The Bouquet List Read Online Free PDF

Lane.
    “What were you doing overseas, anyway?” he asked as she turned back to him.
    She took the carafe of coffee and poured a mug for him, and waited while water boiled for her tea. “I was doing research for my PhD—studying nitrogen nutrition and isotopic discrimination in ectomycorrhizal fungi, to be precise.”
    He didn’t bat an eyelid. “Fungi?”
    “Mushrooms, toadstools, truffles. They all have their charms.”
    “Do you have a favorite?”
    “ Laccaria amethystina , the amethyst deceiver.”
    He lifted the mug and grinned. “Sounds like some sort of sneaky assassin.”
    She laughed. “It’s not quite that exciting, but it kinda grows on you—if you’ll excuse the fungi pun. Mycologists get a bit of a bad rap for having no sense of humor, but you can always make jokes about being a ‘fun guy’ or whether there’s ‘mush room’ in here.”
    Lane looked at her deadpan. “No shiitake.”
    She laughed out loud. Was that the first even slightly amusing thing he’d said since yesterday? Was there actually a funny bone within that body full of self-confident aloofness?
    She tipped her mug at him. “You’re good.”
    The eyebrow again. “I know.”
    The air sizzled and she absently put the mug to her lips before she realized it was empty.
    “I’m glad to hear you’re still studying. After I saw you, I mean at the…when we met again yesterday, you weren’t how I remembered.”
    “I’m taking time out from my PhD, and do you mean I was dull and conservative before?”
    “I don’t remember you being dull, but yes, I do remember you wearing overalls and glasses that gave the impression you were doing some spot-welding,” he said in a teasing voice.
    “I’m still as blind as a bat; I just wear ten-inch-thick contacts now.” She squinted at him for effect and then poured water onto her tea bag. “We can take these out into the courtyard if you like.”
    “Sure.”
    “Do you live close by?” she asked when they were downstairs and walking through the corridor that led out into the restaurant courtyard. There wasn’t a wedding today, so everything was quiet. “I remember you lived over on Robinson Street. Are your parents still there?” As soon as she’d said it, she wished the ground would open up and swallow her. He’d always had two homes, one on Robinson and the other on Green, and he’d spent as much time at the Palace as he could to avoid each of them.
    “My mother still lives on Robinson, but my father lives in the city now. The newest Prescott Hotel’s in Manhattan so I’ll move when we’ve finished here. I’ll be living and breathing my new restaurant come December and I won’t want any distractions.”
    They’d stepped into the courtyard, the sun glaring bright as it reflected off the whitewashed walls of the restaurant. Brilliant magenta bougainvillea cascaded down at intervals and, as she did every time she entered this courtyard, Yasmin felt like a breath of fresh air had been blown across her soul.
    A loud noise came from the corner of the courtyard. “That’s gotta be Monty.”
    Yasmin turned to him and smiled. “Yep, he’s fifteen now, and still as cheeky as ever. He swears in about ten different languages, I think.” They walked over to the parrot’s cage, and Yasmin reached into her pocket for a peanut. Monty bounced up and down on the perch he was sitting on and nodded his head.
    “Hey, Monty.” Lane’s rich voice was deeper than ever as he peered into the cage and talked quietly to the bird. He put his briefcase down and leaned closer. “No, I’m not going to put my fingers through the bars because I remember you can be a cantankerous old buzzard.”
    “I’m going to strangle that bird’s neck, strangle that bird’s neck!” Monty squawked. “Mano, I’ll strangle that bird’s neck!”
    “That’s my mom’s voice.” Yasmin laughed. “Can you hear his Greek accent? Every time Mom hears Monty cuss, she says she’ll wring his neck but she