“Huh,” he said as we got into the car. “People dye flowers? Why?”
“People will literally paint flowers,” I said, launching into my favorite rant, because nothing said ‘I am a desirable and marriageable human woman’ like a deranged tirade about cacti. “Companies will literally paint succulents. You ever go to a nursery or home-improvement store and they have the displays of all the succulents that are crazy colors?”
“I don’t really go shopping,” Sebastian said as we drove into town. “I pay people to do that.”
“Well, they cover them in paint,” I said. “Paint! It’s terrible for the plants! It’s difficult to clean all the paint off too. You sort of have to let the plant grow and hopefully shed the paint. They can’t absorb sunlight, so usually they just wither and die. And don’t get me started on the cacti.”
“What about the cacti?” Sebastian glanced over at me. Was he horrified? Alarmed? Probably all of the above.
Just shut up, Amy.
But I couldn’t.
“Stores hot glue little flowers onto the cactuses to make it seem like they’re blooming, and people buy them and think that it’s normal,” I raged.
“That is certainly interesting,” Sebastian remarked.
Fuck, Amy, you blew it,I chastised myself as Sebastian pulled to a stop outside of the seafood restaurant.
The Hook and Tackle was fairly full, but there were a few empty tables left, and the hostess led us over to one.
“I haven’t eaten here in forever,” I said, setting down my bag. I had brought a present for Sebastian, but in light of the car ride, maybe I should just skip it.
“We’d better put in our calamari order,” he told me as the waitress came over for our drink order.
After I ordered one of the craft cocktails that had names like yellow, pink, and blue, and you just had to choose one and hope for the best, Bettina, one of Ida’s friends, came over to me. She was trailed by Art, an older man, who was lugging a huge fig tree.
“Amy! I heard you were going to be here on a date.” She leaned over to hug me. “Nicely done, by the way,” she whispered. “Monica’s been trying to throw her daughter at Sebastian, but you two look much better together. Monica’s a little horse-faced, you know, and we don’t want to ruin those handsome genes, do we?”
“Hurry up!” Art demanded. “This tree is heavy.”
“I told you I would buy you dinner in exchange for transporting my tree. Stop complaining.”
“Dinner’s not worth all this. Honestly,” he said to Sebastian. “Plant women.”
I wanted to sink down in my seat. So much for making a good impression. Not only was Sebastian not going to want to date me, but he was also not going to want to sleep with me.
“Now, if you don’t mind, could you just take a look at my poor fig tree? I think he’s sick,” Bettina said.
I peered at the tree.
“Looks like fig rust,” I said. “You need to prune the bad leaves and make sure you aren’t watering from the top of the plant. You can’t make the fig leaves wet. Just water the dirt.”
“I told you! I told her that!” Art practically shouted. “I told her she’s watering her plants too much. You should see the cucumbers she grew this summer. Bloated. Looked as if they would burst if you pricked them with a pin.”
“As if you know the first thing about plants,” Bettina said, her hands on her hips. “I’ll try your suggestions, Amy. Poor fig plant.” She patted the tree then went to buy Art his dinner.
“Sorry,” I mumbled to Sebastian. The waitress had brought the calamari and the cocktails. I took a big gulp of my cocktail.
“Small towns?” A smile played around his lips.
I reached for a piece of the fried squid and dunked it into the spicy, creamy dipping sauce. “Yum. Maybe I should just move here full-time and eat this every day.”
“I don’t think you can eat it every day,” Sebastian said casually.
I froze. Was that a weird subtle dig about my weight? I had been eating around him a lot.
He took another piece. “They only serve calamari on Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. Not Sundays, because there was a knock-down, drag-out fight in the middle of the restaurant when they ran out two hours after church let out.”
