“That was quite the teapot over the door,” Luca says.
I look over the menu and tell him what I know about the teapot. Years ago, when I was a kid, Delilah’s had a flat teapot made out of plywood. They upgraded to a three-dimensional teapot when some kids from the art college offered to make it as their final project. I understand it’s made from styrofoam, and coated with a hardener.
The waitress brings tea for me and coffee for Luca, then takes our order.
Now my mind’s on styrofoam, so I tell Luca about my adventures trying to cut letters for a sign for the flower shop. You can’t cut the foam with a knife, because it shreds apart. You have to use a hot wire, but nobody’s hand is steady enough to cut it straight. Most commercial signs are cut by lasers these days.
Luca interrupts me, saying, “You sure talk a lot about styrofoam for a first date.”
I nearly choke on the tea I’m sipping.
“Honestly, it’s been a while,” I say. “Is this a date? I thought you wanted to pump me for information about the locals.”
His eyebrows quirk up. “This counts as a date. This is number one.”
“Oh, we’re counting. Interesting.” I bite my lower lip and fiddle around with the tea bag in my pot.
“Number one,” he says.
Now my brain is screaming at me:
Tina, he’s counting! This is number one. You know what happens on date number four. You read it in Cosmopolitan magazine! Date number four is when he grabs you and your pants magically disappear. Try not to think about treating Luca’s body like your personal jungle gym.
“Your sister said you don’t date very much,” Luca says. He’s speaking softly, but his voice is so deep and rich that it cuts easily through my internal chatter.
“I don’t.”
“Your sister didn’t say why.”
“I go on a lot of first dates, but not second dates. Do people really date anymore? I’ve had a few boyfriends, but it seems like this gradual transition you don’t notice. One minute we’re just friends, like in a group of friends, and then we’re together.”
“And then what?” His sky-blue eyes are locked on me. His focus and presence is almost overwhelming. He’s not just making conversation, waiting for his next chance to talk.
He’s listening.
My eyes burn and my chest aches. I don’t know if I can handle this. He’s too intense.
I look over at the door. I’ll make an excuse and leave. This was a bad idea.
The waitress arrives with our food.
“I hear you’re the one who bought the garage,” she says to Luca.
He turns and gives her a charming smile. “We’ll be re-opening soon.”
The waitress looks about fifty. I can see she’s charmed by Luca in person, but she’s just old enough not to collapse in a pile of giggles.
“I’ve been taking my Honda to Baker Brothers since the day I bought it,” she says. There’s an edge to her voice, like she’s more than willing to give up her tip in exchange for expressing her feelings.
Luca gives me a quick wink before turning back to her.
“I hope you’ll keep bringing your Honda in,” he says. “We’ll have some service bays dedicated to bikes, but I plan to retain all the loyal Baker Brothers customers.”
She’s warming up. “Really?”
He turns up the sunshine. “It’s my personal pledge, to keep you satisfied.”
The waitress practically melts for him. She twirls a lock of dyed-auburn hair around her finger and asks if he’d like more coffee.
“Whenever you get a minute,” he says.
“I’ll brew a fresh pot.”
After she’s gone, I say, “You could charm the pants right off a pants salesman.”
He laughs. “I’ll take that as a compliment. And thank you again for talking to me about the locals. I was on the fence about keeping a bay for servicing cars, but you did your own magic, and talked my pants right off.”
“Then you talked my pants off and got me to play hookie from work and have breakfast with you.”
“And now neither of us is wearing any pants at all.”
I pick up my utensils and contemplate a plan of attack for my giant waffle.
“Who needs pants,” I say.
“Pants just get in the way,” he agrees.
“For our next date, pants are optional.”
He murmurs a wordless agreement.
My eyes widen in horror at my big mouth. I dig into the waffle to quiet myself.
Tina, do not think about pants-optional activities with Luca. Do not think about kissing him, or any of the jungle gym stuff. Calm down, girl. This is only date one.
And besides, there’s something very wrong with Luca that you haven’t yet uncovered. He’s always sending women flowers to apologize. Take it slow and figure out what’s wrong with him before you even consider going pants-optional.
Luca’s fork and knife squeak on his plate. I look over at his plate. The white dish is nearly bare. His omelet and hash browns are gone.
I watch as he inhales a triangle-shaped piece of toast in two bites. The man eats food like he’s angry at it.
He sees me watching, and slows down, in a self-conscious way.
I eat my waffle and watch with amusement as he carefully spreads marmalade on the remaining slices of toast.
I can’t take my eyes off his hands. His finger doesn’t fit through the tiny handle on the coffee cup, so he holds the cup in one hand. The small white cup disappears in his palm.
I’d like to disappear in those hands.
“How long have you been at the flower shop?” he asks.
“My mother bought it when I was five. I’ve never worked anywhere else.”
“College?”
“I’ve started a few different courses. Nothing finished.”
“Starting things is easy. Finishing is tough.”
“How about you? College?”
He winces. “This and that. I did an apprenticeship in Australia for a year.”
“You’re the exact opposite of me. I’ve never left the country. My life must seem claustrophobic to you.”
He studies me quietly for a moment.
I chew and swallow a bite of my food. I’m full now, so I set down my utensils and push the plate away.
“What’s Australia like?” I ask.
“I’ll buy you a book.” He grins. “How are you liking this date?”
“I think it’s going well.”
“If I ask you to go to the paint store with me and pick out paint colors, will that count as date number two?”