A Bouquet of Love by Janice Thompson Page A

the guys.
    Seconds later I’d lost Alex altogether, but I could hardly take my eyes off the red rose he’d given me. I still couldn’t figure out what his story about Emily had to do with yellow roses, but I did like that fact that he’d called me a Texas girl. No one had ever called me that before. And strangely, it didn’t bother me. In fact, it felt pretty good—nearly as good as this rose felt as I lifted it and ran the soft petals across my cheek.
    Yep. I was a Texas girl, all right, one who couldn’t stop humming. Over the next half hour I went through every song in the Judy Garland catalog, humming with abandon. I hadn’t really noticed until a customer pointed it out.
    After waiting on a woman ordering flowers for a memorialservice, Marcella decided to take her daughter home for a nap. “Why don’t you put the Out to Lunch sign on the door, Cassia?” she said.
    â€œOh, I don’t mind staying here.” My stomach grumbled and Alex laughed.
    â€œI’ll make her go to lunch, Marcella,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes.
    â€œI’ll bet you will.” Marcella gave him a knowing look, and I felt little butterflies flit through my stomach.
    She left with Anna, and Alex turned my way, a pleading look in his eyes. “Okay, so what’s it gonna be?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œWhat kind of food do you like?” Before I could tell him that I’d brought my lunch—a Greek salad and loukoumades—he snapped his fingers. “If we had more time I would take you to Moody Gardens. There’s a great restaurant there and we could look at the flowers. Ever been?”
    â€œNot yet, but I’ve been dying to go. Sometime when I have a few hours to kill.” Like that would ever happen.
    â€œAgreed. You really need to take your time at Moody Gardens to get the full effect, especially if you’re a flower lover.” He looked my way, those gorgeous eyes now sparkling. “Oh, I know. There’s a new place a few blocks down that’s really great. A Greek sandwich shop.”
    â€œSuper-Gyros.” I bit my lip and forced myself not to say anything else.
    â€œYes.” He nodded. “Great place. I ate there Saturday. The gyro was out of this world, and the baklava . . . Man. Never had anything like it. I could eat a whole tray.”
    Mama would love that news, but I couldn’t comment. At least not yet.
    â€œHave you tried the place?” he asked. “It’s probably going to be really crowded, but it’ll be worth the wait, I promise.”
    â€œOh, 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.”
    â€œI’ve always been a fan too,” I said. “But . . .”
    â€œBut?” His lips curled down in a frown. “There’s a ‘but’?”
    â€œI, um . . . I ate there yesterday.” Brilliant! And I didn’t even have to fib.
    â€œAw, 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.”
    â€œIt’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?
    â€œWow, that’s cool.” He looked duly impressed