A Bouquet of Love by Janice Thompson Page B

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—”
    â€œPizza place,” I finished for him.
    â€œRight.” He nodded. “I eat there all the time. In fact, the owners, the Rossis, own this place too.”
    â€œYeah, 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.
    â€œSo, what do you say?” he asked. “You okay with pizza?”
    â€œI really don’t know if I should leave, especially with Marcella being gone.”
    â€œYou 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.

9 Yours and Mine
    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.
    â€œShould 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.”
    â€œWow, you’ve got the number of blocks memorized?” He gave me an admiring look. “You must love that place.”
    â€œOh, I’ve never actually been inside,” I said. “I’m new to the island, remember?”
    â€œOkay.” He gave me a curious look. “But you know how far it is?”
    â€œYeah. I’m weird like that. I tend to memorize things.” Like how many blocks I have to walk to and from work.
    â€œInteresting. I memorize things too, but usually names and species of flowers, that sort of thing.”
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œOkay. 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