Page 62 of This Feeling

“Do you have one in here?” he asked, holding up the cookbook.

I nodded. “Yeah, there’s one in there.”

“Wait…you know what? Let me call him and see if he’ll give us his recipe.”

Declan set the cookbook down and took his cell out of his pocket, stepping away. A few moments later, he was talking.

“Hey, Lenny, how’s it going?” He laughed at something before saying, “It’s going great. It’s different. Quiet, which is a good thing. Yeah, it’s nice, that’s for sure. Listen, do you happen to have your pizza dough recipe on hand? I’m making pizza with…”

When his voice trailed off, I glanced over at him. He was standing in the middle of the living room, staring at me. I smiled, and he returned the gesture.

“I’m making pizza with a friend, and I told her you had the best recipe. Yes, she is. Very. No, we’re not. It’s complicated.”

I rolled my eyes. That was one word to describe it. While Declan spoke to his friend Lenny, I got everything together for the sauce. I’d memorized the recipe years ago, ever since Amanda and I became responsible for the sauce recipe on family pizza night. Candice got to make the dough with our father because she was the oldest. Amanda and I never thought that was fair, but we still loved pizza night.

“Okay, he texted me the recipe. Said his grandmother used to use this one for her pizza dough.”

I rubbed my hands together. “Ooooh. Let me hear it.”

As Declan read the ingredients, I checked to be sure I had everything. Once we had our ingredients measured out, Declan got to work on the dough, while I started the sauce and cut up the veggies.

“Anything you don’t like?” I asked.

“Nope, I like everything, so whatever you prep is good with me.”

We worked in silence. I realized I hadn’t ever felt this comfortable with anyone else, not even Sean. Not that dating him wasn’t great…at first. The first few months with Sean were awesome. He’d been my first long-term boyfriend, but after a year I realized that while I loved the idea of a boyfriend, in my heart of hearts, I knew Sean wasn’t the one.

“So tell me, when did you decide you wanted to take over your mom’s flower shop?” Declan asked, as he spread sauce over his two small pizzas. He’d decided to split the dough into four small rounds, two for each of us, that we could both make up however we wanted.

As I sprinkled fresh garlic onto my second pizza, I smiled as I fondly remembered the day I told my mother I wanted to take over running the shop. “Gosh, I think I was like fourteen or so. I knew early that I wanted to follow in my mother’s footsteps. I grew up with flowers and plants, so it was easy to fall in love with the idea of being surrounded by them every day in the shop.”

“What about your sisters? Candice is older. She didn’t want to run the shop?”

A snort of laughter slipped free, and I covered my mouth as I felt my cheeks heat. “Sorry! Not very ladylike.”

He winked, and my stomach pitched one way and then the other. I had to force myself not to lay my hands over it to calm it down.

“Candicehatesflowers. She’s allergic to practically everything, I swear, so she hardly ever came to the shop. Mom had to move so many of her plants outside once they learned about Candice’s allergies. Amanda and I were pissed because we had some in our bedrooms that our parents said we had to take out, too, since Candice often came into our rooms. I actually refused and put a sign on my door that told Candice to stay out.”

Declan chuckled. “Did she?”

“Yep! She had no choice. My room was filled with plants. Plus, I regularly picked fresh flowers from my mom’s gardens and put them in vases in my room. I loved being surrounded by flowers.”

“Still do?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said with a firm nod. “I still do. I don’t think I could ever tire of working with flowers and plants. And when someone orders a bouquet for whatever reason, I love being a part of that process. When someone looks at a bouquet of flowers, it always brings a smile to their face. There’s something so gratifying about that.”

“I get that. It was really nice, hearing all the people commenting about your arrangements during the Memorial Day barbecue.”

Smiling, I turned to Declan. “That’s good to know.” I glanced at his pizzas. “Are you ready to put them in the pizza oven?”

“You have a pizza oven?”

With a grin, I pointed upstairs. “On the roof.”

He slid his pizzas onto the pizza peel I gave him, and we headed back up to the roof.

“It won’t take long for them to cook,” I said, as I put Declan’s in first. As they baked, I went to the rooftop kitchen and opened a cabinet, pulling out two plates, some silverware, and some ranch dressing from the small refrigerator.

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