MONDAY: Tall, Dark & Aromatic (Hookup Café #1)

by Fifi Flowers

  Chapter Nine…

  “We’re home!” I loved how home sounded and within days it was true. Basil asked me to move in and not even thinking about it twice, I said yes and we packed up my stuff on that weekend. We had not spent a night apart—staying at my apartment or his house with one of us carrying an overnight bag. It made sense to live together in one place and his house was the most logical. I was locked into a lease for several more months but luckily Marzi said she’d take over since it could come in handy—I didn’t ask questions as she had been quite secretive. Besides living together we had made changes to our work schedule so we had two days completely to ourselves. Sometimes that wasn’t enough and I went to his garden center on days that I got off early to help out in the public garden as well as the nursery. I loved our daily routine… our life together… it would probably shock my mother. And I was right.

  “Heard you were dating a gardener. A little beneath you, don’t you think? Watch your money.” My mother apparently had caught wind of my new schedule and had to make sure I was being levelheaded and not letting a peasant man swindle me.

  “Seriously, mother! What’s happened to you?” I shook my head.

  “I heard you were pulling weeds or something in a field.”

  “You sound more and more like your country club friends.”

  “I’ve done charity work too.”

  “He’s not a charity case. He’s not homeless like I thought.” I was sure she had heard that from her sister since Marzi told her mother everything. “In fact, he donates to local shelters. He owns a garden shop—a big one—and local land that he’s opened up for a public garden. And I don’t know about his finances, but I’d say he’s more than comfortable. But truthfully it doesn’t matter because I love him. He loves me. We’re living together and I wanted to bring him to meet you…”

  “… Oh! Please! Please bring him.” Her haughty voice had been replaced with the excited one I preferred. “I’m sorry. And I promise to be on my best behavior.”

  “I don’t want that, I just want you to remember your roots. Your parents were all about human rights and bringing love and rock and roll to the people. That’s who I want him to meet. Sunrise!” We both laughed and talked about other things going on in our lives.

  Once I had promised my mother that we would visit on a Sunday with my gardener boyfriend, I was reminded of gardening with Basil in his private home garden. Plain as day, I could see and feel the way his calloused hands cupped my face, turning it to the left, then right.

  “What are you doing?

  “Looking at the way the sunshine entices the dark blue flecks in your pale blue eyes to dance, sparkle, twinkle.”

  “You have a way with words; they flow so eloquently and freely.”

  “Only when it comes to you, my beautiful flower.”

  I smiled and he brought me closer and pulled a string on the casual cotton dress I was wearing, leaving me bare. Then to my delight a shirtless Basil stepped out of the shorts he was wearing and I found my back hitting the dirty earth.

  “Oh my God, I’m going to have dirt in places it’s never been before.”

  “I’ll wash you good in the shower later,” he said rolling us so I was on top of him. The memory had me grinning as I started washing freshly picked vegetables for dinner at the kitchen sink.

  “What are you smiling about?” Two arms came around me while a pair of lips found my cheek, neck and eventually my lips as I turned in his embrace.

  Skipping my naughty vision, I told him that I had promised my mother that I would take him to meet my parents one Sunday. To my surprise or not, he said great call her back and tell her we’ll be there next Sunday and that was just what happened.

  Bright and early on Sunday morning we packed up a few things; bathing suits, a change of clothes and overnight toiletries—I knew how strong they poured drinks. Basil, of course, had his own package for them, refusing to meet my parents empty-handed.

  Walking in through the front door using my key, we walked through the ultra-modern, perfectly decorated living room to a wall of open sliding doors facing a resort looking pool.

  “I thought you said your parents were retired?” Basil questioned softly.

  I had to admit they looked nothing like your typical retired crowd or what the stereotype implied. My mother was wearing a string red bikini, floating on a large inflatable white swan in the pool while my father lounged on a reclined chaise wearing swim trunks, sipping a martini—what else—it was Martini Sunday in the desert!

  “You’re father looks like a fitness model and your mom… her body… well, she looks… they look like they’re in their thirties.”

  “They workout everyday besides golfing and tennis, and they only indulge on Sundays. You know, they’re only in their fifties… not old… and you should see my grandparents they look fifty-something and they’re in their seventies.” I could definitely wait for him to meet them, one set of relatives at a time.

  “You’re dad reminds me of a young Dean Martin and your mom an older Katy Perry.”

  “Oh, God! Please do not tell them that. First, my mother loves T-Swizzle—hence the swan—and my father would agree with you.” After a last glance at the two relaxing to the sounds of the Rat Pack… wait… followed by my mother’s hip hop, I nudged Basil who still had his mouth agape. I laughed at him and the unbelievable way they had combined their sounds of choice on one station. “Ready?”

  He nodded and we stepped into the show.

  “Do not take one more step, you two! Swimsuits only! Go change!” My dad gave the order.

  “And take your time after that long drive. Don’t forget, we had all of the bedrooms soundproofed when we remodeled this place. We won’t hear a word.” My mother’s announcement had me feeling flushed and reminded me why I never brought men out to visit them.

