Distraction (Westbrook Series Book 1) (27 page)

"Regardless, there is
no
way I'm going to let that
tool
ruin our perfect date tonight. Are you ready to go on a date with me, Lis?" he asks, while tugging at my hand gently. I nod, allowing him to guide us along, as another wave of relief washes over me. I'm definitely ready to put all of this nonsense behind us.

He leads me to the kitchen and through the French Doors. We walk down the deck stairs that lead to our patio. He has Mom's little cafe table set for two, with a white table cloth, and what appears to be Mom's good china. There are two small votive candles burning, and a clear round vase with a carefully arranged bouquet of gorgeous, pale-pink peonies at the center of the table.

"How did you know that peonies are my favorite?" I ask with a huge smile on my face. The flowers look as if Martha Stewart had arranged them. They do not have distracting leaves, or sprays of baby breath that grocery store florists often add to their arrangements. It's just the round bundle of perfect, full blooms with clean, cut stems.

"Lis, I know more about you than you'd believe."

He pulls out one of the chairs for me. His chivalry is very sweet, but it's making me feel a little self-conscious. I am definitely not used to being fussed over like this, but then again, I've never had a boyfriend before, either.

I am in awe of how beautiful the table is. It looks like something my mom would have orchestrated, only I know that there is no way she did this. I admire the delicate, scalloped edges of the bone-colored china, while running my fingers along the raised beads that border the inside edge of the plate. It used to be my Nana's old china, and my mom says it will one day be mine. It is truly gorgeous, but my love for these dishes is mostly because they remind me of Nana.

"I hope your mom doesn't mind that I raided her china cabinet," Sam says sheepishly.

I shake my head, and wave my hand in the air once, as if to say, "
Nonsense
." In fact, she would probably think this was very sweet, if she knew about it.

"How did you?" I carefully pick up the intricately wrapped cloth napkin, and hold it in my hand. It looks like a swan.

He chuckles. "Would you believe that my mother actually
made
me take a napkin folding class with her? It was when we went on that family cruise a few years ago."

"
You
, napkin folding?" I ask in between giggles.

"I
know
. What can I say? I'm a bit of a momma's boy. It's kind of hard to say no to her when she’s begging," he whines playfully. "If you tell Kyle though, I'm going to have to kill you." His fake stern voice makes me laugh harder. It's true. Kyle would never let him live it down.

A tiny white envelope with my name typed on it, falls onto my plate.

"What is this?" I ask, while holding it up. Sam shrugs. The corners of his mouth turn up into a sexy half smile, which pretty much jolts my heart into a frenzied mess.

"Guess you'll have to open it to find out," he says.

I'm not sure if it is because of the candles, or just the way everything
feels
special, but Sam's eyes seem to be extra sparkly tonight. I carefully tear the envelope, and slide out the small card. It has a gold embossed, monogrammed L on the front. I run my fingers across the raised surface, before opening the card.

Dear Laila,

I know that we have only technically been dating for a week now, but I want you to know just how much I care about you. The truth is, I've known you longer than I've ever known any other girl, but you are not just another girl to me. The more I get to know you in this whole new way, the more I like you.

I am truly sorry for how poorly I handled the whole double-dating situation. Knowing that I caused you to shed even one tear completely wrecks me inside. I promise to do everything in my power to keep those tears away permanently, and make sure you always have a smile on your face.

I can't say yet what this all means, but I will say that I may just be falling for you, Lis. It scares the hell out of me. More than that though, it excites the hell out of me. I'm so glad we are finally together. I was going bat-shit crazy watching you grow up from afar. Don't worry about your family. In time, we’ll figure all of that out.

Sam

I fold the notecard closed, and clutch it in my hand, as tears start to pool in my eyes. Sam's expression changes to panic. He immediately throws down his napkin, and rushes over to me. He crouches down, taking my hands into his.

"That is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me, Sam. I . . . I don't even
know
what to say."

He pulls me up so we are both standing, and wraps his arms around my waist protectively. "It wasn't supposed to make you cry," he says, while stroking my hair affectionately. "I
really
am trying to keep those tears away."

"These are
good
tears, Sam." I tighten our embrace. We sway back and forth for a minute. He sighs, resting his chin on the top of my head.

When I muster up enough courage, I try to tell him how I feel. "I think I might be falling for you, too," I say, while staring up into his twinkling eyes.

A punch-drunk grin suddenly takes over his face. He places both hands on my cheeks, and kisses me firmly. It is the most perfect, romantic moment. I know in my heart, I am not
falling
for Sam.
I have already tripped, crashed, and fallen. Right now, I am toppled over drunk, in love with this boy.

We stay here, holding each other in a tight embrace, soaking up the moment for a while. That is, until the sound of his phone ringing brings us back to reality. He holds up his finger, as he breaks away from our embrace.

He turns away from me, and answers quietly. "This is Sam. Oh, yeah. Man, I am
so
sorry. We are definitely ready. All right, man. Thanks again for doing all this. I
owe
you."

He slides his phone back into his pocket, and pulls out a tiny remote. When he presses a couple of buttons, music starts pouring out of the speakers. It sounds like a mix of blue grass and jazz. I don't recognize the man's voice, but it's soothing, and I like it.

"Who
is
this?" I ask about the music, even though I'm more intrigued by his mysterious phone call. However, I don't want to be nosy.

"This is Amos Lee." I look at him curiously. "You haven't heard this before?" he asks.

I shake my head and smile. "I like his voice. It's really nice."

