A Bouquet of Love (8 page)

“Have you tried the place?” he asked. “It's probably going to be really crowded, but it'll be worth the wait, I promise.”

“Oh, um . . . yeah, I've tried it.” I shrugged, unsure of what else to say. If I showed up at the Pappas homestead with a fella on my arm, Babbas was sure to grill him—and not on the kitchen stove. This guy didn't stand a chance, Greek or not. Besides, I wasn't ready to let any of my new Rossi-loving friends know about my family. Not yet.

Alex went off on a tangent about the moist lamb on the sandwich he'd eaten Saturday, and I could see I'd lost him. After a moment I cleared my throat, and he startled back to attention. His gaze met mine and he grinned. “Sorry. I love gyros.”

“I've always been a fan too,” I said. “But . . .”

“But?” His lips curled down in a frown. “There's a ‘but'?”

“I, um . . . I ate there yesterday.” Brilliant! And I didn't even have to fib.

“Aw, man. Okay.” He shrugged. “Weird, though. I didn't think they were open on Sunday. But anyway, you already know how good the food is, and you're probably not wanting the same thing two days in a row.”

“It's the best on the island.” I didn't mean to do it, but the little jingle slipped out. Did I really just sing that out loud?

“Wow, that's cool.” He looked duly impressed by my impromptu concert. “Haven't heard that one yet.”

You will
. Just stay tuned.

He hesitated and I could feel his gaze on me. “So, let's go someplace else. You like Italian food?”

Yikes! “Well, yes, I like it, but . . .”

A shimmer in his eyes clued me in to the fact that the boy loved his Italian food. “There's a great place just down the street. Parma John's. It's a—”

“Pizza place,” I finished for him.

“Right.” He nodded. “I eat there all the time. In fact, the owners, the Rossis, own this place too.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured that out already. I've pretty much decided the whole island is run by the Rossis.”

Alex grinned. “Well, when you put it like that, it makes them sound devious. They're just normal people.” He laughed. “Okay, I take that back. They're about as far from normal as any family I've ever met, but you've gotta love 'em.”

Try telling that to my
father.

“So, what do you say?” he asked. “You okay with pizza?”

“I really don't know if I should leave, especially with Marcella being gone.”

“You heard what she said.” His eyes melted into mine. “Besides, I've got to eat, you've got to eat . . .” A lingering silence filled the space between us. “Might as well eat together.”

I looked into his gorgeous dark eyes, and my gaze traveled to his lustrous, wavy black hair and that engaging smile. My sister would flip if she found out that Cowboy Adonis was asking me to lunch. And I would be a fool to turn him down. So what if Babbas caught me going into Parma John's? I had to die somehow. Might as well be with this good-looking guy on my arm and pepperoni on my breath.

You might be Greek if you know someone who always feels the need to point out how much something they bought costs.

P
ushing all reservations aside, I offered Alex a lame nod. “Sure. It's hard to resist pizza. I'm starving.”

He gave me a funny look, one that almost said, “Is that all that's hard to resist?” but I turned away, my gaze shifting to the door. I walked over to it and hung the Out to Lunch sign, then ushered up a silent prayer, asking the Lord to send guardian angels to watch out for me should my father see me going into the restaurant owned by his archrival.

“Should we walk or drive?” Alex asked. “I've got the delivery van. You could ride in style.”

I shrugged. “Seems pointless to drive, especially on such a pretty day. It's only seven blocks to Parma John's, anyway.”

“Wow, you've got the number of blocks memorized?” He gave me an admiring look. “You must love that place.”

“Oh, I've never actually been inside,” I said. “I'm new to the island, remember?”

“Okay.” He gave me a curious look. “But you know how far it is?”

“Yeah. I'm weird like that. I tend to memorize things.”
Like how many blocks I have to walk to and
from work.

“Interesting. I memorize things too, but usually names and species of flowers, that sort of thing.”

“I do that too,” I acknowledged.

We both stopped and stared into each other's eyes. For a moment it felt as if the whole world stood still, like time had stopped. Then my phone beeped. Great. A text message. I glanced at it, surprised to see a note from Babbas.

How late are you working for these flower people? Mama
needs you to make a run to the grocery store
for sugar.

I quickly typed the response—
5:00
—then shoved the phone in my purse. “All done.”

“Okay. Let's get this show on the road.” He held the door open in gentlemanly fashion and I stepped through it, then locked it behind us.

A luscious breeze swept over us, coming off of nearby Galveston Bay. With the sun shining brightly overhead, the temperatures felt perfect. Great for a walk.

Still, walking side by side down the Strand with this fellow was too risky. Someone from the Pappas family would see me going into Parma John's, and my life would end right then and there. I needed a different plan.

“Oh, I know.” I snapped my fingers. “I've been wanting to ride the trolley ever since I got here. What about that?”