  “We better follow the rules,” Basil grinned as I looked at him to mouth that I was sorry. “I think I like my future-in-laws already.”

  What?! He had said he loved me a million times over the last few weeks but marriage had never entered into our conversation… or universe. Trying to forget his new set of shocking words, I steered him to the guest room that had been dubbed mine.

  “Don’t get any ideas. Change quickly and let’s get out there. I need a martini… or seven.”

  Wearing our suits, we rejoined the body-buddies poolside. “Darling, join me on a swan.” There was another one waiting for me and I hoped it was easy to get on. “Daddy is making your favorite sour appletini. Let the boys talk.” Grabbing the swan that my mother push toward the steps of the shallow end, I managed to throw my leg over and sit before I nearly fell over and made a splash. “You didn’t tell me he was so fuckable!” Thankfully her words were soft rather than her usually excitable squeal.

  “Daddy, hurry up with my drink, please… and make it a double,” I shouted out and Basil produced a sexy smile in my direction. It had me hoping that my father’s words were not as embarrassing as my mother’s.

  The day turned out to be enjoyable even with all of my parents’ colorful abrupt words which had me blushing more than usual. My mother told Basil all about her New York City decorator flying in to make their mid-century modern home—once owned by a famous Hollywood star whom they could not disclose—look similar to its era. She even gave him the names of her beloved design catalogs that they used before Isabelle flew in to put it together. Of course, she also programmed her designer’s phone number into Basil’s phone before the day was over. My father, on the other hand, was over-the-moon thrilled by Basil’s garden knowledge as he fawned over their rock, cactus and succulent desertscape. Not my favorite or his, but he applauded the landscape design. I saw in their eyes that he could do no wrong as he listened and commented perfectly.

  The evening ended with a barbecued dinner of skewered filet mignon, prawns and fresh vegetables—that Basil brought from his garden—all grilled on my father’s pride and joy professional-grade super gr
ill. The martinis never stopped flowing and as a result we crashed in my soundproofed room that silenced nothing more than snores coming from it since I passed out once my head hit the pillow. Not a smart move on my part, but at least Basil and I had changed our work schedules so that we had Sundays and Mondays off to be able to spend time together.

  Up before the sun, we quickly showered… well, maybe not too quickly since we decided to take advantage of the soundproofing that had been brought up several times throughout the day. Lifted, with my back against the heated-tile, Basil held me in place while he moved in and out with precise precision. “Scream my name, Pansie,” he panted, “Let’s see just how soundproof these walls are.”

  I giggled and bit my lip but then he shifted in such a way that I couldn’t stop my moans and cries even if I tried. I hoped that I wouldn’t receive a congratulations call from my mother days later if the soundproofing was a fib.

  Dried and dressed, I left behind a thank you note on the kitchen island, and we fled for home. Along the way I told him the whole story about how my parents, along with my father’s two brothers and their wives, were able to retire in their late forties and early fifties; my parents to the desert, one brother to Florida and the other to an island in the Bahamas. Their parents had left all three boys each with their own hardware store located within industrial parks which they also owned. All of them had worked in the business since they were in their teens, circulating to whatever location needed help. When their father passed away, and then their mother a few months later, the brothers each took a store to run individually for years until a large corporation came to my father with an offer to buy all of the stores, along with the industrial parks—they couldn’t refuse.

  “So you bought the café with living-inheritance from your parents’ sale?”

  “No, I bought the café property with inheritance money from an aunt that passed away; she left me her rent money.” I loved saying that. “Her landlord refused her money, but she insisted so he put it all into investments that turned into a large sum after twenty-seven years. In fact, I only used a portion and left it as it was set up, per the advice of Saylor.”

  “Saylor? Your barista?”

  I grinned. “She is a whiz at finance. People that work here are much more than they appear. I have a talented crew.”

  “And Marzi, did she inherit money from your aunt too?”

  “She got her cottage and my grandfather is trying to get my aunt’s royalties from songwriting to come to Marzi—it’s been in litigation for years.”

  “Let me guess… your Aunt Joplin wrote music?”

  “No! My Aunt Tambourine… Moreen.”

  “Of course. Perfect name for writing a beat.” He laughed. “Your mother does fit her name… she is Sunny.” That was an understatement that had me giggling thinking about our crazy Sunday with my parents and our escape at sunrise before they took off for the gym, or golf, or tennis. “I must meet your grandparents.”

  “After I meet your parents.” Seeing as they were in the UK, I had some time.

  “Great! I’ll buy us some tickets. They can’t wait to meet their future daughter-in-law. And there it was for the second time; the mention of marriage. Sidestepping it completely, I changed the subject, as we continued down the highway to the coast, to his favorite subject of organic gardening.

  Chapter Ten…

  Since making the trek out to the barren desert—I don’t care if Basil said that rock gardens can be nice, I don’t like them—we had fallen into a nice routine. Sundays and Mondays off to be spent together, but the other days were nice too. Mornings when we worked were a bit rushed since we both had to be in early. Evenings though were the best; tooling around or playing around in our home garden, searching for dinner, and then preparing it in the kitchen. Following our meal up with a walk or curling up together watching a fire roaring or maybe a movie, or sometimes moving straight for a shower and bed. Whatever we did together was perfect and the time spent all alone was the best in my opinion—I really hated to share my tall, dark and aromatic man with anyone, if I didn’t have to.

