over the windows, so I can’t see in. I try the door. It’s unlocked.

Inside, the reception area has changed so much, it’s unrecognizable. A couple of guys are working on assembling a counter, and a few more are painting.

Luca looks up from some blueprints and comes over to me, smiling.

He waves around, apologizing for the mess. “Nothing’s finished, but it’s coming together.”

I look at the rejuvenated space in awe. The old drop ceiling with water-stained acoustic tiles has been removed, and the exposed wood beams have been sandblasted clean. Everything that’s new is a shade of grey, with chrome accents and a few splashes of color. There’s a painter putting a glossy coat of red on the wooden window frames.

“Luca, this isn’t a garage.”

He nods toward the service bays, which are now visible from the reception, now that an entire wall has been removed and replaced with glass.

“Not yet, I know. We’re still waiting on some equipment.”

“Forget that. I’m moving in here. This isn’t a garage. It’s my dream home.”

He chuckles. “But you already have a garage you live in.”

We’re interrupted by the guys working on the counter needing to ask Luca about something.

“I’ll let you go.” I back away.

“Friday night. Come to my house and I’ll make you dinner. It’s my turn.”

“Sure. And on Saturday, I won’t phone you. It’s my turn.”

“You won’t have to phone or not phone me, because you’ll still be there.”

“Nice.” I try to give him a dirty look, but I can’t resist his grin.

I turn to leave.

He runs ahead of me to hold open the door.

He gives me a kiss, then says softly in my ear, “Just a warning. My house, my rules.”

I pull my car onto Luca’s street at quarter to seven.

I’m wearing casual clothes—a relatively new stretchy top, and jeans. The charm bracelet Luca gave me is sparkling on my left wrist with its four charms.

Summer weather is here, and sunshine is still glinting off cars and windows along the street.

This is a family-oriented neighborhood, and half the front lawns are strewn with giant plastic toys. The scent of barbecue hangs in the air.

Luca’s house is neither the newest nor the oldest on the block. It’s built in an architectural style that was popular in the city during the seventies, with minimal decoration—just a box with a low-pitched roof.

A man in a hat is watering some shrubs in front of the house next door. He watches me as I park my car and then walk up to Luca’s front door.

“You must be Tina.” He drops the garden hose and reaches across the shrubs to shake my hand. “I’m Chris. I’m the local heirloom tomato supplier. If you need salsa, just let me know.”

Luca opens his door. “Chris! Let her get in the door before you start pushing your condiments, man.”

Chris laughs, then looks me evenly in the eyes. “Do you like chutney?”

“Not the kind with raisins,” I answer.

Luca walks over and drapes his arm across my shoulders. It’s a casual gesture, but the touch of his arm, combined with the sunshine and the friendly neighbor is almost too perfect.

Luca kisses me on the side of my forehead, and the two of them talk for a few minutes about the plans Chris has for a new greenhouse.

A woman who must be his wife opens the front door and jokingly tells him to let us have dinner already. I look up in time only to catch the sight of her waving hand as she disappears again.

The neighbor tells us to have a good dinner, and picks up the garden hose again.

Luca guides me into his house, then shuts the door.

I don’t even get one peek around inside before he starts kissing me, backing me up against the door.

He kisses his way down my neck, then he gets down on his knees, lifts up my shirt, and kisses my stomach. “There it is,” he murmurs.

He kisses my stomach for a bit, then works his way back up again, my shirt lifted. He cups my breasts through my bra, then kisses my upper chest.

I giggle and try to push him away, but I may as well try to move a giant boulder.

While he kisses my skin and rubs his freshly-shaved jaw on me, I open my eyes and look around.

“Luca, why do you have motorbikes parked in your house where a living room should be?”

He murmurs against my skin, “I’d put them in the guest bedroom, but it’s tricky getting them up and down the stairs.”

“But shouldn’t they be in a garage? Or outside?”

With a sigh, he gets to his feet again. He parks one meaty palm on the wall above my head and leans over me. His blue eyes are deep and serious.

“My house, my rules,” he growls.

I lean over to look past him at the bikes. There must be eight or nine that I can see from the entryway. I don’t see any regular furniture.

“Do you ride the bikes around inside the house?”

He guffaws. “Gotta ride somewhere when the weather’s bad outside.” He stares into my eyes, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “Of course I don’t ride them inside the house. I wouldn’t want the exhaust getting up to the living space.”

“Right. Because that would be crazy.”

“My house, my rules.”

He takes me by the hand and leads me up a central staircase.

The upper floor looks more like a regular house. Mainly because there are no motorbikes.

