Chapter 12 Jane
JANE
It’s a long day to close, and as I head home after locking up the shop, my feet feel almost as heavy as my heart.
Not only does the sting of Gio’s rejection refuse to fade, but I won’t even have the balm of Jackson’s smile when I get home because he called to ask if he could go to the park to play soccer with Tanner and Chase for a few hours after school.
And since Tanner’s mom will be dropping him off, I’ll be alone in the house until dinner.
Staring out the window as the L carries me home, I wonder what it’s like to be one of those women who finds a happily ever after with a man.
Not that I’m particularly lonely—or starved of love. Jackson is the only reason I need to keep on living, and Blossoms gives me purpose and makes my life fulfilling.
I just wonder sometimes what it would be like to have someone to share it all with.
Shaking my head, I turn my attention to the people in the train car with me, to remind myself that I’m not the only one without a relationship.
I search each of their faces, studying the degrees of emotion, but my mind keeps playing tricks, looking for the similarities the men have to Gio, pretending one of them might be him.
Less than half the people in my car are wearing wedding rings, and while a few couples lean close to share secrets or hold each other’s hand, the rest of us are just going about our daily lives, heading to or from work—or wherever our final destination might be.
The train pulls into the station with a metallic hiss, and I get off at my stop, leisurely strolling the last few blocks to my townhome.
There’s no sense in rushing without Jackson at home waiting for me.
I check the mailbox then take the time to literally stop and smell the roses creeping over and between the white picket fence posts surrounding my yard.
Then I open the front gate to make my way up the walk, searching for the reasons to be happy so my steps won’t feel quite so dejected.
A yelp jumps from my lips when I look up to find an unexpected figure waiting on my front porch, and I cover my mouth with my fingers, an embarrassed smile stretching across my lips over my jumpy reaction as Gio rises from his seat on my front steps.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,” he says as he dusts off the seat of his pants.
“No, it’s fine. I just didn’t see you there.” I give an airy laugh as I approach, my steps inexplicably lighter.
My eyes land on the bouquet in his hand, and I immediately feel guilty for the bubble of relief that rises in my chest. “Does that mean things didn’t go so well? With the girl?” I add, gesturing to the flowers.
What kind of person—what kind of friend—does that make me if I’m hoping the answer is yes?
Worse yet is the hope silently spreading through me that if things didn’t work out with her, he might just give me a chance.
Should I even want to be his second choice?
The easy answer is no.
Does that make me pathetic if I would take it anyway?
Before I can get too far down that path in my head, Gio smiles, and the voices fall silent.
“I actually haven’t asked her yet,” he says, amusement teasing the edge of his tone, then he extends the bouquet toward me. “So, what do you think? Would you be willing to have dinner with me tonight?”
Stunned speechless, I stop before him, my jaw dropping as I stare down at the flowers I helped him pick out.
I should be angry with him over such a dirty trick—turning my emotions in knots all afternoon just so he could surprise me with the exact flowers I would want.
But then I think of the woman he described in my shop, and all I feel is giddy as I reach for the flowers.
Holding them up to my nose as if I don’t already know exactly how good they’ll smell, I inhale deeply and smile.
Gio knows just how to knock me off balance, but somehow, it only makes him more charming.
God, I like this man.
I like him a frightening amount, and I don’t quite know how I’m supposed to remain composed when he throws me a curve ball like that.
But even as the thrill of having him show interest in me makes my chest swell, I feel the dampening effect of my reality, and I bite back my disappointment as I lower the flowers.
“I can’t,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
Gio’s face falls ever so slightly before he tilts his head. “Why not?”
“I need to take care of Jackson. He’ll be home soon. I can’t just spontaneously go on a date…” I glance over my shoulder, as if expecting my little boy to be stepping out of a minivan just now, and when I turn back around, Gio has his back to me as he reaches for the porch.
As he faces me once more, he produces a bag of takeout boxes balanced in a neat stack.
On the side of the bag is the logo for Osteria Nido, one of the finest Italian restaurants in Chicago. “I already thought about that,” he says. “There’s enough for all of us.”
Bringing a hand up to my cheek, I cover my mouth with my palm as I fight the sudden urge to cry.
Still, tears blur my vision, and I sniffle as my nose prickles with warning that the tears are going to come whether I want them to or not.
Gio’s shoulders sag, the smile dropping from his face as he lowers the bag and takes a step toward me. “I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?” he asks, palm half extended as if to somehow lend me a hand.
A teary laugh rushes from me as I shake my head and cradle my flowers to my chest. “The opposite, actually. No one’s done anything this sweet for me for as long as I can remember.”
Emotion flits across his face, settling on empathy as his powerful brows press together.
And for a moment, we stand in silence as I try to pull myself back together.
“So… is that a yes?” he presses, taking another step toward me, food all but forgotten by his side.
Another unexpected laugh rushes from me, and I nod. “Yes, I’d love to have dinner with you.”
Gio has the audacity to look relieved, his megawatt smile returning in full force as if he doubted for a second what my answer would be. “Maybe you’d even be willing to watch a movie with me or something after Jackson goes to bed,” he suggests.