  “Hey, Basil, let’s skip Poetry Night tonight,” I said sitting on the back porch sipping coffee and circling things in one of my foodie magazines on a Monday morning—our day off.

  “You know you can get those magazines on a tablet.” He always shook his head at my stack and yet he had new subscriptions mailed to his… our house as he corrected me often. “And no, we cannot skip tonight. Evie scheduled me and my fans will be disappointed if I don’t make an appearance.” That was true, he had quite a following and had even inspired several of them to step on the stage with their own works.

  Knowing there was no changing his mind, when it was time to go I was ready, wearing a sleeveless floral-print dress that buttoned down the front and flat sandals. To my surprise, Basil was dressed in slacks and a dress shirt with his hair tamed. And while I love him in anything or nothing, he looked so handsome as we walked into the café to a reserved table upfront which was a first as I usually stood in the back or at the chef-kitchen bar. Sipping wine, we listened to a few of Basil’s poetry friends and then it was his turn:

  Cafélicious windows

  Give way to beauty

  Her true beauty

  Tall, Dark

  I was Aromatic

  Penniless

  In love

  With one look

  My Pansie

  My everything

  Blossoming in my arms

  Pollination

  Like no other

  Never to be another

  You and Me

  Pansie

  Forever til the end of time

  If you say yes?

  He paused and seemed to be waiting. Was he asking a question? I was worried when he had mentioned pollination—please no details I said silently to myself—and maybe I missed something. Then it hit me… was his poem a proposal? His clothes… the table… only select friends… Marzi was there and she rarely came in for any night events. What was going on? A setup?

  And then I heard Vin yell out, “Baz, you might want to take a knee!”

  Another familiar voice added his two cents, “You might want to pull out the ring. You know what they say, ‘Put a ring on it,’ Baz.” My dad was there too?!

  It was a setup! It was a marriage proposal. I looked up at Basil and watched him step down from the stage and get down on one knee in front of me. I was already nodding my head and crying by the time he began to speak. “Forever til the end of time, walk the earth with me, be mine… I love you.”

  And as on cue there was Marzi at our table delivering a small box to Basil. Watching him open it up, I gasped at its uniqueness; a round center diamond was surrounded by arch platinum like petals—a flower—it was perfect. Fascinated by his fingers smoothly sliding it into place, I smiled and then looked into his spring-green eyes. “I love you, Basil, forever.”

  Immediately, his lips captured mine in a panty-dropping kiss that had the crowd cheering and my mother yelling that we needed a soundproof room. She wasn’t the only one that had words for us. My employees were all present, my parents, some of Basil’s poetry friends, Jolie with her Portuguese lover, Gustavo and his wife, my grandparents, a few people I didn’t know and a couple that I had never seen in person but in photos around our house, his parents.

  “Champagne!” Basil’s father exclaimed and glasses were filled followed by several toasts of congratulations along with some stories about us. Of course they were ones that were meant to embarrass us. Like when Basil’s first kiss resulted in an emergency trip to the orthodontist when their braces got locked together.

  Basil was quick to defend himself. “That was the end of that romance. Her father was so mad. I learned my lesson and never dated a girl with braces until mine were off.”

  Vivienne, my longtime friend, had to one-up others with her own story. Yes, she rambled on about us showing our ooh la la girlie panties to the boys, hanging upside d
own on the monkey bars when we were seven or eight years old in elementary school. I kept my mouth shut hoping that someone else would burst in with another story. Thankfully, someone did but I was certain that at some point my husband-to-be would bring that story back up into one of our conversations at a later date—I, however, was staying clear of his kissing mishap. Some things are better left in the past and I was all about our present and our future together.

  And while I was loving the celebration with all of our friends and family, I found myself hoping for a little alone time with my poetry man. He, too, must have been thinking the same thing as we chatted happily to our guests because before long he was at my side, whispering in my ear. “What do you say we quietly slip out of this place… go for a walk? We never got around to that harbor stroll—you were going to show me your favorite spots along the Embarcadero.”

  Nodding, I stepped back from the grouping I had been standing with and let him guide me slowly to the door, practically tiptoeing in our escape. Not that we really thought anyone would care or notice as the party was in full swing. Successfully outside, we walked toward the harbor boardwalk hand-in-hand.

  “I can’t believe you organized that… Brought so many people together.”

  We cut through a portion of Waterfront Park, a place I could see us picnicking someday on a blanket spread out on the lawn. Of course we would have a basket filled with yummies from the café and maybe something from Basil’s garden. My head was swimming with so many things we could do together since making us officially destined to spend our life together thanks to his poetic night proposal.

  “Your parents and, of course, the café girls and Vin were very helpful. He did give me a bit of a talking to and even more so than your father when I asked him for your hand in marriage when we were with your parents in the desert, standing by your father’s manly grill.” I had to laugh at the sight of them, but I was impressed.