A Bouquet of Love (11 page)

“Oh, that's great,” Alex said. “I've always liked my name. I'm actually named after my grandfather. He—”

“My brother is a showboat,” Babbas said. “Always trying to outdo me. He's a puffed-up so-and-so. And you”—he jabbed his finger into Alex's chest—“have his name.”

“Babbas!” That was hardly fair, judging a person because of his name. Even my hot-tempered father didn't usually stoop that low.

The happy-go-lucky expression on Alex's face faded immediately, and he fell silent. I didn't blame him. Finally he said, “I can't help my name, sir.”

“Besides, Alex ate here on Saturday and loved our gyro.” Mama was trying hard to smooth things over, judging from her forced smile. “Isn't that wonderful?”

“Ah.” Babbas's face widened in a grin, and he gave Alex a boisterous pat on the back. “Well, why didn't you say so? I always love to hear from a happy customer. Maybe you would give us an endorsement? I'm putting together an advertisement for the local paper.”

“I'd be glad to.” Alex nodded.

Babbas wrapped him in a fatherly embrace. “In that case, come on in, son.”

Something about the way he said
son
brought joy to my heart. It seemed to put Alex at ease too. Before long the two fellas were fast friends. Babbas showed him around the shop, going through every detail of the business. My siblings trailed along behind them, especially Eva, who seemed a little too interested in every word coming out of Alex's mouth.

I half expected the handsome Greek cowboy to fold under
the pressure, but he held up well and never mentioned our trip to Parma John's once, even when my father made an ugly comment about Lazarro Rossi. Instead, Alex gave me a “now I get it” look. There would be plenty of time to fill him in on the particulars later.

By the time they got to my father's detailed description of our new meat slicer, I could tell Alex was getting hungry. Babbas shaved off slices of lamb and passed them his way. We almost lost the boy after that, judging from the “I'm over the moon for this stuff” look in his eyes. Babbas rambled on about the restaurant, feeding Alex all the while. Not a bad way for the guys to get to know each other. Food always had a way of pacifying the masses.

“We've got the best tzatziki sauce on the island.” Babbas reached into the refrigerator and grabbed the batch I'd just made.

Alex swallowed his piece of lamb and nodded. “Can't wait to try it with the lamb. I'm sure it's great.”

“Oh, it is. Cassia makes it fresh,” Mama bragged. “Try it.” She opened the container and stuck in a spoon.

“You like it,” Yia Yia chimed in.

Babbas gave him another piece of lamb and he slathered it with the stuff. The whole family gathered around to watch him take his first bite.

He ate and ate, those gorgeous eyes fluttering closed in what appeared to be complete delirium. “Oh, man. It's great, Cassia.” He opened his eyes and looked right at me. “Must stink, though.”

“What do you mean?” Yia Yia looked perplexed.

Alex licked the spoon and shrugged. “Must stink that she has to make the tzatziki sauce when she's allergic.”

“Allergic?” Mama gasped. “Say it isn't so!”

“Heaven be with us!” Yia Yia dabbed her eyes with her apron and went into a lengthy prayer in Greek.

“Cassia?” Babbas gave me a strange look. “Is there something we should know?”

“I, um, get hives.” This wasn't completely untrue, anyway. I did get hives the last time I ate tzatziki sauce. Of course, I'd lathered it on top of zucchini. Might've been the zucchini.

You would've thought someone in the family had died. Yia Yia gave me a hug and whispered, “We will find a doctor. He will know what to do.”

Babbas shook his head as if in mourning, then looked at Alex. “Still, it's a good sauce, no? Worth risking your life for?”

“The best, sir. And if I die, I want it to be with Cassia's tzatziki on my lips.”

Okay, I read a little more into that, and the wink that followed from Alex made my heart do a crazy flip-flop thing.

My father slapped him on the back once more, this time a little harder—
Welcome to the
family! You're getting smacked around now!
—and then offered to show him our new state-of-the-art oven. Alex trailed along behind him, and I breathed a sigh of relief that no one brought up my allergy again. Babbas was too busy gabbing, and it was clear he hadn't clued in to the fact that Alex and I were more than passing acquaintances.

Until Alex gave it away.

“I haven't known your daughter long, sir,” he said. “But I've already discovered we have a lot in common, not just our love of Greek food.”

My father took several steps in our direction, giving Alex a stern look. Yikes.

“You two are
friends
?” The way my father emphasized the word told me he suspected more. “I see.”

“Sure, we're friends.” Alex nodded. “But I was saying we have a lot in common. We met at the flower shop.”

“You were buying flowers?” No doubt Babbas found this idea ludicrous.