“Sounds good. Should be along shortly. You mind waiting a couple of minutes?”

“Not at all.”

He led the way to the trolley stop at the corner, and we waited for it to come by. Well, he waited. I stood behind him in case anyone in my family happened by.

Alex looked my way, brow wrinkled. “You okay back there?”

“Yeah. Just, um, checking to see what time the next trolley comes by. Shouldn't be long now.”

He joined me and we stood reading the sign. Actually, he looked at the sign. I snuck another peek at his face, homing in on the clear-cut lines of his profile.

He gave me a warm smile. “Glad the trolley's up and running again.”

“Me too.”

“It took years to repair after the big storm. Everyone down here has been waiting on pins and needles to see it open.”

“I would've been the first in line if I'd known. Growing up so close to San Francisco, I have a long running history with streetcars. I think that's one reason I fell in love with Judy Garland music in the first place, because of that trolley song.”

“Trolley song?” Alex looked perplexed. “Don't know it.” The clanging of the trolley sounded and it squealed to a stop in front of us.

“You never saw
Meet Me in St. Louis
? Best Judy Garland musical ever. After
The Wizard of Oz
, I mean. I used to watch that movie when I was a kid.”

“Which one?
The Wizard of Oz
or
Meet Me in St.
Louis
?” Alex gestured for me to climb aboard and I did so in a hurry, still concerned that one of my family members might happen along and see me.

“
Meet
Me in St. Louis
,” I said.

“Ah.” Alex followed behind me, and we took a seat near the back. “I think my mom made me watch that movie once. Is that the one with Margaret Mitchell?”

“Margaret O'Brien.” I hated to correct the boy, but someone had to set him straight.

The trolley took off, and I held on tight as we zipped down the lane. Alex slipped his arm around my shoulders. “Right, right. I remember Margaret O'Brien.” As the trolley moved along, Alex lit into a story about Margaret Thatcher. I didn't correct him this time.

My thoughts shifted back in time to my first trolley ride in San Francisco as a little girl. Babbas had taken me on a shopping spree. I'd forgotten until now. What a special day that had been. He'd treated me like his little princess, even bought me a ruffled dress.

“You're humming again.” Alex gave me a funny look. “You do that a lot, you know. Noticed it at the shop. But I don't recognize half of the melodies.”

“Oh, I'm sure they're Judy Garland songs. I've been on a kick lately.”

“Well, since you're so musical and all, maybe you can help me come up with something poetic to help promote Rigas Roses. I'm supposed to be coming up with the perfect advertisement for our local Splendora paper, but I stink at rhymes.”

“What have you tried?” I asked.

“Well, let's see. I came up with ‘Roses are red, daffodils
are yellow . . .'” He groaned. “See my problem? I can't find anything to rhyme with
yellow
.”

“Nor should you want to.” I laughed. “Trust me, that ‘Roses are red' rhyme is too cliché, anyway.”

“Still, it's familiar, and familiar brings in customers. How about this: ‘Roses are red, lilies are white, buy from the Rigas family and you'll be . . . all right'?”

“But you want your customers to be more than all right, don't you?” The trolley stopped and several people got on.

“Yeah.” He paused as the trolley started up again. “Okay, this one: ‘Roses are red, carnations are pink, buy your flowers from us 'cause . . .'” He pursed his lips and appeared to be thinking. “‘Our service don't stink'?”

Crossing my arms at my chest, I offered him what I hoped would be a comforting smile. “An advertisement like that isn't the best way to connect with your customers. Just sayin'.”

“Help me work on it?” He gave me a pleading look. “Our family business depends on it.” I detected laughter in his eyes. “No pressure or anything.”

Of course not. But who in the world kept spreading the word that I was good at rhymes and jingles? Crazy.

“I guess I could think about it. If anything comes to me, I'll let you know.” I offered a hopeful smile.

The trolley drew near Parma John's, and I glanced across the street at Super-Gyros. Babbas stood outside, chatting with his new friend, Officer O'Reilly. Just what I needed. I ducked down in my seat and tried to figure out how to go about getting off this thing without being seen. Another peek from the bottom of the window revealed my father and the officer laughing.

“You okay over there?” Alex asked.

“Yeah, I, um . . .” I scooted farther down in the seat. “Oh, I . . . I need to make sure I've got my phone. Maybe I dropped it?” I reached into my purse and came out with it. “Nope. Here it is.”

“Oh.” He gave me a curious look. “I was worried about you for a minute there. Thought maybe you were on the run from the law.”

“On the run from the law?”

He pointed out the window at O'Reilly. “I thought maybe you saw the badge and decided to slip out of view.”

