Forgetting Yesterday (12 page)

“I like it,” she finally said. “In fact, I like it so much that I think maybe we should make room for a display in the store. Like a mini gift shop, maybe? Oh, yeah,” she said as her own idea took hold. “I think it would be great to expand that direction as well. To be honest, I think that would be far more profitable than anything we’d sell because of the website. Although, if items were listed on the website, it would probably bring more people in.

“
I can’t tell you how many husbands come in getting flowers for their wives but who are looking for something special. Something a little…
more
. I think handcrafted jewelry would be a fabulous idea. We get a lot of business that goes up to the hospital, to new moms. Maybe handcrafted toys would be a good idea? Another thing I always thought would be profitable, I was just never sure where to start, but party favors for weddings. Brides are always looking for unique gifts to give. I would love to have some products on hand to show them when they come in to pick out bouquets.”

Her eyes were narrowed, as if she was trying to visualize it. “
We could rearrange so that I could put displays in the center of the store. Just a little something unique that would set us apart.” She nodded, maybe to herself, maybe to us. Maybe to both. “I like it. Let’s do it,” she said. “Let’s go to the craft fair and see what connections we can make.”

Dottie rolled back on the heels of her orthopedic sneakers. She looked pleased with herself.
Claire had been right. The woman was an asset and Claire had been lucky to have her. I had been thinking on this for weeks and the two of them had just blown my ideas out of the water. Now that I knew what Claire wanted, I was determined to make that happen.

“Speaking of weddings,”
Dottie said, “you really do need to try to find time to attend a few of those bridal events that they hold.”

“Bridal events?” I questioned Claire.

She shrugged. “Expos. You know, where businesses go to set up booths. It’s a way to get your name out there, your products. I’m sure it’s a great way to drum up business. I’ve just never had the time. They’re typically on Saturdays and I just can’t ever seem to get away.”

“Let me know when the next one is. I’d be happy to set up a booth.”

She arched an eyebrow at me. “Seriously?”

I nodded. “Sure, why not? It sounds kind of fun. Since I am working for you, you can feel free to delegate these things to me.”

“All right then,” she said with a little smile. Then that little smile grew. “I love these new ideas. I mean, the shop is doing just fine. But I’d really love to take everything to the next level. Maybe, depending on how thing go I could change the name to The Petal Pusher Gift Shop.”

“Well then,” I said decisively, “that’s exactly what we’ll help you do.”

I had a much easier time picking out clothes for our second date.
Perhaps the first date jitters had been laid to rest. Or maybe it was because after our phone call last night, I felt I knew Alex a little bit better. He was so easy to talk to, so laidback. I was excited for our date tonight.

I slid into
a pair of cream colored capris and a silk, aqua tunic-style tank top. I loved the color because it set off my eyes, changing them from a dull gray to a subtle blue. I decided to wear my hair down, polish my nails, and go light on my make-up.

Claire was at Sean’s again so when Alex arrived, I hurried to the door. I swung it open, a smile tugging my lips up instantly at the sight of him.

“Hey, you,” he said.

“Hey,” I said back. “You look really nice.” He had on a pair of dark
washed jeans and a white polo. It set off his tan.

And my damn butterflies.

“You too,” he said as he stepped inside. He pulled me into his arms for a lingering hug that I wasn’t expecting. His lips skimmed across my cheek in an almost-kiss.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to tonight,” he said into my ear.

“You’re not the only one,” I assured him.

He nuzzled my neck, his warm breath causing my knees to go we
ak and my toes to curl inside of my sandals. His hand slid to the small of my back, pressing me gently against him. I thought he was going to kiss me for real this time. I was
waiting
for him to kiss me, but after a quick squeeze his arms slipped away.

I immediately felt the loss.

“Are Claire and Alex around?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No. Alex had been filling in on a softball league but someone quit so now he’s playing full time. He has games or practice just about every
night now. Claire goes with to watch.”

“All right,” he said easily. “I was just going to say hello if they were here. But since they’re not…” He reached for my hand. “Should we get going?”

I nodded as I let him guide me to his truck.

“Tonight is actually a game night,” I said. “Alex said we’re welcome to stop by and watch later on. If you don’t have anything else planned.”

“That sounds good,” he said as he reached out to open my door. He glanced up at the sky. It had been cloudless earlier in the day but now, it was turning gray and I realized the temp had dropped just a bit. “I hadn’t thought much past dinner but I’m open to spending the whole evening with you. There’s not much going on around town on a weeknight. But watching a ball game sounds perfect, if the weather cooperates.”