“Oh no, sir. I'm in the flower business.”

“Oh.” Babbas chuckled and slapped his thigh. “I
see
.” He slapped Alex on the arm. “For a minute there, I thought you were going to tell me you had a thing for my daughter. I worried for nothing. So you're into
flowers
, are you?”

Alex's brows arched. “Sir, just because I'm in the flower business doesn't mean I'm . . . I'm . . .”

“Babbas!” I interrupted the conversation. “Alex's family has a nursery in a small town north of Houston.”

“Nursery?” Now my father really looked confused. “You do babysitting on the side?”

“No, sir. The only things I babysit are roses. Well, and a host of other flowers. But no kids. Definitely no kids.”

My father's gaze narrowed. “You lost me back at the nursery part.”

“Alex's family has a profitable flower distribution company in a town called . . .” Hmm. I couldn't remember the name.

“Splendora, sir,” Alex said.

“They provide a variety of species to florists all over the state,” I added. “Including the shop where I work.”

“Actually, we're number one in the state, sir,” Alex said. “My grandfather passed the business to my father, and he has poured his life into it.”

“Sounds like your father and I have a lot in common.”
Babbas began to talk about his passion for our family business, carrying on for quite some time.

When he paused, Alex said, “I think that's admirable, Mr. Pappas. Oh, and to answer your original question . . . I might just be a little bit interested in your daughter.”

For a moment everything went silent. Babbas looked as if he'd been turned to stone. I kind of felt like it myself. Well, all but my heart, which did a weird thump-thump thing. I looked around for something to hide behind but decided the meat slicer wasn't big enough.

Had this handsome Greek cowboy just publicly declared an interest in me?

Judging from the shimmer in his eyes, yes.

And judging from the rock-hard look in my father's eyes . . . Alex would definitely have his work cut out for him.

You might be Greek if you were spanked by your friend's parents because your parents gave them permission to.

W
henever someone in the Pappas family took up a new habit—say, bowling or golf—it usually ended up involving everyone. Take the time my oldest brother decided he couldn't live without a skateboard. Yia Yia nearly ended up in the hospital with a heart attack the first time he took a tumble. And that time Eva decided she wanted to be a figure skater? Yeah, Babbas still joked about how she fell flat on her face in her first lesson. My family members didn't usually grace you through the learning curve. No, they made sport of you at every possible turn.

That was why, when I took a couple hundred dollars out of
my savings account to buy a brand-new bike on the Thursday after Alex's visit to our shop, it didn't surprise me that my family members all took a vested interest. I would prove to them that I was still capable after all these years. Hopefully.

Mama in particular seemed intrigued by the idea of riding. With all the bickering going on between her and Babbas lately, I had the strangest feeling that she might just climb on my bike and take off . . . permanently. I'd have to remember to buy a lock and chain.

On the morning of my first ride, my family clustered around my new bicycle—a Mongoose cruiser in a really sweet shade of forest green.

“What's this, Cassia?” Babbas asked.

One thing I never understood about parents—they always seemed to state the obvious. Like, when I didn't finish my food, Mama would say, “What? You didn't finish your food, Cassia?” And when I showed up late, Babbas would say, “You're late, Cassia.” Clearly they could see a bicycle standing in front of them. Why ask, “What's this, Cassia?”

Oh well. I'd better answer before Babbas decided to forbid me from bicycle riding on the grounds that it would be bad for the business.

“It's my new bike,” I said. “I bought it from a store on the seawall. Got a really good deal on it.”

“A bike.” He stared at it as if he'd never seen one before.

“Can I ride it?” Filip reached for the handlebars, but I grabbed them first.

“Maybe. Someday. But I want to break it in.”

“Get on it, Cassia,” Mama said. “I want to take your picture to send to the relatives in California!” She ran inside the shop, came out with her camera, and started snapping photos.
Great. I'd probably land front and center on her Facebook page. I always loved it when that happened.

“Ooh, I have a brilliant idea!” Babbas went into the shop and came out with a sign advertising Super-Gyros. “Now let's see . . . where can I hang this from your bike?” A pause followed as he surveyed the bike. “Guess you'll have to wear it, Cassia, like a sandwich.” He slapped his knee and laughed. “Get it? Sandwich?”

Seriously? Apparently there were worse things than landing on your mom's Facebook page—like landing on the front page of the
Galveston Daily News
with a promo for your dad's business strapped to your back.

“Oh no!” I put my hand up in the air. “I didn't buy this bike to promote the business.”

“Why did you buy it then?” Crinkles formed around Babbas's eyes. “I've never known you to ride before.”

