Chapter Twelve
Bowen
Remi was having the best time ever. He didn’t need to tell me in words, although he used them to make sure I wasn’t bored or having a bad time. But how could I? First, plants were great, and I had the opportunity to ask questions of some of those in the greenhouses.
“We have a program at my job where we are trying to reintroduce some of the native flora that has disappeared from the region,” I explained to one of the growers. “And since we have a greenhouse at our disposal, I’m always up for any tips on making the best use of everything.”
Not only did the employee offer some helpful ideas but, to my delight, Remi did too. Of course, as a nursery owner, he would know how best to start things in a greenhouse or out. Our conversation continued as we went on to the lunch and sat down to eat.
“It is a fixed menu,” our server explained, but if there are any allergies”—he leaned in and lowered his voice—“or things you hate to eat, just say the word and we will make sure you are not served them.”
“No allergies here, and I don’t have any other issues,” I told him, reading over the printed menu he’d handed me. “It all looks wonderful.”
“Me, too.” Remi studied the courses. “All farm-to-table, local food?”
“That’s right. Even this early in the season, we have a good variety of produce and of course our dairy products and meats are top quality.”
Our tour group was all being served at the same time, but the servers were doing a bang-up job of getting plates out in timely fashion. The restaurant itself was a converted farmhouse, bright and airy and utterly charming.
“The salad is so good,” I said, forking up another bite.
“It is. Really beautiful greens, and the vinaigrette doesn’t overwhelm it.”
We had a total of seven courses, each small portions, but that still added up to a pretty filling meal.
“Lucky we didn’t have that big breakfast Franklin offered,” I said.
“Even if most of this is light. I think the soup was my favorite so far.” A light broth, the chef had scattered diced vegetables and herbs across the surface.
“I’m going to gain ten pounds this weekend,” he said. “And worth every calorie.”
We’re walking a lot, too,” I reminded him. “So we can probably still have a funnel cake before we go back to the inn.”
We continued with each course, talking and laughing and getting to know one another. Most of the others in our group had joined up at larger tables, but I was very glad to just be the two of us.
“This is pasta primavera,” the server informed us. “Enjoy.”
“If I didn’t know better,” I quipped when we were alone again, “I’d think this was all a sneaky plan to get us to eat our vegetables.”
“You may be right.” Remi twirled some of the spaghetti around his fork. “Is that so bad?”
“Not at all. Unless they try to puree peas into the ice cream—if we have ice cream.”
“I love most vegetables, including peas, but I agree they do not belong in ice cream. I don’t mind chocolate cake made with zucchini in it, though, or even beets.”
“Beets in cake?” I gaped at him. “Zucchini makes sense. Or even pumpkin. But beets?”
“Sure. There’s a lot of sugar in beets and all that color? You can make a natural red velvet sort of thing.”
As each course arrived, more delectable than the one before, our conversation continued.
We didn’t talk about anything earthshaking.
Just our work and things we liked. What we wanted out of our lives.
I could have listened to him talk all day, every word from his lips so interesting to me, but finally we were having dessert.
Remi took a bite of strawberry shortcake and closed his eyes. “Who knew hothouse berries could be so good?”
“I didn’t know, but I agree they are really good. Do you grow strawberries in your business? Or your yard?”
“We do strawberry starts to sell, and I have a half barrel with them spilling down the sides. They are the tiny alpine variety, but the sweetest taste. You’ll have to try some if you ever come by the nursery.”
“Is that an invite?” I blurted out, so hoping it was. Not that I’d go, unless we mated… Would we? I was having an awful good time with the alpha. The weekend was going too fast.
“Of course, I’d love to show you the property. All the plants. We’re quite proud of the place, my sister and I—”
My phone buzzed with a text, but I ignored it until we were ready to leave the restaurant.
It was the end of the tour, so we would be on our own for the afternoon.
Which suited me perfectly. We’d left some boxes of bulbs Remi bought, at the hostess station, and picked them up and took them outside with us.
“Why don’t we take them to the car?” I suggested, and he happily agreed. This day was going so well, and although we weren’t exactly making out in the festival streets, he had been holding my hand a great deal of it.
I was as happy as I could remember being when my phone buzzed again. “Oh, I’d better check this,” I said. “Might be work.”
“Sure.” He stood by the car while I pulled out my phone and brought up the text.
The second I began to read, my stomach clenched, all the good food we’d just eaten threatening to come up.
A coworker wrote, Looks bad for funding.
I’m afraid we’re up for layoffs now. And you know who is kissing up.
It went on, but I’d read the rest later.
My first instinct was to run home and find out what all was happening, but no.
I wasn’t going to let this ruin my weekend with my mate.
But it wasn’t so easy to forget.