I hopped in and he closed my door. I took a moment to admire his profile as he rounded the front of his truck.

“What’s the name of the restaurant that we’re going to?” I asked when he got in.

“Bianca’s,” he said.
“I have a table reserved for us on the patio. I thought it was a perfect evening for dining alfresco. Or it should be, as long as the rain holds off.”

I couldn’t he
lp but smile at his enthusiasm.

When we arrived at the restaurant, it was easy to see why he seemed to enjoy it so much. The setting was elegant, yet it felt inviting as opposed to stuffy.

The waitress, a woman several years older than us, greeted him by name. Clearly, he enjoyed eating here a lot. After confirming with him that he wanted his usual table, she led us to a spot on the patio. The table was in the corner so it afforded us just a bit more privacy than some of the other tables.

Terra cotta tiles covered the
ground. Wrought iron tables were scattered throughout. A tall, wrought iron fence covered in thick ivy separated the patio from the business behind us.

As I slid into the seat that Alex had pulled out for me, my stomach rumbled. If the aroma lingering in the air was any indication, I was sure the food would be divine.

I glanced around as he took a seat. There were several other patrons out here but the tables were spaced a nice distance apart.

“You must come here a lot,” I said after our hostess left.

He gave me a sheepish grin. “Is it that obvious?”

“It must just mean that the food is good,” I decided.

“It is,” he assured me.

I scanned the menu
, having no idea how to narrow it down. “What do you recommend?” I finally asked.

“Everything,” he said with a smirk. “There isn’t a bad choice on the menu.”

I smiled at his enthusiasm.

“But,” he said as he tapped his fingers on the table, “if you really want a suggestion I would have to say the Pappardelle alla Bolognese.”

I glanced at the menu again, curious.

“It’s right here,” he said as he leaned over and pointed it out to me. “It’s one of my favorite dishes.”

I decided to go with his suggestion and I was glad I did. We kept the conversation light throughout dinner. Most of the talk revolved around food. Favorite foods, favorite restaurants. My love for cooking.

How stuffed I was after eating every last bite.

“So tell me,” he said as the waitress took our empty plates away, “do you miss Bedford yet?
”

I was surprised by the question. I shook my head. “No, not at all.
It’s really nice to be done with school.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant. You must miss your friends?”

Again, I shook my head. “I, uh,” I stammered, “I didn’t have many friends there.” His expression seemed doubtful so I continued. “My mom got sick just a few months after I moved. It was such a bad time in my life; it was all I could do to keep up with my studies. Making friends wasn’t a priority.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that,” he said quietly. “That had to have been a really
hard. Trying to get through school. Being so far away from your family. Not having any friends around…”

I didn’t want the conversation to somehow stumble onto Jason. It was far too early for that
discussion. Or, with any luck, I’d never have to mention Jason at all. Before I had to think of a way to tactfully change the subject, our waitress came back.

“Can I interest you in dessert?” she asked.

Alex turned to me. I was already shaking my head but that didn’t stop him.

“I’m sure you’ve had tiramisu before,”
he said. “But I’m sure you’ve never tasted anything like Bianca’s tiramisu. The cannolis are fantastic too. Or…have you ever tried
crostata? The peach crostata is excellent.”

I shook my head, feeling slightly embarrassed. “To be honest, I’ve never tried any of the desserts you mentioned. I’ve never even heard of crostata. I’ve only been to an Italian restaurant a few times and I’ve never saved room for dessert. In fact, I didn’t save room this time either.”

“Sure you did,” he said as a smile spread across his face. He turned back to our waitress, who was waiting patiently.
“Can you bring me the dessert sampler, please?”

She smiled. “I’ll bring it right out.”

I felt my eyes widen. “A dessert sampler?” My hand floated to my already full stomach.

“It’
ll be so worth it, I promise,” Alex assured me.

Half an hour later, I was full to bursting. We’d taken our time with dessert, concentrating
—again—more on the conversation than the food. But Alex was right. All of the desserts were incredible. The sampler was just the right size, a bite for each of us, of each dessert on the menu.

“Something wrong?” he asked. His expression was somewhere between amused and curious.

I had been running a fingertip across the fake, silk petal of one of the flowers that made up our centerpiece. I hadn’t realized what I’d been doing until he called me out on it. I discreetly pulled my hand away and tucked it safely onto my lap.

