Blue Roses(19)

“Who’s the guy?” he asks.

“My prom date.” I pull my hand out of the cold water, dry it off, and immediately grab the hot tray again.

The burn sends a shock through me, and I drop the tray with a clang. I swear again, shaking my hand, and turn on the tap, full blast.

The pain strips away my defenses.

Everything hits me at once, memories flooding back. My hand throbs from the burn. I collapse forward against the sink, and the tears come.

I feel a hand on my back. Sobbing, I tell him to leave me alone. I need a minute. By myself.

He pulls me into him. I crush my face against his chest to avoid meeting his eyes. He wraps his arms around my back and holds me.

The sobs slow down, and soon I’m breathing calmly again. And feeling very foolish.

I pull away and look at my fingertips.

“That’s not too bad,” I say. “Just a little red. Probably won’t even blister.” I point to the offending pan and explain that I stupidly grabbed it without an oven mitt.

“Is that the only thing you’re upset about?” he asks.

I wipe my eyes with a paper towel and put on a cheerful face.

“I’m fine.”

“Tina, what’s wrong?”

I sigh and grin up at him. There’s so much worry in his blue eyes that it rips my heart into even more pieces.

“Nothing,” I say. “Except for the obvious—I’m a cheap drunk, and an emotional one.”

I grab the glass of wine he poured me and glug it back as proof.

“Anything else?” he asks.

I point to my face and whisper-yell, “SORRY I’M A JERK.”

His smile turns into a grin, and then a laugh.

“Apology accepted. Can I help you with anything in here? Now that I’ve wedged myself into your kitchen, I don’t know if I can get out again.” His eyes go to the meat. “What is that, half a cow?”

“That’s what I said when Rory brought everything over.”

“Rory? That’s your best friend, right? The one who can’t say panties?”

I gasp. “Don’t ever tell her I told you that.”

“And she works for a caterer, right?” He looks over all the food, realization dawning on his face.

I hand him the salad bowl to take to the table. “Nope. She drives a garbage truck. You must be thinking of your other girlfriend’s best friend.”

He chuckles and helps me bring the rest of the food to the table—or at least as much as will fit on the small surface.

We sit down, and he refills my glass.

“This is really nice of you to make me a home-cooked dinner,” he says. “It’s been a while since somebody took care of me like this.” His eyes are shining.

I feel something in my chest, like my soul is trying to tell me something.

He clears his throat and raises his glass, smiling and blinking rapidly.

“A toast,” he says.

I raise my glass and wait.

His voice low and soft, like a prayer, he says, “May every loving heart hear its song returned across the lake.”

We clink our glasses, and drink in the moment.





Chapter 13





After dinner and dessert, we move over to the couch.

It’s a generous-sized couch, in an L shape. I could have fit a bed plus some smaller furniture inside my cottage, but I opted for the big sofa with a fold-out bed instead.

When I bought the thing, I imagined having parties, and friends perching all over my pricey new sectional. In my imagination, everyone wore fancy clothes and drank martinis.

In reality, my friends wear socks with holes in them, and would rather watch a movie than engage in small talk with people they don’t know. The couch works well for that, too.

After I finish telling Luca all about the sofa, and how we had to take the door off its hinges to get it inside, he lets out a low whistle.

I hold my fingers to my mouth. “I’m babbling.”

He gets up and moves over to the corner where I am. He sat down first, and I sat opposite him. But now he’s making a move. I’m nervous and excited.

Luca seems calm enough. He casually puts his arm around me, across the back of the couch.

“It’s a good couch,” he says. “Your kitchen is too small, but this couch was made for me.”

“It is custom made, but I didn’t know you back then.”

Nervously, I look around for my wine glass. It’s in the sink, because we finished the wine. I wish I had something for my hands.

“Would you like a coffee?” I ask.

“I don’t need any caffeine.”

He strokes the back of my head with his hand while gazing into my eyes. His fingers push into my curly hair, but he doesn’t try to comb through and get caught in the knots.

His shave looks really close to the skin. He seems brand new, like a clone in a sci-fi movie who’s just come out of an egg. And he smells like heaven.