Page 3 of Ironside
Lena chewed her lower lip in thought. Was she searching for an excuse to let me down easy? Her fingers fiddled restlessly with the button on her blouse’s collar. And her eyes betrayed the desire she couldn’t put into words.
Before she got a chance to speak, the bell over the door chimed again. A herd of women in their twenties paraded into the shop, chattering and laughing. Our private conversation wasn’t private anymore, and Lena had to get back to work.
I leaned in, taking a deep breath of her faintly floral perfume.
“Think about it,” I whispered in her ear. “I’ll drop in tomorrow for your answer.”
Then I grazed my lips against her cheek in a butterfly kiss before I released her hand. After paying for Keely’s bouquet, I cast Lena one final glance. A shy little smile spread across her lips before she covered her mouth with her hand and turned away.
Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.
Chapter two
Lena
My cheeks continued to burn for the rest of my shift. I couldn’t stop thinking about Reuben “Ironside” Calhoun, his voice in my ear and the warm strength of his hand enveloping mine. My stomach clenched with equal parts excitement and anticipation. And no small amount of dread, too.
Dating would inevitably lead to sex. Which was a complicated topic.
I didn’t have a lot of experience when it came to romance. Growing up as the tallest girl in my class, boys viewed me as a target for their mockery instead of a potential date for prom. While other girls were having their first kiss, I had my nose buried in botany books, learning everything I could about the inner workings of plants. Desperately trying to distract myself from the fact that every girl around me received flowers for Valentine’s Day. Except me.
When I went to college, I was determined to change that. But dating as a tall, curvy woman was a struggle. More often than not, I found myself ghosted, sitting alone at the table, waiting fora man who never showed. I wanted to experience what it was like to fall head over heels in love, but landing a second date was like pulling teeth.
Then I was diagnosed with vaginismus, and my threadbare love life fell to pieces.
I sighed as I closed up the shop for the day. As much as I would have loved to lose my virginity before now, it simply hadn’t happened. I couldn’t even insert a tampon without pain. And when I explained that to the few men I’d managed to date, it never went over well. I could practically see the wheels turning in their mind as they planned an exit strategy.
It didn’t matter how good my hand jobs were, or how skilled I was at giving head. My inability to have penetrative sex killed the mood and obliterated my chance of having a long term relationship.
Eventually, my desire and enthusiasm to brave the dating world waned until it dwindled to nothing. I was tired, burned out, and discouraged. I couldn’t bear to get my hopes up anymore, over and over, just to have my heart broken with yet another rejection.
So, I threw myself into starting The Bellflower. Ever since I was a little girl, I had longed to open a flower shop of my own. Now here I was, living my dream.
After a long week of working on my feet, I wanted nothing more than to fill my belly with mouthwatering comfort food.
And I was dying to gossip with my best friend about the sexy older biker who had flirted with me today.
When I stepped into Pepper’s Pizzeria, the delicious scent of basil and yeast greeted me. I loved this cozy hole-in-the-wall place. Tables and chairs were tucked into little alcoves throughout the room, with checkerboard tablecloths, and warm red ambient lighting. It felt like I’d been transported frommy small town in the mountain countryside of Colorado and straight into the streets of Italy.
My best friend, Silvia D’Angelo—known by everyone as Pepper—had started this restaurant with her big family when she was only eighteen. Every item on the menu came from traditional Italian recipes in her family, passed down for generations.
A large pass-through window provided a peek into the inner workings of the kitchen. Along one wall were old-fashioned woodfire ovens. Hanging from the ceiling were bundles of herbs, braided garlic, and strings of dried hot peppers. Trays were stacked on a cart in one corner, with neat rows of puffy bread dough left to rise.
Pepper spotted me and waved as she stirred a giant pot of something—soup or sauce, I couldn’t tell.
“Lena! Have a seat, I’m pulling a pizza out of the oven in two minutes, piping hot.”
After selecting a table near the warmth of the kitchen, I settled in and waited for Pepper to join me.
What kind of flowers would you recommend if I wanted to ask a lady out to dinner?
I smiled to myself at the memory of Ironside’s words. Even though I was surrounded by flowers all day, the gesture still made me feel giddy and lightheaded with excitement. No man had ever given me flowers before.
A clatter echoed from the kitchen and I glanced up.
“Don’t you dare touch that pizza, Luca,” Pepper bellowed.
She brandished her ladle at a man about her age. He was probably one of her many cousins, since they shared the same thick black hair, olive-toned skin, and dark eyes. He swiped a slice of pizza, juggling it from one hand to the other when it burned his fingertips. Then he ducked out of the kitchen, laughing.
