Blue Roses(30)

“Luca? He rides a bike, sure, but what does that have to do with anything? Have you been sending emails to my mother?”

“You should be careful.”

“About what? Luca bought the garage so he could fix bikes. He’s not running an organized crime ring. Once you see the beautiful renovation he’s doing, you’ll be ashamed of yourself for spreading rumors about him.”

My final words are drowned out by the sound of a motorcycle driving past us on the street.

Mr. Jackson glares down the street after the bike. “See, that’s what I’m talking about. This street’s going downhill. We never used to get those noisy bikes up and down this street, and now it’s all day long. Do you know some of them modify the mufflers so they’re even louder? Those people like nothing more than disturbing nice folks trying to have a relaxing beer on the patio.”

“We’ve always had bikes along this street. I’m sure a couple more won’t be a big deal.”

He frowns, clearly frustrated that I’m not taking him more seriously.

“You should be careful who you associate yourself with,” he says.

“Is that a threat?” I turn and look at the graffiti. It is a really large tag, covering half the width of the storefront. “Mr. Jackson, do you know anything about who spray-painted this? Is it some sort of warning, because I’m dating Luca?”

He gets huffy. “I don’t like to get involved in politics.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and walks away quickly.

I finish painting over the tag. It’s probably been years since we painted this section of wall, and the new paint is brighter. I’ll have to get the roller and do the entire thing.

Two ladies with strollers walk by, slowing to whisper to each other, presumably about me.

I’m starting to feel very self-conscious, so I quickly tidy up and retreat inside.

The whole incident has shaken me up.

I had such a nice weekend, spending most of it over at Luca’s house, mainly in his bed.

My weekend was perfect, and my life seemed flawless.

Now it’s Monday, and the cracks are showing.





Chapter 19





I don’t see Luca for a few days, because he’s been busy getting the garage ready to open on Saturday.

I finally drag him away on Thursday night. He comes to my place, and misses meeting Rory by about ten minutes.

She’s done another great catering job for me. The meal isn’t as elaborate as the first one, but it’s good.

Over dinner, Luca talks about the problems with his contractors. I try to keep up with him, but I don’t want to know about itemized breakdowns of budgets, and who went over on what. The truth is, it all goes right over my head, because Luca switches from one story straight into another, and suddenly we’re talking about a different guy entirely.

I smile and try to be polite. What I really want to hear about is personal stuff, like what it was like to grow up with his dad and uncle.

During a lull, I ask, “Did your father keep motorbikes in the house?”

“He sure did, when he ran out of room in the garage.” Luca’s blue eyes twinkle at the memory. “After things settle down, I’ll take you out to the farm to meet him. I should probably warn you, though, he’s eccentric.”

“If he’s anything like you, I’m sure we’ll get along fine.”

Luca smiles. “And what about your father? He’s out of the picture?”

“Long gone. But he’s a nice enough guy. We see each other a few times a year when he’s in town.” I wrinkle my nose. “He’s always suggesting I should go back to school, or do something different with my life. He means well, but he doesn’t know.”

“You’re comfortable.”

There’s something in Luca’s tone that puts me on edge, like he’s judging me. Suddenly, my cottage feels small. My life feels small, compared to his.

“Luca, I may not be a world traveler and adventurer like you, but I know who I am.”

He leans back in his chair and looks around, his gaze settling on the framed photos over the mantle.

“And who are you, Tina? All those photos are a decade old. And you still won’t tell me about that prom picture.”

I cross my arms. “People don’t get photos printed anymore. It’s all Facebook and stuff. Digital.”

He waves one big hand dismissively. “That’s kid stuff, all that social networking bullshit. Sending text messages. Wasted time.”

“We can’t all be big, burly know-it-alls with a bunch of money and their own houses and garages, now, can we?”

“I earned that money. Nobody handed me anything. And I moved away from home when I was nineteen.”