by Mimi Strong
Blue Roses
(Luca and Tina)
© 2014 Mimi Strong
A BAKER STREET ROMANCE
Each book in the Baker Street series is a stand-alone, complete book, focusing on one couple. The stories are linked and may be read in any order. BLUE ROSES is the first book in the series.
Blue Roses
A Baker Street Romance
by Mimi Strong
Chapter 1
My first love gave me a blue rose. He pinned it to my prom dress with a shaking hand. The woman taking our photograph teased him about being nervous. She couldn’t have known the reason he was shaking.
He went along with it, because that’s the kind of guy he was. He made a joke about getting to first base, then he turned his back to the camera and asked for a minute. I could see the tears gleaming in his eyes.
Looking down at me, he said, “You’ll make a beautiful bride.”
“I shouldn’t have picked this dress.”
“No, it’s perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
He kissed me, and then he turned around again to pose for our photo.
The whole night, girls kept coming up to admire my dress. The strapless gown was pale blue, but looked white under the lighting set up in the gym.
“This dress is so wrong,” I kept saying.
Every time, he’d give me that tender look and say, “I wouldn’t change a thing.”
He died two months after graduation, and I died with him. My friends who’d gone through breakups said they understood completely. They promised I’d get over it.
Years passed, and then a decade.
What does that even mean, to get over something?
Does it mean that one day you can sell a corsage to a young man in a tuxedo, and not feel bottomless sorrow?
Chapter 2
I’m almost crying. A bundle of blue roses sits before me on the prep counter. I hold still, waiting for the tears that always come with the memories. But they don’t come.
I pick up one rose, cupping the blossom in my palm as I strip the thorns off with a knife.
I’m not crying, so maybe I’m finally over it. Over the loss of my first love. And it only took ten years.
Another possibility is that my tear ducts haven’t recovered from last night’s sad movie marathon. Movies where the dog dies should come with an Ugly Cry warning label. Now my tear ducts are probably permanently damaged. My eyes feel itchy.
I blink hard, waiting for something to happen.
The door chime lets out a chirp. Someone’s walking into the flower shop.
By the sound of the boots, it’s a man, and not a small one.
My eyes go first to the boots. They’re big.
Next, my eyes climb up his jeans. And what a climb it is, over long legs and muscled thighs. My pulse quickens.
The visuals get even yummier. He’s wearing a black shirt with a bike logo, stretched tight across huge muscles.
He turns his body sideways to squeeze past the ferns.
Damn it, he’s perfection.
The sight of his strong, square jaw in profile makes my palms sweat.
That’s funny, because big, manly men aren’t my type at all. I usually go for skinny geeks, because I’m more comfortable.
When I see a bunch of muscles, I get stupid and giggly. I can’t even buy men’s underwear as a Christmas present for someone, because the hunky beefcake on the packaging makes me feel funny.
This guy looks artfully scruffy, like an actor between movies. He’s got about a week’s worth of beard, light brown like his wavy hair.
I’ve never seen this man before, but I know exactly who he is.
Luca Lowell.
He steps up to the flower shop’s counter, and I stop breathing.
The man has the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen. They point right at me like headlights. I can no longer inhale or exhale. Luca Lowell’s eyes are the definition of breathtaking.
“I see I’ve caught you at a bad time,” he says.
His voice is deep, yet surprisingly gentle, given his gruff appearance. He looks like the kind of guy who doesn’t need a beer bottle opener. He’d use those big fists of his, or his teeth.
“This isn’t a bad time.” I pick up another rose and whip the knife through the thorns. “I’m just stripping.”
He looks over the counter, down at my feet. “No, you’re not stripping.”
I can feel the heat of his gaze as he looks at my tennis shoes, then up my bare legs to my jean shorts. He raises his eyebrows and continues his sightseeing journey, over my red scoop-necked shirt.
He looks with interest at my curly, medium-brown hair, which falls around my shoulders in my usual style. Most people think I have a perm or use rollers, but my hair’s naturally curly, and I don’t fight nature anymore.
His eyes linger on my neck, and then my lips. I curse myself for not putting on lipstick after eating lunch—not that I usually wear makeup to work.
Watching my mouth, he says, “If you think this is stripping, you’re doing it all wrong.”
I drop the flowers and knife from my hands in a fit of giggles.
Giggles, for crying out loud? Tina, pull yourself together. You’re almost thirty!
“I am stripping,” I say, composing myself. “Stripping thorns.”
“You have a great laugh.” He leans on the counter, reaching over with his hand outstretched. “I’m Luca. I bought the garage down the street.”
I shake his hand, my small palm disappearing in his warm embrace.
“I’m Tina, and I’ve heard all about you. People are not very happy about the changes. The whole neighborhood has been getting their cars serviced at Baker Brothers for generations. Now what are they going to do?”
“Get bikes.”
I laugh, then stop abruptly. “You’re serious!”
