I look up from the purple vegetable and am surprised to see they’re talking to me. “How do you suppose I do that?”
“Do you bread and fry your eggplant first or do you dredge and bake it?” the one who must be Betsy asks.
“You’re assuming I even make eggplant parmesan.”
“Well, what on earth do you do with your eggplant then?”
That was a good question. I had learned to cook some of my mother’s favorites when I was a kid, but since her death, I haven’t even so much as warmed up leftovers in the microwave. I have staff who do that for me.
“Are you purchasing for your wife? A girlfriend? A nice young man like yourself must have a woman at home, but you shouldn’t expect her to cook for you. It’s a known fact that every woman loves a man who can cook.”
“I can cook.” It isn’t exactly a lie. I can. I choose not to.
“Oh, a man who cooks.” Betsy’s counterpart waves her hand in front of her and I nearly chuckle. Not something I’m known to do.
“Are you taken?”
“If you’re the one asking, then no.” Flirting with a woman isn’t something I do often. I haven’t met a woman with whom I felt I wanted to flirt. But this old lady has softened me, reminding me of my Nonna.
“Gia, sweetie. We found you a single man who cooks.”
I squeeze the eggplant, and I instantly imagine Gia with her hand on my dick.
“Betsy and Ruth Anne, you two are–”
I can smell her. Something between flowers and fruit. I sense when she realizes who I am. I turn to her and hold up the vegetable. “How do you like your eggplant parmesan?”
“I, um...”
“Oh, our sweet girl is flustered. I told you we should go into matchmaking. We’ve been at this so long our people watching skills are on fire.”
“Hush, you’re embarrassing them,” Ruth Anne says.
If I was the winking kind, I would have tossed one to Ruth Anne. Instead, I keep my attention on Gia.
She ignores the old ladies and picks up a zucchini and two tomatoes. “Do you have any more lettuce?”
“We’ve got some baby spinach left. Will that do?”
“Sure. Thank you.” Gia ignores me and takes a few bills out of her pocket, handing them to the ladies.
She gives me a quick smile then turns to leave. I move and follow her, still holding the eggplant, but stop myself as I blindly reach in my pocket and leave a bill on the wooden tabletop, then rush after Gia.
“Mister. You gave us a fifty. Do you want your change?”
I wave my hand over my head and follow Gia through the maze of people.
“Gia. Wait.” Surprisingly, she stops. When I reach her, I stand in front of her and stare. I don’t know what to say. Chasing, begging, asking, isn’t something I do.
The small bottle of chloroform digs into my front pocket. It’s too crowded in the middle of the park to subdue her. Noticing a lemonade stand, I nod toward it. “Can I buy you a drink?”
She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Um. I guess. I don’t have a lot of time though.”
“Okay.” We walk toward the stand, not so close we touch, but close enough where I can distinguish the scent of strawberries from her shampoo.
When we reach the stand, I read the board of options. There are so many damn flavors. “What happened to plain old lemonade?”
“I’d think a man who eats arugula, pear, and goat cheese salad for breakfast would appreciate the diversity.”