"Okay, next week's better anyway. Unlike Parker, I don't carry my schedule in my head backed up by the BlackBerry attached to my hand, but I think . . . Oh. Cinco de Mayo. It's nearly the fifth of May. Big family deal-you remember, you've come before."
"Biggest blast-out party of the year."
"A Grant family tradition. Talk about cooking. Let me check my book and all of that, and we'll figure it out."
She sat back with her wine. "It's almost May. That's the best month."
"For weddings?"
"Well, it's a big one for that, but I'm thinking in general. Azaleas, peonies, lilacs, wisteria. Everything starts budding and blooming. And I can start planting some annuals. Mrs. G will put in her little kitchen garden. Everything starts over or comes back. What's your favorite?"
"July. A weekend at the beach-sun, sand, surf. Baseball's cruising. Long days, grills smoking."
"Mmm, all good, too. All very good. The smell of the grass right after you mow it."
"I don't have grass to mow."
"City boy," she said, pointing at him.
"My lot in life."
As they both toyed with the pasta, she leaned in. The conversations humming around them barely registered. "Did you ever consider living in New York?"
"Considered. But I like it here. For living, and for the work. And I'm close enough to go in and catch the Yankees, the Knicks, the Giants, the Rangers."
"I've heard rumors about ballet, opera, theater there, too."
"Really?" He sent her an exaggerated look of puzzlement. "That's weird."
"You, Jack, are such a guy."
"Guilty."
"You know, I don't think I've ever asked you, why architecture?"
"My mother claims I started building duplexes when I was two. I guess it stuck. I like figuring out how to use space, or change an existing structure. How can you use it better? Are you going to live in it, work in it, play in it? What's around the space, what's the purpose? What are the best and most interesting or practical materials? Who's the client and what are they really after? Not all that different, in some way, than what you do."
"Only yours last longer."
"I have to admit I'd have a hard time seeing my work fade and die off. It doesn't bother you?"
She pinched off a knuckle-sized piece of bread. "There's something about the transience, you could say. The fact that it's only temporary that makes it more immediate, more personal. A flower blooms and you think, oh, pretty. Or you design and create a bouquet, and think, oh, stunning. I'm not sure the impact and emotion would be the same if you didn't know it was only temporary. A building needs to last; its gardens need to cycle."
"What about landscape design. Ever consider it?"
"Probably more briefly than you did New York. I like working in the garden, out in the air, the sun, seeing what I put in come back the next year, or bloom all through the spring and summer. But every time I get a delivery from my wholesaler it's like being handed a whole new box of toys."
Her face went dreamy. "And every time I hand a bride her bouquet, see her reaction, or watch wedding guests look at the arrangements, I get to think: I did that. And even if I've made the same arrangement before, it's never exactly the same. So it's new, every time."
"And new never gets boring. Before I met you, I figured florists mostly stuck flowers in vases."
"Before I met you, I figured architects mostly sat at drawing boards. Look what we learn."
"A few weeks ago, I never imagined we'd be sitting here like this." He put his hand over hers, fingers lightly skimming while his eyes looked into hers. "And that I'd know before the night was over I'd be finding out what's under that really amazing dress."
"A few weeks ago . . ." Under the table, she slid her foot slowly up his leg. "I never imagined I'd be putting on this dress for the express purpose of you getting me out of it. Which is why . . ."
She leaned closer so the candlelight danced gold in her eyes, so her lips nearly brushed his. "There's nothing under it."
He continued to stare at her, into the warmth and the wicked. Then shot up his free hand. "Check!"
HE HAD TO CONCENTRATE ON HIS DRIVING, PARTICULARLY SINCE he attempted to break the land speed records. She drove him crazy, the way she cocked her seat back, crossed those gorgeous bare legs so that the dress slithered enticingly up her thighs.
She leaned forward-oh yes, deliberately, he knew-so that in the second he dared take his eyes off the road he had a delectable view of her breasts rising against that sexy red.