“No,” I said with a self-conscious laugh. “I guess I’m just turning into a bit of a flower snob.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning this restaurant is beautiful, so classy. I’m just surprised the flowers aren’t real. Not that it’s a big deal. I mean, a month ago I never would’ve noticed,” I hurriedly added.

He raised his eyebrows. “I never thought about it like that before. You have a good point.
Real flowers would be a nice touch.”

I was sure he was just humoring
me, now that I was working with a florist.

“
Things must be working out with Claire. It sounds like you’re thinking like her already.”

“We work well together. I’m just not sure that we’re going to be able to turn it into a long-term arrangement.” Now that I had firsthand knowledge of her books, even with the added
business online options and a small gift shop might provide, I just didn’t see how it would be feasible no matter how badly we both might want it. I didn’t want to get into that but Alex was able to read between the lines.

“That’s too bad,” he said. “But maybe things will turn around.”

He was probably too polite to delve into questioning me more on the financial aspect. I didn’t get a chance to find out. Our waitress returned again, setting a small leather folder on the table.

“Thanks, Ashley,” he said.

“You’re welcome. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening,” she said before leaving to check on another table.

“I guess we’re done here, unless you want anything else?”
he asked me.

I was sure he couldn’t be serious. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten so much.

“I’m good, thanks,” I said.

He opened the folder and pulled out the receipt, signed the bottom, and slid it back inside.

“Ready?” he asked.

I nodded and we stood. He tugged his wallet out of his pocket, rummaged through it and pulled out a bill to toss on the table.

I glanced at
it, wondering if he’d meant to leave so much. I thought it was rude to ask, so I didn’t. He grinned sheepishly at me and then led the way out of the restaurant.

Apparently
he was a big tipper. A real big tipper. Then I realized something else. When the bill had come, he’d simply signed the receipt inside. He hadn’t taken out any cash for that or even a credit card.

“So what’s the deal here?” I asked
as we made our way across the street to the parking lot. “Do you have a running tab?”

He shook his head and laughed
quietly. “Uh, not exactly.” I didn’t think he was going to elaborate but after a few moments, he did. “My parents own this place. They’re supposed to be semi-retired, they have a manager. But it’s not uncommon for them both to be here anyway. Obviously they weren’t here tonight or they would’ve pounced on us,” he admitted with a chuckle.

“Huh,” I said with a little nod of my head as I let that little tidbit settle in.

“My meals are always comped but I have to sign off on them. That’s why I like to leave a pretty decent tip. Especially when Ashley’s my waitress. She has a kid and the dad’s a real dead beat. I figure if I don’t have to pay for the meal, I can afford to leave a decent tip.”

I stopped once we hit the sidewalk next to the parking lot. “Your
parents
own Bianca’s?”

“I hope you don’t think I’m cheap for taking you here. Honestly, it is the best restaurant around and I swear to you, I’m not being biased. I’d bring you here even if my parents didn’t own it.”

I nodded. “I can’t disagree with that. The atmosphere is amazing and the food was incredible.”

He grinned at me. “Yeah?
You’re not just saying that? Because if you don’t like it, you can tell me. It won’t hurt my feelings, I swear.”

He seemed so attached to the place, I wasn’t sure that I believed him. Not that it mattered because it wasn’t an issue.

“It truly was fabulous and honestly, I could eat here every night. Or not, because I’d probably turn into a blimp.” A thought occurred to me. “So is your family Italian?”

He laughed
and we got moving again as a light mist started coming down. “Not that I’m aware of. My parents met in college. They were both studying abroad.”

“In Italy?” I guessed
as we reached his truck.

“Yes,” he agreed. “They both fell in love with the country…and apparently, especially the food. It took a lot of years and a lot of work for everything to fall into place. But they opened Bianca’s when I was
in first grade.”

“And the name?”

“Oh, yeah. Mom spent a lot of time at a little bistro while they lived there. A woman named Bianca owned the place. Mom worked there while she was going to school. Bianca kind of took Mom under her wing. To this day, Mom claims that everything she knows about Italian food came from Bianca. So she thought naming the restaurant in her honor was only fitting.”

“Very cool,” I decided.

He nodded. “I always thought so. Bianca even came to visit us…oh, wow, it was years ago…but she seemed really touched.”

Only moments after we were inside the cab of his truck, the m
ist turned into a heavy downpour. Lighting split across the sky, forking out as a clap of thunder shook the vehicle.