A Bouquet of Love (14 page)

“Thank you. I've always loved it.” He gestured to the bridge that ran over the little creek. “You wouldn't believe what my grandparents had to go through to clear the land for the rose garden. We're pretty thick in the piney woods.”

“Clearly.” I glanced off in the distance at the towering pines. But he'd said something that piqued my interest. “Wait . . . grandparents?”

“Yes. This nursery was my grandmother's baby.”

“Did she . . . I mean, is she . . .”

“She passed away when I was fourteen.” The sadness in his eyes let me know just how much he had loved her.

“I'm sorry, Alex.”

“Me too. This place was Yia Yia Melina's dream. She always had a green thumb and loved roses, so my grandfather started clearing a spot for a small rose garden. By the time my dad was born, Yia Yia had grown it into half an acre. By the time he was five, it covered two full acres.”

“And now?” I asked.

“Well, that depends. Are you talking about the rose garden or the tulips? Or the orchids? We grow so many different types of flowers now.”

“But you kept the Rigas Roses name?”

He nodded. “We'll always keep the name. My grandmother loved it.”

He grew silent and we continued to meander along, hand in hand, through the various gardens to the nursery area behind his parents' home. I couldn't help but gasp when I saw the roses—zillions and zillions of them in colors so vast they looked like a rainbow.

“I thought you might want to see the new strain of roses.” He gave my hand a little squeeze. “The Cassia.”

We started walking again, finally landing next to the most breathtaking red roses I'd ever seen. “Oh, Alex.” I could hardly catch my breath. Their beauty held me spellbound. I closed my eyes and drew in the scent of the flowers, feeling a little delirious.

“The only problem with planting gardens in Splendora is the pine trees. We've had to cut down so many of them. They're as thick as thieves.”

I chuckled at his funny expression.

“I'd bet I've hauled a hundred loads in the wheelbarrow in the last six months alone. We're always clearing trees to make room for more gardens.”

“Doesn't look like you run the risk of having too few.” I pointed to a thick woodsy area to our right. “I've never seen so many.”

“Welcome to Texas.” He laughed and led me down a cobblestone path through the reds and into the pinks. He stopped when we got to the yellow roses and pointed at a small mosaic stepping-stone in the middle of the pathway. “See that stone right there?”

“Yes, it's lovely.”

“Notice the handprints in the middle?”

I leaned forward and took a closer look. Sure enough, someone had pressed their palms into the concrete before it dried, then encircled the stone with bits of stained glass in varying shades of blue and yellow.

“That's beautiful,” I said.

“Those are my grandmother's handprints,” he explained. “The week before she passed away, my mother took us to the hospital to see her. She was barely able to speak and didn't seem to have full control of her faculties. But when Mama pulled out the little kit to make the stone, you should have seen Yia Yia Melina's eyes light up. She never minded getting her hands messy, especially in the garden.” His eyes misted over. “That was as close as we could get her to the garden that day, but it seemed to do the trick. And I've always enjoyed the fact that we've kept the stone right here, in the spot where my grandfather planted her first little rose garden.”

“Alex, that's an amazing story. I hope you'll always keep the stone there.”

“We will. One day I'll tell my kids, and then they will tell theirs. It's part of our legacy. Kind of like your family's sandwich shop.”

Ugh. “Yeah, that superhero costume is some legacy, let me tell you.” I had to laugh. What else could I do?

Alex slipped his arm over my shoulder. “Well, I didn't mean that, necessarily. I just mean that a family business is something to take pride in. It meant so much to my grandmother to leave this to us. And I know it means a lot to your father that you kids are growing his business.”

Would it be wrong to sigh aloud?

We continued our stroll through the gardens as the sun set overhead. With the vivid rays of orange and pink settling down over the flowers, they seemed illuminated. My heart felt so full I could hardly contain all the emotions.

We paused at the bridge over the little creek once more, and I turned to face Alex. “I can't thank you enough for bringing me here.”

With the tip of his index finger, he brushed a loose hair from my face. “You're welcome,” he whispered, his breath tingly against my cheek. “I see it all the time, so it's very familiar to me.”

“I've never been to a nursery that compares, so it's unfamiliar to me,” I said. “But I love it. Impressive.”

“Thank you. Yia Yia would be happy to hear you say that.” He placed his palms against mine, comparing the size of our hands. “I'm glad to find someone who loves flowers. Not everyone appreciates them like I do.” He laced our fingers together. “I'd have to say we're a perfect fit.”

I would have to agree. But with my heart now beating out of control, I couldn't manage to find the words.

Alex slipped his arm around my waist and drew me closer. I trembled in his arms as his eyes met mine, the “come hither” look more than evident.