“I'm going to be making deliveries for the flower shop,” I explained. “It's part of my job.”

“Flowers.” Babbas spat on the ground. “I should have known it.” This led to a lengthy sermon about how a good Greek daughter would support her father, not a perfect stranger in a flower shop, but he lost me about the time he starting criticizing roses. The man could say whatever he liked, but he'd better not go messing with my roses, now that I had an entire species named after me.

Babbas headed back into the shop to wait on our first customer of the day, an elderly lady who happened to be visiting us for the first time. He gave a “come with me” grunt to Mama—
Wow, what amazing communication skills,
Babbas!
—and she followed along behind him.

“Are you going to ride it or not?” Darian asked.

“I-I guess so.” I hadn't exactly counted on trying it out for the first time in front of an audience. What if I fell?

I reached down and unsnapped the helmet, which I'd hung from the handlebars. “Guess I'd better get suited up.”

“You look like a pro,” Eva said. “Very cool.”

“Thanks. Marcella made me promise I would always wear a helmet when I rode. Don't want to risk getting hurt.” I swung my leg over the bar and almost tumbled over in the process.

“Do they have helmets that cover the whole body?” Filip teased.

Thanks
for the show of support, folks.

“I'll be fine,” I said. “Don't worry about me.”

“I'm not worried, Cassia,” Gina said. “Not at all! You're so good at pedals.” She pointed at the bike pedals and giggled. “You're always talking about them.”

“Huh? I am?” It took me a minute, but I finally got it.
Petals
—I was always talking about them. Ha.

“Now you have two of your own,” Gina added.

I giggled and gave her a little kiss on the brow. “Looks like I do, at that.” I eased my bottom onto the seat and placed my right foot on the pedal, preparing to kick off with the other foot.

“You gonna ride with the stand down?” Darian pointed at the kickstand.

Right, right. I attempted to nudge it upward without getting off the bike and almost toppled once again. This got a good laugh from Darian, but the “drop it!” look I gave him shut him up pretty quickly.

“Laugh now,” I said. “But just wait and see if I ever let you ride.” This seemed to do the trick.

With my siblings looking on, I managed to take off. Figuring out the various gears was a little tricky. So were the handlebar brakes. When I reached the first corner I grabbed them with such force that the bike skidded to a rough stop. This caused a flip-flop–wearing tourist to walk right into me. I made my apologies and kept going. At a snail's pace.

After just a few blocks my thighs felt like they were on fire. Still, what kind of wimp stopped after such a short ride? To return home now would be to admit my defeat in front of the whole family. Instead, I pointed my bike toward the south end of the Strand, determined to get as close to the seawall as possible.

Okay, so I didn't make it that far. But riding as far as the end of the Strand was admirable for my first attempt. I paused at the flower shop and noticed Alex's delivery van, wondering if I should go inside. The idea of seeing him held some appeal, but the idea of working did not. Marcella would probably expect me to dive right in, in spite of already giving me the day off. No, I'd keep riding.

With the breeze in my face, I headed farther south, where I rode for blocks and blocks. Eventually I turned back toward Mechanic Street. Maybe I could ride as far as the Tremont Hotel before going home again. Might be nice to imagine myself a society girl circa 1900, making her way along the boulevard.

Or not.

I felt the wind go out of my proverbial sails at the corner of Mechanic and 19th. How long had I been gone, anyway? Should've brought my phone to keep track of the time. Maybe install one of those bike-riding apps so I wouldn't get lost. Either way, I should probably head back to the shop now. Babbas would be looking for me, no doubt.

Before I had a chance to think it through further, Alex pulled up next to me in his delivery truck and called out my name, followed by, “Hey, little lady.”

I laughed and nearly tumbled off the bike. “Did Marcella put you up to this?”

“Up to what?” he asked.

“Tailing me. Does she need me to work?”

He shrugged. “Nope. Just happened to be passing by on my way home from the shop.”

“Ooh, what were you delivering?”

“Only the best orchids I've seen in years. But don't go back to look at them. They'll still be there tomorrow. Maybe.” He gave me a little wink and my heart skipped a beat.

“Can't wait.”

For a moment neither of us said anything. Then another driver happened by and honked at Alex, who was taking up too much of the intersection.

I didn't really mind the break, what with the exhaustion from my ride.

Alex must've noticed. He pulled the van off to the side and got out. Extending his hands toward me, he said, “Here. I'll put your bike in the back and drive you home.”