“No.” Out of the corner of my eye I watched as Darian walked out of Super-Gyros and approached the officer with a sandwich in hand. O'Reilly extended his hand to receive the sandwich and dove right in, a delirious look on his face. At that moment, the three nuns we'd met the other day walked up and greeted the officer. Great. More people to hide from.

“Are you sure you don't want to go to the new Greek place?” Alex gave me a pleading look, and I almost fell into the trap. “You seem to be infatuated. Can't take your eyes off it.”

I scooted farther down in the seat. “No. No, I don't. I . . . I might be allergic to tzatziki sauce.”

“No way.” He cringed. “That would be awful.”

“Well, it hasn't been confirmed medically, but I get . . . hives.” Okay, so maybe not hives, but I did have a little rash the last time I ate cucumbers. Then again, I'd been out in the sun too long that day, so it might've been a heat rash.

“Man, that would stink.”

“Yeah. It's a problem.”

And speaking of problems, I watched as my mother joined Babbas, Darian, and O'Reilly on the sidewalk. Great. Why not invite the whole family to watch my funeral?

“I just thought a good Greek girl like you would like Greek food.” He gave me a little wink and my heart fluttered. “You did say you're Greek, right? Or am I just guessing based on your name?”

“My name?”

“Sure. Cassia—Greek. Bethesda—Greek.”

“Bethesda? That's my middle name.”

“Oh, sorry. I was so busy sniffing your résumé that I guess I read it wrong. Or maybe Marcella called you that?” He shrugged. “Anyway, sorry about the name mix-up. Not a very good way for a guy to impress a girl, getting her last name wrong. So what is your—”

“To answer your question, I am Greek. But I like lots of different kinds of foods.” Another glance out of the window put me on guard once again. Babbas was pointing at the trolley, probably telling O'Reilly and the nuns about the sign he planned to put on the side of it.

“Great. You ready for some pizza then?” Alex asked.

I nodded and twisted in my seat to avoid being seen by my family members. “Sure. Sounds awesome.”

Alex rose and extended his hand to help me stand. My hunched posture seemed to confuse him. “Sure you're okay over there?”

“Yep. I, um, have a little crick in my back.” After all the twisting and turning, I didn't have to lie about that. Not one bit.

“Man. I'm glad we didn't try to walk those seven blocks. Hope you're okay.” He helped me up. I followed along on his heels as he led the way off the trolley. Most of my attention, however, was focused on my father and O'Reilly, who followed my mother and brother into Super-Gyros. I breathed
a sigh of relief and stood up straight just as we stepped down onto the street.

Alex extended his hand. “Mm-hmm. Thought so. Your pizza awaits, oh wanted one.”

“W-what?”

He leaned close to whisper the rest, his breath warm against my cheek. “I have to believe you're on the run from the law. You were hiding from that cop, but now he's gone.”

“Oh, I—”

“No point in denying it. You're as white as a ghost. But I won't hold that against you.”

“Won't hold what against me?” I tried to sound lighthearted. “The fact that I'm on the run from the law or that I'm as white as a ghost?”

“So you are on the run from the law then.” The wrinkles around his gorgeous brown eyes deepened. “This changes everything. I've never gone to lunch with a girl who's running from her troubles before.”

I took his extended hand. “I'm not on the run from the law, I promise. But you might be right about the other part.”

“Thought so.”

“I'm just . . .” I shook my head and sighed. “Running.” I hesitated. “Look, there's a perfectly logical explanation for my behavior, I promise. I'll tell you when we get—” I'd just started to say “inside” when my littlest sister came out of Super-Gyros. She waved and called my name. I immediately ducked behind a parked car.

Alex joined me, his posture hunched. “Why are we hiding?” His hoarse whisper conveyed his concern. “Are you really on the lam?”

“Lamb?” On a shish kebab, maybe.

“Is that kid an undercover officer or something?” he asked, his voice more strained. “Or is she on our side?”

“Something like that.” I groaned and slapped myself on the head. “I'll tell you everything when we get inside. If we get inside.”

“Why wouldn't we get inside?” His dark eyes pierced the distance between us. “Wait. This isn't a mob thing, is it? There's not some crazed hit man waiting inside, ready to take us out, is there?”

“No.” Just a crazed Greek father across the street, ready to murder his daughter for betraying him and the family business. But that was a story for a later time. Right now I had to get inside Parma John's without Gina seeing me. I peered around the vehicle, holding my purse in front of my face. Gina stared at me, clearly perplexed, and I put my finger to my lips, hoping she would take a hint. After a moment of staring at me, she turned back toward Super-Gyros.

Alex cleared his throat. “Sorry, but if this keeps up, I'm going to starve to death.”

Well, that would never do. I needed to keep this guy in fine shape, so I'd better get my act together. Another quick glance across the street revealed that Gina had gone back into the sandwich shop, so I stood, grabbed a very surprised Alex by the hand, and dragged him inside Parma John's lickety-split.