“I am. Once we re-open, we’ll service all kinds of bikes. And scooters. You look like the scooter type.” His blue eyes break away from mine to travel back down my body.
“A scooter? I’ll think about it.”
I’m telling the truth. I’ve never considered owning a scooter, but Luca makes it sound sexy and fun. Maybe I’m a scooter kind of girl. In high school, I was on the wrestling team. I’m not afraid to get physical.
“Tina, I have a question for you.” He’s back to looking at my legs. “What do you know about women?”
“I know a few things, since I am one. Why?”
“I’ve got another one mad at me.”
My heart sinks. Luca Lowell is way out of my league, but knowing he has a girlfriend won’t help my fantasies.
“That’s why you’re here,” I say, nodding. “You need flowers to apologize with.”
“Does that actually work? I can’t believe women are that easy.”
I raise an eyebrow in response.
“Exactly what did you do?” I ask.
He snorts. “Nothing I won’t do again.”
He looks around the small shop, a skeptical look on his handsome face. He’s so big, but not in a scary way. He resembles a younger version of the tall country singer on The Voice, Blake Shelton.
I ask him, “Have you considered… not doing that thing anymore?”
“Where’s the fun in that? Maybe it’s one of my favorite things.” He grins, dazzling me with great-looking teeth.
“So, you need an apology arrangement?”
“That depends. Do you offer a money-back guarantee?”
“No, but if she kills you, we’ll do your funeral for half price.” I chuckle at my joke. “Florist humor.”
He keeps smiling, but doesn’t laugh.
“Can I get something by closing tonight?”
“Absolutely. Do you have a budget? A type of flo
wer that holds a special meaning for the two of you?”
“Surprise me.” He lays some cash on the counter. “Is this enough?”
My eyes bug out at the money. The bike garage business must be profitable. I also notice he doesn’t wear a wedding band.
“That’s more than enough,” I say. “If she doesn’t take you back, you can marry me, and I’ll throw in my sister, too.”
“Beg pardon?”
I point my thumb toward the door to the office. “That joke makes more sense if my sister’s actually here.”
“I’m sure it does,” he says.
The door chimes with another customer coming in.
Luca gives me a funny look, and then he turns and walks back out again.
I stare at the door for a few minutes. The scent of his masculine cologne lingers in the air.
I offer the customer help, and she replies that she’s just looking for now.
I pick up the money and smell it. I expect the stack of bills to smell like Luca, but it just smells like money.
The woman gives me a funny look and then leaves.
I sigh and stare at the front door.
Luca Lowell is every bit as handsome as people have told me. And he’ll be working right down the street from me, day in and day out.
The first thing I need to do after making Luca’s flower arrangement is… purchase a scooter.
Obviously.
Chapter 3
It takes me two hours to create the apology bouquet. I consider making it ugly, just so she’ll break up with him.
And then what will you do, Tina?
Luca and I would just be friends at first, on account of his recent breakup. Our friendship would become intimate, but not physical at first. Then one day he’d walk in here, lock the front door, and take me in his arms. He’d knock all the paperwork off the desk in the office, and demand to have me immediately.
I shiver at the thought of a man like Luca Lowell touching me with those big hands of his. A real man. I’ve had a few nice boyfriends, but they were boys. When they tried to take charge and dominate, it always made me laugh.
How can you take a guy seriously when he gets more excited over video games than your new sexy underwear?
One time, I was on a blind date with a guy who pulled out his phone to bid for virtual spaceship weapons on EBay. He won the auction, but lost the chance at a second date.
That was over a year ago. I shouldn’t be so picky, because I haven’t had a date since.
If only someone half as hot as Luca would walk into my life…
With a sigh, I tuck the final bits of greenery into place. My pride as a florist is stronger than my desire to sabotage his relationship. The arrangement is stunning.
Luca comes back in at closing. He has flecks of paint all over him, most likely from his renovations at the garage. Looking at his thick fingers, speckled in paint, makes my whole body tingle.
“Those flowers are almost as pretty as you,” he says. “How’s your handwriting?”
My cheeks flush at the double compliment. I grab a pen and a notecard.
“You say the words and I’ll write ‘em.”
“Just put down the usual.”
I glance up. “You want me to write ‘Sorry I’m such a jerk’ on here?”
“If that’s the usual, then I guess it’ll do.”
“It’s your funeral,” I joke, writing the note.
Immediately, I rip up the card. My Florist Code kicked in. I can’t do harm.
“Why’d you rip that up?” he asks.
I gaze up into his breathtaking blue eyes.
“Luca, you asked me what I know about women. Let me give you a bit of advice. There’s not a woman out there who wants to get the usual.”
He takes the pen from my hand. His fingers graze my fingers in three separate and distinct spots. I feel the contact in every part of my body.
He picks up a fresh card from the stack on the counter. In simple block letters, he writes:
SORRY I’M A JERK. -LUCA
He looks up at me, a devilish grin on his lips.