He took care of the bike and then offered me a hand to get into the passenger seat. The luscious aroma of flowers seemed overpowering in here, in a good way. Their heady scent almost made me forget myself. Until I caught a glimpse of Alex's muscular arms as he pulled himself into the driver's seat. Then suddenly I remembered who I was. Who he was. Who we could be . . . together.

I felt like a giddy schoolgirl riding in the front seat with
him. In fact, I could hardly string two sensible words together. Not that he seemed to notice.

I settled back in my seat and gave the interior of the van a quick glance. “I've never been inside of one of these before,” I said. “Very . . .”

“Boxlike?” The edges of Alex's lips tipped up in a gorgeous smile. “I know. It's not much, but it gets me where I'm going and the flowers arrive in good shape. And just enough room to fit your bike inside.”

“Lucky break.” Of course, anytime I could snag a few minutes of alone time with this handsome flower guy, I considered myself lucky.

“Yep.” Alex pulled out onto the road and eased his way along. “Hey, speaking of which, I'm glad to see you got a bike. I like to ride myself. Sometimes I drive down to the island and rent a bike to ride along the seawall.”

“No way.” I couldn't help the little chuckle that slipped out. “Wow.”

The edges of his lips curled up in an embarrassed smile. “Yeah. Does that surprise you? Make me sound like a kid or something?”

“No, I just . . .” Should I tell him how much I'd loved the feel of the wind against my face, the smell of the salt water in the breeze as I made my way toward the coast? “Today was my first time in years, but I loved it.”

“Really?” This seemed to pique his interest. “Maybe we should go together sometime.”

“Sure. I'd love that.” Oh boy, would I ever. My imagination went off on a little tangent as I thought about the possibilities of strolling the seashore hand in hand with this awesome guy. Strange how he'd snagged such a large piece of my heart
in such a short period of time. I reflected back to that first moment when I'd seen him on the trolley. The words
Fate! Kismet!
had crossed my mind. Now, seated beside him, I had to admit our blossoming relationship did feel like fate. Divinely ordained.

He dove into a story about a ride he'd taken on some trails in the Sam Houston National Forest, but my mind shifted. “You should buy a bike and leave it at our place. That way you wouldn't have to rent one.”

“I own a great one,” he said. “But it's a long drive down from Splendora. Maybe I should buy another and keep it here . . . if you don't think your parents would mind, I mean.”

“My parents?” With a wave of my hand I dismissed the idea. “Nah. You know how easygoing they are.” Ha.

When we arrived at the shop I asked him to pull around to the back so I could unload the bike. After getting it situated I gave it one last look. I couldn't help the smile that rose up. Riding with soft wisps of hair in my face had been freeing. Totally freeing.

“You hungry?” I asked.

His “I thought you'd never ask” look left little to the imagination. I took him into Super-Gyros the back way, chatting all the time. Imagine my shock when I saw Yia Yia inside weeping.

She took one look at me and began to offer up a heartfelt prayer in Greek. “Oh, Cassia, thank God!” Yia Yia threw her arms around me and began to wail. I couldn't figure out why, though. Had someone died?

“Yia Yia, what's happened?” I asked. “What is it?”

She began to ramble in unintelligible Greek sentences, completely losing me. Alex seemed to be trying to work on
the translation and eventually leaned toward me to whisper, “They thought you were dead.”

“W-what?” I looked at my grandmother. “Why would you think that?”

“You leave on that—that—bicycle! And you never come home again.”

“What else could we think, Cassia?” Mama clutched her cell phone in her hand. “I've been on the telephone with the police.”

“The police?” My heart skipped a beat. “Are you serious?”

“You should tell us your plans,” Mama scolded. “So we won't worry.”

“You knew I was going out to ride my bike,” I countered.

“Yes, but that was an hour and a half ago,” Mama said. “We expected you to be gone ten minutes. Maybe twenty. But an hour and a half?”

You thought I would only last ten
minutes? Thanks for the show of support, people!

“Do you know how many people die in an hour and a half?” She shared a gruesome story she'd recently seen on the evening news, and I bit back a sharp retort. Seriously? I couldn't go out for a bike ride without getting the whole family worked up?

At this point Mama seemed to notice I wasn't alone. She welcomed Alex by handing him a sandwich. He opened it and took a bite. Go figure.

My little sister wrapped herself around my leg. “Don't go away again, Cassia! Promise?”

“Well, I—”

“We were afraid those Italians had kidnapped you.” Gina's eyes, filled with anxiety, met mine. “I thought maybe they
locked you up in the kitchen at Parma John's and forced you to make the new Venus de Milo for them.”

Where did the child come up with such nonsense? Then again, a Greek pizza did sound really good right about now.