“This house was originally a duplex,” he explains as he leads me over to the kitchen. “I did a full reno on the kitchen two years ago.” He slaps the poured concrete counter.

I look over the steel and concrete finishes. “And it was a manly renovation. One might say… a man-ovation.”

He raises one eyebrow. “I didn’t know we were already at the pun stage of the relationship. I suppose next you’ll be shaving your legs with my razor.”

“It is the fifth date. The fifth date is for puns and razor-sharing.”

“I’m glad someone knows the routine.”

I take a good look around the house. It’s very open, with few interior divisions. The walls are bare of pictures, and all the furniture is black and leather. It screams bachelor, which is good.

“Luca, your house is really nice. I don’t think I’ve ever dated anyone who lived alone in a house, much less owned one. You’re like an actual grown-up, aren’t you?”

“Tell me about the guys you usually date.” He gets back to dinner preparations. “And look away while I open this jar of pre-made spaghetti sauce from the grocery store.”

I take a seat on a tall chrome chair, and look away.

“My previous boyfriends were definitely a type. Nice guys, but I don’t know…” I trail off. Whatever did happen with those guys that made me end it with them?

Tina, do not start listing off the flaws of your ex-boyfriends. Luca is just being polite. Look at how cute he is, using one of those plastic circle things to measure the exact amount of spaghetti noodles. He’s really taking this dinner seriously. He doesn’t want to hear you whine about guys paying more attention to their video games than they did to you.

Luca looks up from the stove. “Keep going.”

I shrug. “I’ve dated some nice guys, but I guess I haven’t found what I’m looking for.”

“Keep your eyes open for someone in a red apron.” He picks up a red apron from the concrete counter and puts it on over his head, then ties it behind his back.

“Tell me about your friends,” he says.

I laugh. “Except for Rory, my friends are all getting married.”

“Is that something you want?”

I try to laugh off his question, but he keeps looking at me.

After a moment, he turns to adjust the height of the gas flame on the cooktop, then he pours us two glasses of wine.

I sip the wine eagerly. Suddenly, the house feels very warm.

Cosmopolitan magazine did not prepare me for the fifth date, at all. I was all geared up for date number four, and the sex. I think that one went well. Now I don’t know what the hell is happening.

I guess I assumed that all the dates after that key milestone would just fall into place. It’s supposed to be smooth sailing for a year or two, when it’s time to trick the guy into thinking he wants to marry you. Those articles are so stupid. I always roll my eyes, but I keep reading them.

Luca breaks the silence by asking me to help him set the table.

He serves the dinner, and we eat while making light conversation about business comings and goings on Baker Street.

What’s happening between us is easy and comfortable. Luca is great, but the house is freaking me out. I don’t think I belong here, in this grown man’s house.

Maybe there’s a reason I usually date man-children who spend their social lives online. Those guys don’t intimidate me, or make me feel like I’m not doing enough with my life. I’m twenty-nine and I live with my mother, working the same job I’ve had for a decade.

I’m like the poster girl for arrested development.

“We’re already taking bookings for the first month,” Luca says, gathering the plates to clean up.

I stare down at my empty plate with surprise. I’m already done eating? I’ve been so busy beating myself up in my head that I haven’t even been present.

Why can’t I be present and in the moment all the time, like Luca?

“Come on,” he says, holding out his hand to help me up. “Let’s go downstairs, and you can have your pick.”

He leads me back down the stairs, to all the motorbikes. It’s still incongruous to see bikes inside a house, but less of a shock.

“There’s nothing like an after-dinner ride,” he says. “This is why I went easy on the wine. You pick which bike we take out.”

“This one,” I say without hesitation. It’s the same bike we rode to the movie set.

His face lights up, like I’ve just passed some test.

He leans over the bike and starts rolling it toward the door, his muscles popping out of his form-fitting shirt. I run ahead and open the door for him.

We put on our helmets, slip into place on the bike, and ride off down the street.

The sky is gold and pink, making everything more beautiful.

We ride out of the neighborhood, and then along a park. I can tell Luca knows this route well. We turn into an area I don’t know that well, and soon we’re winding along a road that curves and bends like a meandering river.

I marvel at how instinctive it is to lean first one way, and then the other, keeping my body in line with Luca’s and the bike. The movement itself is pleasurable, like rollerblading down a gentle hill.

The vibration of the bike, plus holding on tight to Luca’s solid torso, is all part of the magic.

The sun sets, and night is around us. The headlight slices a path through the darkness, leading us home again.

We get back to Luca’s house, where I hold the door open again while he parks the bike.