“Either you have the time wrong, or the bride does. Everyone knows Italian weddings are always half-past the hour.”
“Really? This is news to me. Keep in mind, this is the first brother in my family to get married, so I’m completely out of my element.”
I smile, glad he can admit he doesn’t know everything. Those are bonus points in my book, coming from a lifetime of male domination. Wow, this hottie is not only drop dead gorgeous, but refreshing as well.
I can tell by the look on Mila’s face when I walked past her that she approves too. It’s no surprise. She has made it her mission to find someone for me. Once he leaves, I’ll need to thank her for keeping him here long enough for me to get a look at him.
“Well yes, the half-past the hour time brings blessings upon the couple because the minute hand is pointing towards heaven. You’re Italian, you should know this,” I tease.
“Well, maybe that’s why we met, so you can impart your wisdom on me,” and the twinkle in his eye seems to imply more.
I’m not sure what I should say or do. My flirt muscle atrophied from lack of use and my dating life has been equivalent to house arrest for years. I better stick with professional banter.
“So, the 25th is a Sunday, that is good. Always a Sunday.”
“Why? That leaves no time to recover before work on Monday.”
“True, but you’re in Italy, most people take a few days, besides, it’s good luck.”
I don’t have to remind him that Europeans put more importance on family than they do work. A lot of workers take time off for birthdays and visiting family. I know first-hand from owning a business and having Italians work for me. Sure, jobs will take longer to finish but it’s acceptable in this culture and one more reason why it takes forever to get any road construction finished.
Mila knocks on the frame of the open door and enters, bearing two bottles of water. Either we look thirsty or she’s spying on us.
“So, Marchello, how did you get picked to order the flowers instead of the bride or her maid of honor?”
“Good question actually.” He squirms in his chair.
Mila must have the same question because she too is waiting for an answer.
“Interesting predicament actually, the bride, Juliet, has a maid of honor who is in New York, she’s American, and won’t be here until the bachelorette party.
“Wow, quite the international affair,” I tease.
“Pretty much,” he quips. “I gave your beautiful assistant the hotel information. Now, if you would be so kind as to take care of the rest of the details, I’ll be on my way.”
He stands up and takes a business card from my desk. They are rarely used today, but I’m glad I have them.
“I’ll give Juliet your contact information and let you ladies figure out the rest.”
I stand and offer my hand. “Thank you, you won’t be disappointed.”
“I’m counting on it, otherwise my brother will have my head on a platter.”
“No need for that. Please have Juliet call me as soon as possible. We don’t have a lot of time, and I need to see the space she wants me to decorate.”
“Sure thing, I’ll pass that along.”
“Thank you.” I smile, knowing he’s happy to avoid picking out flowers and centerpieces. Somehow, I get the impression he doesn’t want to leave.
With nothing left to talk about, he leans in and kisses me lightly on one cheek, then the other, in typical Italian fashion.
There’s nothing typical about Marchello as heat warms me from my face down to my. . .lady parts.
Oh, dear mother of God. I’ve never experienced chemistry like this with any man. I dreamed of this, like a page ripped out of one of those steamy romance novels I get at the secondhand store. Hell, Marchello even looks like one of those hunks on the cover of the book, only sexier.
I’ve only ever read about hot sweaty nights spent under the sheets with someone like him. Never in a million years did I ever dream I’d experience it first-hand. Well, get this close, that is. He’s the hottest man who’s ever crossed the threshold of my shop and I’ve had hundreds of handsome Italian men in here.
Now that I’ve met this hot and handsome guy. . . with my luck, he’s gay or already taken.