“Yes, sir,” he answers on the first ring.
“Don’t bother parking the car when you get here,” I tell him. “We’ll be going right back out again.”
“Yes, sir,” he says again.
“Are you done with your first errand?”
“Yes, indeed. Ms. White is a very pleasant person.” He pauses briefly, then adds, “Even at this early hour.”
“She certainly is,” I say, overlooking Curtis’s friendly jab. He has intimated several times in the past that I should start seeing someone, lest I find myself, in his words, married to my work.
I smile. This must make him happy.
“She insisted on riding up front and made marvelous conversation the whole way,” Curtis informs me.
“Sounds like what I’d expect from her.”
“Will you be going downtown, sir?”
“Sort of, Curtis. I have an errand of my own to run.”
I recently made a resolution to slow down and enjoy life more, and it looks like here I am, doing just that. I’m even taking the morning off.
Not off, the workaholic voice inside my head corrects. You just shifted everything ahead a few hours. That’s why you’re taking her out to lunch rather than dinner. You’re planning on working late.
Not true, I tell myself. Steph told me herself she was going to be working today. Lunch just seemed like a perfectly reasonable mid-day break for us both. She’ll go back to work afterwards, I’ll go into the office, and if I end up working late, so be it.
I rest my case.
I observe, and not for the first time, that that little voice in my head sounds an awful lot like Curtis, so much so that when he pulls up to the curb and rolls the window down, the first thing I say to him is, “Lunch just works out better for both of us.”
“Sir?” he asks, mystified.
“Never mind,” I say, getting into the car. “We’re going to Stalinsky’s.”
This is the florist I had looked up earlier, and although I’ve never had Curtis take me there before, I have no doubt he can find the place without trouble. He’s more reliable than GPS.
“You remember Ms. White’s address?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
“Of course, sir,” he says, and though I’m in the back seat and can’t see his face, he certainly sounds like he’s smiling.
“Anything noteworthy happen as you drove her home?” I inquire after a few miles.
“Not on the drive itself, sir.”
“Meaning?”
“She asked if I would mind giving her a ride to work. It was on the way back, so I didn’t think you would mind.”
“Not at all. You weren’t gone that long.”
“Ms. White ducked into her building long enough to change clothes, apparently, then came right back out again, ready to go.” He glances at me in the rearview mirror. “It reminded me of other hardworking individuals with whom I am acquainted.”
We pull up in front of Stalinsky’s Floral. Parking by the curb, Curtis asks, “Shall I go in and place an order for you, sir?”
“No, thank you, Curtis. This is something I’d…prefer to do myself.”
I wonder if I really can hear the sound of Curtis’s eyebrows going up in the front seat.
“Will be going to your offices afterward, sir?” he says.
“Not right away. Tell me, where are we now in relation to Ms. White’s restaurant? The one she’s going to be working in today?”
“DuMonde’s?” he answers. “Only a few blocks.”
“That’s perfect. You can drop me off here. I’ll call you later this afternoon when I need to be picked up.”
Curtis glances at me again in the rearview. I was right—his eyebrows are practically fighting with his hairline for dominance.
“Will you be joining Ms. White for lunch, then, sir?” he asks, connecting the dots.
“That I am.”
“And will you be picking her up from her restaurant?”
“That I will.”
“And how will you conduct her to the location of said meal?”
“The old-fashioned way, Curtis. We’ll walk. I have no doubt that Ms. White can direct us to a local establishment of good repute.” I get out of the car and wave to Curtis. “Really. I’ll be fine.”
“As you like, sir,” he says, rolls up his window, and drives away.
The florist, while she tries to be helpful, seems intent on selling me roses.
“First time having flowers delivered to her?” she guesses.
“First time,” I confirm.
“Our luxury red suede box of three dozen preserved red roses is quite popular.”
Roses seem so generic. I say so.
“Red roses, maybe,” she concedes, then tries another angle. “Perhaps copper roses instead. They’re a fairly new hybrid breed and exceedingly eye-catching.”
“I’m sure they are, but I’m looking for…something else. Something unconventional.”
“Perhaps you’d care to browse the store?” she asks. “See what grabs your attention?”
“I think so, thanks.” The florist leaves me to wander the rows upon rows of increasingly elaborate flower arrangements in their cold cases.
On a whim, I reverse my path and go back to the first case. There, inside, is exactly what I’m looking for.
“Find something you like?” says the florist, coming to stand by my side.
“Yes,” I answer definitely, pointing. “These. How many of these do you have?”
The florist hesitates a moment, clearly disappointed that she couldn’t talk me into something more rose-oriented.
“How many would you like?” she asks.
I take out my wallet. “All of them,” I reply.
Chapter 13 - Steph
I briefly consider just throwing on my chef’s jacket and going on to work as I am, but decide that’s a little too close to doing the walk of shame. I can spare a few precious minutes when I am back in my apartment to throw on some fresh clothes.
Curtis is waiting patiently outside for me. He holds the door open as I get back into the car.
“To which of your restaurants will