Nice? Really Laila?
Why can't I ever find anything intelligent or clever to say? I swear that my brain cannot properly function when I am in the presence of hotness. I groan to myself, hoping that Sam does not think I'm boring.

Sam's phone buzzes. He glances at it quickly, and then slips it back into his pocket. "Excuse me. I'll be right back." He jogs up the deck stairs and into the house, without saying anything else.

I sigh.
Does he really need to step away to call someone back, right in the middle of our date?
It's not even
just
the mysterious phone calls and texts. He has been acting so strangely since that first call.

Luckily, he returns before my mind can veer off into a million different directions, plotting all the reasons for his odd behavior. He sits back down at the table and leans back in his chair, while folding his hands in his lap. He has one leg casually bent across the other, with his legs out to the side of the table. The table is much too small for him to comfortably sit with his legs underneath.

The sun has receded into the horizon, leaving the sky with a gorgeous, neon-orange glow. The temperature has dropped to a perfect seventy-five degrees. There is even a slight breeze tickling my cheeks. The sound of trickling water from the fountain in the pool, along with the soothing sound of Amos Lee's voice, is calming.

"
Buona sera signore, mia donna
. It is my pleasure to serve you both on this fine and beautiful evening. My name is Ricardo, and I will be taking care of you.
Come va
?"

I look up with surprise. Standing before me is a short, rather stout man, dressed in an old-fashioned black tuxedo, with a burgundy bow tie, and matching vest. He has a full head of dark, wavy hair with a rather distinct receding hairline, and a thick mustache that reminds me of Tom Selleck. I am not familiar with the language, but I'm pretty sure that he just asked me a question in Italian.

Sam leans in and whispers, "I think he just asked us how we are." I look at Sam, wondering if Ricardo expects me to answer in Italian. "Don't worry. He speaks English just fine." It's uncanny how Sam seems to read my mind so easily.

"We are wonderful. And how are you, Ricardo?" I ask nervously.

"
Sono molto content, signora
." My eyebrows furrow, as I look at Sam, hoping he can translate this for me. Ricardo chuckles lightly. "
Ah
, signora. I tell you this means, I am
very
happy. Signore Samuel has arranged for you to experience Brookville's
finest
Italian cuisine, in your very own private
ristorante
." He turns around and waves his arm around, as if he is presenting a showcase on
The Price Is Right
. "Welcome to
Minuscolo
Venice
." He leans in, lowering is voice just for me, "Otherwise known as
Little Venice
."

"Would the lady like a glass of wine this evening?" He is holding two ridiculously big wine glasses in his hand. Ironically enough, I'm pretty sure those are part of a set of four that my mother brought back from Italy last year. I squint my eyes to get a better look. Sure enough, there is a tiny scroll with the letter P etched into the glass above it.

It takes me a moment to find my voice, because I am completely shocked by his presence. Next to Ricardo is a small rolling cart with bottles of wine, a basket of bread, a pitcher of water, and a bucket of ice.
Did he really roll that out here without me even noticing?

"Laila, I think he is waiting for you to answer." Sam smiles at me reassuringly.

"What?
Oh
, yeah. I mean
yes
. Wine would be
lovely
. Thank you, Mr. Ricardo." My face is blazing. I don't know how to say anything even remotely basic in Italian.

"Oh,
mia donna
. There is no need to call me Mister." His heavy Italian accent combined with his theatric laugh, makes me wonder if he really isn't just an actor, hired to play the part of an Italian server.
"Rosso o Bianco?"
he asks me. I look at him and shake my head sheepishly.

"He wants to know if you would like red or white, Lis," Sam whispers to me. He has a coy smile on his face. My embarrassing lack of understanding seems to be amusing him.

"Red or white
what?
" I ask, still confused by his question.

Ricardo places the two empty glasses in front of our plates. "Oh my dear. I am referring to the color of the wine. Which would you prefer to drink this evening?" He is laughing again, but it is not a mean laugh. It is more of an amused laugh.

I could not feel denser, even if I had tried. "Red, I mean
Rosso
," I repeat. I can't roll my Rs the way he and Sam can, which makes my attempt to speak in Italian seem even more amateur. "I'm so sorry. I suppose I'm still just a little taken aback by your presence, Ricardo," I say, trying my best to sound friendly.

"Of course you are, my dear. It's not every day a fellow as handsome as this gentleman here, will go to such extreme lengths to please his
donna
. You must be quite special." He winks and flashes me a beaming smile, as he pours a small amount of red wine into Sam's glass.

"
Signore
, please taste the vino, and make sure it is to your liking." Sam picks up the glass, and sips the wine

"Ricardo, it is perfect to me, but I definitely think
mia donna
should try it before we give you the green light." Sam is smiling at me, while licking his lips. Ricardo simply nods before pouring another splash of wine into my glass. I sip the wine and am amazed at how smoothly it goes down. It reminds me of the wine Trevor and I had last week.

"It's delicious. Thank you," I say, while smiling warmly at Ricardo.

"
Magnifico
," Ricardo sings, as he fills our glasses about halfway full. Even this is a great deal of wine when you consider how large the bowls of these glasses are. He sets the wine down into a fancy silver wine trivet. I suppose the cloth napkin that is wrapped around the neck of the bottle is there to catch any drips.
How fancy.

Ricardo places two tall, clear glasses next to our wine glasses, and carefully drops ice cubes into them, using tongs. I'm amazed by how classy and upscale everything is.