Just the thought of sitting next to him on the couch makes my heart skip a beat. “That would be nice.”
Leading the way up the front porch steps, I unlock the door, letting us into the house.
Gio heads to the kitchen, seeming more comfortable in the space today as he figures out how to work the oven and places the osso buco and penne all’arrabbiata inside to stay warm.
While I get a vase for my flowers and set the table, we keep the conversation light, Gio asking where Jackson is and how the rest of my day went.
Too embarrassed to admit I spent my afternoon sulking about the feelings I’d thought were unrequited, I focus more on the plants I pruned and the new cuttings I made.
“So, your shop is really just self-sustaining at this point,” he observes as he pulls out a bottle of wine and silently offers to open it.
I nod, digging a corkscrew from the back of a drawer and passing it to him.
“Not entirely. The potted plants, mostly, yes. But a lot of the flowers for the bouquets come from a greenhouse outside of town. They need shops to sell them in town, and I need someone who has larger stock on hand for any big occasions—weddings, funerals, that sort of thing.”
Gio nods along as he reaches up to one of my top shelves, the powerful lines of his body straining the seams of his black dress shirt that makes him look sinfully gorgeous in his charcoal-gray slacks.
He’s dressed for a major investment meeting, not dinner with me and my son, but somehow, that makes the night feel all the more special.
Setting the wine glasses on the counter, he glances my way and catches me watching him.
With a smirk, he quirks a brow and expertly de-corks the bottle, then pours the wine.
“You’ve really made a living doing what you love,” he observes, his voice deep and warm—almost affectionate—and it melts my core.
“Yeah,” I agree, that strange sense of familiarity sweeping through me.
“Mom! I’m home!” Jackson calls, the door slamming as he enters like a cyclone.
“In the kitchen,” I answer, though his footsteps sound like he’s already headed our way.
“Hey, Gio!” he exclaims as soon as he rounds the corner, and a brilliant smile lights his face.
“What’s up, little man?” he asks, bumping knuckles with my son as if this is the most natural thing in the world, and for a moment, I’m struck dumb by how cute they are together.
Jackson’s clearly enthusiastic to see Gio here with me, and it tugs at my heartstrings to watch the healthy interaction.
Finally, Jackson turns his attention to me, and I open my arms.
“What am I, chopped liver?” I tease. “I let a friend come over for dinner, and suddenly you don’t have time to hug your mom hello?”
Jackson rolls his eyes, stumbling over in his grass-stained shorts to wrap his arms around my waist, and I lean in to kiss the crown of his head as I give him a fierce hug.
“How was school?” I ask, cupping his face and attempting to wipe a smudge of dirt off his cheek with my thumb.
“Good. Mrs. Vance says we’re getting a classroom pet next week.”
“A what?” I ask, my voice jumping an octave in feigned disbelief.
Jackson laughs, Gio’s low chuckle making my stomach quiver as he joins in, and warmth radiates through me as I realize we have an audience.
I’ve never really thought about having someone else be privy to these moments with my son, and while it’s strange to have someone on the outside looking in, I find it surprisingly comforting that he could enjoy it as much as I do.
“Yeah! Maybe a lizard or a hamster. She even suggested a tarantula, but I think that was just a joke. Principal Harper is an arkak… arnarac…” Jackson’s brows furrow. “He’s scared of spiders.”
Humor tugging at my lips, I run my fingers affectionately through Jackson’s hair. “An arachnophobe.”
“Yeah, that,” he agrees.
“Well, any of those sound like they’ll be cool to me. Why don’t you go get washed up? Dinner’s ready. Gio brought us Italian from Osteria Nido,” I explain.
“Whoa! That fancy place downtown you said we couldn’t afford?” Jackson asks, his eyes lighting up as heat floods my face.
Sometimes, kids say things innocently that end up digging in deep, and I cringe, hoping Gio didn’t notice the unintentional comment about our financial well-being.
“Yeah, bud. Go clean up,” I repeat, gently nudging him toward the stairs.
If Gio did notice, he’s polite enough not to say anything as Jackson tramples up the stairs to his room.
Instead, he just chuckles, shaking his head as he watches my son go.
“He’s just a ball of energy,” he observes.
Laughing, I take a sip of wine. “Believe me, it takes everything I’ve got just to keep up sometimes.”
Turning to meet my eyes, Gio steals my breath away with his smile, and when he steps closer, I’m overwhelmed by the intoxicating scent of his cologne.
It smells expensive, a sensual blend of jasmine, amber wood, and cedar, and I’m inhaling deeply before I can stop myself.
“You’re a good mom,” he observes, the soft rasp of his voice raising goosebumps along the back of my neck.
“Thanks,” I say, suddenly feeling shy from the warmth of his praise and the intensity of his gaze. I’m nervous.
I can feel it in the way my hands shake as I clasp my glass of wine. But it’s not a bad, frightened kind of feeling. I’m nervous in the best possible way.
Because I can see myself falling for Gio.
And I think I might just want to.