Under the canopy of vines, the evening breeze gently drifted in through the pine trees. My eyes fluttered shut. Then, with the luscious scent of flowers providing the perfect backdrop for our first kiss, I waited for the inevitable.

Just as Alex's lips brushed mine, just as the moment I'd dreamed of all day came to pass . . . my cell phone rang.

No. Way.

“Can you ignore it?” he whispered.

“Yes. Just let me . . .”

My words drifted off as I lifted my phone to see who had called. Babbas. Seconds later, a text message came through from my father:
Need
you. Work to do. Got to put those Rossis in
their place.

A second message came through directly on the heels of that one, this time from my mother:
Hate to interrupt your plans, but Babbas has arranged a
meeting with a videographer tomorrow afternoon to film the commercial
and needs you here ASAP to go over the harmonies
to the jingles with the other kids. He's in
a mood this evening! Ack!

I shoved the phone back into my pocket, aggravation fully rooted in my heart. I wasn't sure which bothered me more—the fact that my special moment with Alex had been interrupted, or the idea that my mother had referred to me as a kid.

Okay, the interruption definitely took the cake. Ruined the moment and ruined my mood. But maybe Alex and I could get it all back, recapture what had been lost on the evening
breeze. If I closed my eyes, I could almost picture myself in his arms once again.

I looked over at him, but he'd turned his attention to a ragged-looking flower—one of the Cassias—in a pale shade of yellow. He knelt and plucked the pathetic-looking thing off the bush, then tossed it aside.

Just as he stood and looked at me, the three Splendora Sisters came marching our way with large slices of Willy's turtle cheesecake in hand. “Yoo-hoo, you two!” Twila called out. “You're missing out on all the fun!”

“And the cheesecake too!” Jolene shoved a plate into Alex's hands and he dove right in.

Yeah, we were missing all the fun, all right. I took the piece of cheesecake that Bonnie Sue offered and swallowed down a huge bite. It did little to soothe the turmoil going on inside me. For in that moment my heart felt just like that poor, pathetic little rose Alex had tossed away . . . completely wilted.

You might be Greek if every Sunday afternoon of your childhood was spent visiting Papou and Yia Yia or extended family.

O
n Sunday morning we went back to Scarlet's church. I loved every minute, especially the worship service. Scarlet led the songs, her voice as pure as angels singing from on high. Armando sat on a stool to her left, playing the guitar. They sounded great together. Maybe one of these days I'd work up the courage to ask if I could sing along with them. My years on the praise team back in Santa Cruz had afforded me plenty of time to grow my skills.

Still, I'd better not ask Scarlet about it just yet. After all, I didn't know if we'd be staying at this church. And if she met my family, she might just mention that I'd been to her
bakery after visiting Parma John's. And heaven forbid she should wish my mother a happy birthday. Wouldn't that just be the icing on the cake?

I scooted out of the service quickly and followed along behind my siblings as we made our way to our aging minivan. I glanced wistfully at another family as I overheard their lunch plans. How great would it be to go out to dinner on a Sunday afternoon? Hang out? Not work?

Wouldn't happen in the Pappas family, especially with the new business. After all, Babbas had made plans for us to spend the day filming the new commercial using some local teenage boy he'd hired as a videographer.

When the teen canceled at the last minute, Mama tried to convince my father that we should rest. “Even the Lord took one day off, Niko,” she said as she took her seat in the van.

“He could afford to. He owns the cattle on a thousand hills.” My father gestured for my younger siblings to get into the van. “My cattle—er, lambs—are mortgaged. We will rest when the new shop is stable. In the meantime you will call Athena to set up a plan for her visit. The kids and I will do inventory.”

And so, after a quick lunch—food from the shop, of course—we dove right in. Mama called Athena for the third time in as many weeks, and we “kids” got to work alongside Babbas. Turned out the inventory didn't take as long as we'd expected. By midafternoon I found myself curled up in bed with my sisters snoozing in their beds nearby. Though I tried valiantly to read a book, I found my eyes drifting shut.

A knock at the door roused me.

“Come in.”

The door eased open a few inches and Darian peeked inside.

“Hey.” I smiled. “What's up?”

He took a couple of steps into the room and noticed the other girls were sleeping. “I need some advice,” he whispered.

“That's priceless. You're the one who needs to be dishing it out, not me.”

“Not this time.”

I could tell from the concerned look on his face that something had him troubled, so I gestured for him to come in the room. “What's up?”

He took several steps toward me and then looked back at the open door. “I, um, have a problem.” His words came out in a strained whisper.

Wow. Very out of character. “What is it, Darian? You can tell me.”

