He stares at me for so long sweat threatens to gather between my shoulder blades and I shift in my seat.
“Wrong,” he finally says.
“Oh well. See? I don’t know everything about you.”
“It has white squares, not circles. It was my grandpa’s favorite—the first thing he bought at Higbees after he immigrated from Poland and started selling flowers out of a pushcart downtown. He gave it to me before he died.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He waves me away. “He passed a long time ago. But it is my favorite scarf, and I did think about wearing it tonight… but you’re right. It’s too warm.” Even though the restaurant’s chairs are metal backed and stiff, he sprawls as though he’s perfectly at ease. Like we’re sitting on a couch in his living room talking about the weather rather than in the middle of a crowded restaurant casually chatting about an inexplicable quirk of fate or the universe or something.
I marvel at his effortless confidence. Apart from his bone structure, which must have been blessed by the gods, he’s one of those rare people who draws in everyone around him simply by existing. Maybe it’s the way he holds himself—assured, but not aggressive. Or perhaps it’s the way he looks you in the eye when you’re talking, making you feel like you’re the only person in the room. Whatever combination of qualities it is, Devin Szymanski is magnetism personified.
Even now, two tables over, a pair of young women stare at him over their menus. A fair number of passersby—women and men and everyone in between—pull double-takes when they glance his way, and I don’t think the hostess has taken her eyes off him since I walked in. But somehow, I’m the one who ended up here, at this table, having a heartfelt conversation with Devin.
I lean back in my chair with a huff. “How are you so sanguine about all this?”
“About what?”
“Me—this whole situation. I can’t believe you’re giving me the time of day, let alone trust I’m not some psycho spinning lies about ‘coma memories’ to Fatal Attraction you.”
Helping himself to another piece of calamari, he shrugs. “I believe in the supernatural. Or at least, the idea that strange things happen that modern science can’t explain. Plus, I have a sense about people.”
“Your brother doesn’t seem to think so. He’s quite protective of you.” Forking a piece of calamari, I stuff it into my mouth.
“Perry tries. Even though growing up, he was the one who needed protecting.”
I finish chewing, then swallow. “Why? Isn’t he older than you?”
“Only by a year and a half—I’m twenty-seven and he’s twenty-nine. Perry marches to the beat of his own drummer. Always has. Ever since he was little, he’s been digging in the dirt and making bouquets. Talking about taking over the family business and becoming a florist like our mom and grandpa. You can imagine how well that went over with the other kids at school, especially the boys.”
I wince. Kids can be real assholes sometimes. “And you never wanted to take over the business?”
“Nah. Mom offered to leave it to both of us, but it’s not my thing.”
“But I saw you the other day in the store… you were about to deliver an order. Do you work there?”
“Sort of.” At my questioning glance, he elaborates. “Last year our mom was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis—probably from the years she spent working herself to the bone trying to keep the business alive. Her doctor recommended a lifestyle change, so last spring she sold the house, moved to a retirement community in Florida, and transferred majority ownership of Blooms & Baubles to Perry. He ran things on his own for a while, but he’s never had a head for numbers. I quit my job in Columbus earlier this year and moved back home to help him right the ship.”
“Is that how you’re helping him ‘deliver the business into the future?’？” I recount that phrase that stopped Devin and Perry in their tracks.
“You could say that.” His expression is relaxed, but a line forms between his eyebrows as he takes a long sip of his drink.
I tap my fingers against my thigh. “So where do you work if not at Blooms & Baubles?”
“For my dad. He’s a developer on the south side of the city. My hours are flexible, so you can find me at the shop most afternoons helping Perry with the books or dropping off the occasional order when his regular delivery guy is busy.”