“Good luck with that,” I say.
He leans across the counter. He’s going to kiss me.
His brown wavy hair brushes my cheek. He wraps his arms carefully around the large vase holding the arrangement, picks it up, then walks to the door.
My sister comes in as he leaves, holding the door open for him. She walks in, her eyes and mouth wide open. “Who was that big hunk of man-candy with half the store’s flowers?”
“Some lucky girl’s boyfriend.”
“The good ones are always taken. Or gay. Or players. Or live with their mother.”
“We live with our mother.”
“It’s not weird for girls.”
I start closing the cash register for the end of day reports.
She gives me her pitying look. “Tina, I saw the blue roses in the cooler. Are you okay? Prom’s coming up soon, and then…”
“I’m fine. I’m not going to your lame-ass support group.”
“If you really were fine, you might do more than work here and hide away with your sad movies. What was going on last night? I had my window open. I haven’t heard sounds like that since we gave Muffin his anti-dandruff bath.”
“Just a stupid movie with a golden retriever. I should know better. The dog on the poster always dies. People who make movies are assholes.”
“But it’s not just the movie. You always get bad this time of year.”
I slam the cash drawer shut.
“And I always get over it. So leave me alone.”
“Leave you alone? Careful, or you might get exactly what you ask for.”
I roll my eyes and walk away. “Close up the shop yourself,” I call over my shoulder.
Chapter 4
The lights are on, so that means my best friend Rory is waiting for me when I get home. She’s used the hidden key to let herself into the place I call my cottage. It’s actually a converted former garage in my mother’s back yard.
For the past few years, a lot of owners in this neighborhood have taken advantage of the city’s new zoning. Some people have built new mini-houses to rent out, and others have converted their garages.
Everybody complains about the construction and acts like city hall’s push for density is the End of Days. Eventually some of the loudest complainers start building mini-houses in their backyards, and then the new zoning is better than cheese and jam.
I walk in and find Rory using my Mac. I bought the computer because I was going to teach myself graphic design, or programming, or something. I mostly use it to check Facebook.
“Hey, sexy,” I say. “Are you here for that booty call?”
Rory jumps up and shakes out her whole body to communicate her disgust at my greeting.
Rory isn’t like anyone else I know. She gets grossed out by any mention of sex, in conversation, or in books or movies. A single word can send her screaming from the room.
She’s been my best friend since high school, and I love her as much as—or even more than—my sister. With her curly brown hair, she fits right in with my family. Our eyes are similar, but not exactly the same. She has golden-brown eyes, and my sister and I have green eyes.
When we were teens, Rory spent more time at my house than at hers. Things were rough at her house.
I try to be sensitive to her issues, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy teasing her sometimes.
There’s a long list of words that will send her running from the room, including:
Breasts.
Panties.
Moist.
If I’m losing an argument with her, I’ll work into the conversation one of her no-no words.
“So, you’re not here for a booty call?” I tease. Booty call is on the sometimes-okay list of words.
Rory gives me a dirty look and returns to using my Mac. “Everything’s booked and confirmed,” she says.
I jump onto the sof
a, which also folds out into my bed. I grab a throw pillow and get comfortable.
“Rory, don’t take this the wrong way, but wouldn’t you rather take a guy with you?”
“Guys are yucky,” she says, sounding like she’s twelve, and not twenty-nine like me.
We’ve been through her issues a thousand times. She’s not into girls, and she does like the idea of dating a guy eventually. Just not yet. She can’t even watch R-rated movies. It’s a mystery that I’ve learned to accept.
“I met an interesting guy today. Not a guy, really, but a man. He had the biggest hands.”
She swivels around on the chair, looking more worried than interested.
I continue, “His name is Luca Lowell. He’s the guy who bought the Baker Brothers’ garage and is turning it into a bike repair shop.”
“Bicycles?”
“No. Like Harleys and stuff.”
“That does sound manly. Are you going out with him?”
I grab another pillow and hold it to my stomach as I laugh.
She taps away on the keyboard. “Luca Lowell. Found him.”
I sit up. “Rory! Not on my computer.”
“He won’t know. Facebook has your IP address, but they won’t give it to him.” She keeps clicking and typing. “His photos must be set as private. There. I just friend-requested him.”
“As me?”
“No, I’m logged in under… uh… oops.”
“Undo!” I yell. “Undo! Undo! Command Z!”
“He already accepted. Don’t freak out. You guys have a dozen friends in common already, mostly people from Baker Street. Just tell him it’s for business.”
I glare at her.
“This isn’t fair at all, Rory. You freak out if I make one little suggestion about your love life, but it’s fair game to go friend-requesting guys with my account?”
“It was an accident,” she says.
“That’s a lie, and not a convincing one.”
“What’s wrong with having a few more friends?”
I narrow my eyes at her.
She widens her eyes, as if to say, bring it.
“Panties,” I say.
Her face goes pale and she jumps up from the chair.