He took a seat on the edge of my bed and remained silent for a moment as he gestured to our sisters.

“They could sleep through a hurricane,” I said. “Don't worry.”

“Okay.” Another pause followed before he dove in. “See, I, um, I've been hanging out at the ball field, hoping the coach might need help.”

“Great idea. I know how much you loved to play ball in high school.”

“Right. Would still love to play if I could. Turns out the coach is a great guy, but he's in over his head, so I ended up giving him a hand.”

“Are you saying that you're coaching a baseball team?”

“Not officially. I'm just helping this guy Bubba out.”

“Bubba?” Why did that sound so familiar? “Well, that's
nice.” I set my book aside and shifted the pillows behind me. “You could use a friend outside of the family.”

“Yeah.” Darian's gaze shifted to the ground. “Only . . .”

“What? He doesn't like your coaching tips?”

“No. Nothing like that. He's . . .” Darian uttered a groan and my little sister stirred in her bed. She fell back asleep right away, and my brother gave me a sheepish look. “He's really nice,” he whispered. “And I didn't mean to be his friend. If I'd known his wife Jenna works for the Rossis, I never would've done it.” He sighed. “But the next thing you know we were talking about what it's like to work for family and then he was asking if I wanted to have some pizza.”

“Wait. Back up.”

“I know, I know.” Darian put his finger to his lips to quiet me, then shook his head. “I'm a traitor to the family.”

“Are you trying to tell me you've been to Parma John's?” I whispered.

Darian looked horrified. “No! Not—not yet, anyway.” He gave me a pleading look. “Do you think I'm awful? It's not about the pizza, really.” He released a sigh. “Okay, maybe it is . . . partly. Smelling it day after day is wearing me down. You have no idea what I'm going through.”

“Um, yeah, I do.”

“But it's more about the friend part. I guess the little ones wouldn't get it,” he said. “But moving here has been tough. Being away from the family . . .”

“Away from the family?” I snorted and Eva snored in the bed next to me. “Funny.”

“No, I mean the cousins.”

He had a point there. In California we had reams of cousins and other extended family members to spend time with.

“I'm used to having a lot of guys my age to hang out with, but I don't have that here. School is the only chance I have to be . . . normal. Working with Dad is okay. I like the marketing stuff. But I really want to play ball. Hang out with the guys.”

“Ah.”

“Would it really be so terrible if I made some new friends? Hung out with Bubba and the guys and ate pizza? What's so wrong with that?”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Except the obvious.

One thing he'd said suddenly caught me off guard. “Wait a minute. Did you say your friend's name is Bubba?”

“Yeah.”

“And he's married to Jenna, who works at Parma John's.”

“Right. Why?”

I bit back a laugh and said, “Oh, never mind. Let's just say I totally understand your predicament and can sympathize on many levels.” I released a yawn. “I'll tell you all about it soon, I promise. But don't feel like you're alone, okay?”

He gave me a curious look before responding with, “Okay.”

Before he left, I gave my brother as many words of encouragement as I could. I pondered his situation as I settled down in the bed to rest. I couldn't shake his comments about needing friends.

I'd just dozed off when Eva's gentle voice woke me up. “You still awake, Cassia?”

Biting back the complaint that threatened to escape, I managed to mutter, “I am now.”

“Good.” She sat up in the bed and plumped her pillows. “Just FYI, I heard every word Darian said.”

“Oh, man.” I sat up in the bed and looked at her. “You're not gonna rat him out, are you?”

“Are you kidding? Just the opposite.” She lowered her voice and checked the other bed to make sure Gina was still sleeping. “I need to talk to someone or I'm going to bust.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” She leaned toward me. “Houston, we have a problem.”

“Join the club.”

“Yeah, I'm a member of the club, all right.” She released an exaggerated sigh and lay back against the pillows in dramatic fashion. “I went to have my hair cut at a new place a few doors down. Sassy Shears.”

“Great cut, by the way.”

“Thank you.” She fussed with her hair. “I took Gina with me. She needed a trim.”

“Okay.” Couldn't figure out where this was going, but that was often the case with Eva's stories.

A delightful smile tipped up the edges of my sister's lips. “The girl who cut my hair was great. Well, actually, she wasn't a girl—she's in her late twenties, I guess. The age part didn't really matter. Her name's Sophia, and we totally got along. We just started talking, and before I knew it an hour had gone by.”

“That's good, Eva. I'm glad you're making friends.”

“Me too. The best part was we had so much in common. She loves great hair, I love great hair.” Eva chuckled. “She's really into fashion, I'm into fashion. She has an older sister, I have an older sister.”

“That's great. I'm glad you're finding people to connect with. It's good for you.”

“Yes, but . . . you didn't hear the rest.” Eva leaned close to me again and lowered her voice. “Her family runs a business, our family runs a business.”

“Sounds like a divine appointment.”

“Only one teensy-tiny problem.” Eva bit her lip. “Her last name is Rossi. Well, at least it used to be. She's married now, so she has a different last name. But she's a Rossi, and there's nothing I can do about it.”

“Oh no.” I couldn't help but laugh. “Another one?”

“I think they're everywhere.” Eva smiled. “You know that girl we keep seeing come out of Parma John's? The one with the perfect life? That's Sophia's older sister—”

“Bella.” I said her name and sighed with relief. It would feel good, really good, to tell someone in the family about my friendship with Bella and Marcella.

“Wait, you know her sister?” Eva shook her head. “Are you serious?”

I nodded and then told her all about the Marcella/Bella/Rossi connection at the flower shop.

“You had no idea when you took the job, though?” She seemed mesmerized by this. “Crazy.”

“I know. But I love it there. And Marcella and Bella are totally great.”

“So's Sophia.”

“And apparently Bubba's been a good friend to Darian.”

Eva sat back and closed her eyes. “We're doomed.”

“
Doomed
might be a little dramatic.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Her expression tightened. “Still, I hate this trapped feeling. There's got to be a way out. If someone doesn't do something”—she stared me down—“I'll never get out of here in one piece. I'll be tied to Babbas's apron strings forever. You know?”

Of course I knew. Those apron strings were choking the life out of me even as we spoke.

“Sometimes I just want to run away from home.” Eva rolled over in her bed. “Go back to California, where people are normal.”

I wasn't sure about that last part, but I did fight that running-away-from-home feeling . . . a lot. Only, now I couldn't run. Not with Alex in the picture. To leave him would be heartbreaking.

Eva's words about the apron strings bothered me all evening. When I awoke Monday morning, I still found myself troubled by our conundrum. What sort of family felt trapped by their father? Sure, we were instructed to respect our parents, but at what cost? Self-worth? Lack of friendships?

I must've been wearing my troubles on my face when I entered the flower shop because Marcella and Bella both gave me concerned looks.

“Everything okay?” Bella said from behind the counter.

“Hmm?” I put my purse away in the back room, then came back out to join them. “Not really.”

“Want to talk?” Marcella asked.

“No.” I shook my head. “You two are busy. I'll be okay. I need to go through last week's deliveries and prune out the dead flowers.”

Bella still looked concerned. “No, we're just talking about centerpieces for a wedding that's months off. I have a feeling you're dealing with something a little more pressing than that.”

Pressing. Sounded like the right word. With Babbas demanding so much of our family, I felt like he was pressing, all right—pressing the air right out of my lungs.

“How can we help?” Bella asked. “I mean, I know I'm not involved in the situation—whatever it is—but I want to be there for you. That's what friends are for. You know?”

How could I resist the hand of friendship Bella was offering? To do so would be ridiculous.

“Sometimes it helps to have an outsider weigh in,” Marcella said. “To give an unbiased opinion. That sort of thing.”

“But that's just it.” I turned to face them, the sting of fresh tears in my eyes. “You're not outsiders. And Bella, you're wrong to say you're not in the situation. You're involved. You just don't know it.” Moisture spilled over my lashes and down my cheeks.

Bella rose and took several quick steps toward me. “I'm sorry, but I'm so confused. Have I done something to hurt you? To offend you?”

“No, not at all.”

“Is it me?” Marcella looked worried. “I've been leaving you at the shop alone way too much. I knew it. You're feeling taken advantage of.”

“No, it's nothing like that. It's just . . .” I brushed tears away with a swipe of my hand. “I'm not supposed to like you.” A dramatic groan escaped, and I slapped myself on the forehead.

“Not supposed to like me?” Fine lines appeared on Bella's otherwise perfect brow.

“I think she was talking to me.” Marcella drew in a deep breath and held it as if preparing for bad news.

Bella shook her head. “No, she was definitely talking to me.”

“I . . . I'm referring to both of you. I'm not supposed to like anyone in the Rossi family. Not Marcella. Or Bella. Or Scarlet. Or Uncle Laz. Or Aunt Rosa. Or Bubba. Or Sophia. Or anyone else whose last name is now or has ever been Rossi.” I slid down into the chair behind the counter and put my head down.

“Why?” Bella sat next to me.

“Because you sell pizza.” I lifted my head and glanced her way.

“Technically, neither of us sells pizza,” Marcella argued.

“True. But you're both Rossis and the Rossis sell pizza. Really, really yummy, gooey, amazing, can't-wait-to-have-it-again pizza. On the Strand.”