Chapter 2

He had viewed the house many times in passing. He had never seen behind the large cast iron fence to its right side and was amazed to discover a magnificent garden that was hidden behind the blanket of ivy that weaved through its bars. Beyond the fence, the small courtyard he entered was covered in tea roses and bougainvilleas awash with the delicate pastels of a Monet painting, its focal point being a fountain planted in the middle featuring a nude Aphrodite ascending from the foamy depths of the ocean like a brilliant pearl in a giant seashell. He wondered if the fountain was Heather’s or if it had come with the purchase of the old antique store. He would have to remember to ask.

He found her sitting on a porch swing outside awaiting his arrival in a breezy, red summer dress dotted with white primroses. Her formerly pink lips were emblazoned with a deep crimson and her hair was more voluminous with the addition of several big curls. It seemed as if their plans to casually meet right after work had been abandoned as they were both obviously trying to impress each other. He smiled faintly at the thought of this woman dressing herself up just for him. It felt good. He climbed up the wooden steps of the porch to greet her and extended his hand-selected bouquet.

“Wow,” she exclaimed. “These are beautiful. Is it heather?”

“Yes, or calluna, which means ‘to sweep’ in Greek. I was hoping to sweep you off your feet, so I thought that it was appropriate.”

“That is so sweet, Peter. How do you know that?”

He felt the warm sensation of his cheeks blushing. He hoped the dusk would provide enough shade to conceal his embarrassment. “The woman at the flower shop told me.”

“Well, it’s sweet nonetheless.”

“Should we go?”

“I’m ready,” she said, taking his hand in hers and leading him back towards the street. Her hand felt so small and fragile clasped within his own. Practically everything about her was petite. She had to be at least a foot shorter than him, probably more, yet she walked with a perky and commanding gait that drew attention to her presence. He had noticed it when she entered his shop that morning with her hair bobbing at her shoulders. And he wasn’t sure if it was the multitude of flowers that surrounded them or the fragrant smell of her perfume, but he was overcome with a distinctly feminine scent. He rounded his SUV and opened the door for her.

“Nice ride,” she commented.

“Big guy, big car,” he said matter-of-factly, helping her in before closing the door and sliding in behind the wheel. “So where are we off to?”

“La Grotta. It’s down on River Street next to the Waterside Mall.”

“I think I have been to that mall before. They have a big and tall store don’t they?”

She nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I like to go there are check out all the hotties.”

He took that as her way of setting him at ease about his weight. It was subtle, but it served its intended purpose. She had laid out her attraction to larger men earlier in his shop, but it was still hard to accept. He was slowly coming around to the idea. He could tell by her flirting during the entire drive to the restaurant that she was definitely interested in him. He tried to be as suave and debonair as he knew how to be, but he sensed from a few of his unsuccessful jokes and moments of lingering silence that he was more than a little out of practice. She didn’t seem to mind.

As their conversation gained momentum, she began to open up to him and the ride to dinner turned out to be delightful, offering him a chance to get to know her a little better. Heather had moved to town from Florida because she wanted a change of pace. She had just graduated from college on a full scholarship with a degree in English. She had taken the money that her parents had previously set aside for college and used it to fund the realization of her dream to run a bookstore in a quiet and quirky New England town.

She was only twenty-four, considerably younger than Peter’s thirty-two years, but she seemed incredibly mature for her age. She had lived on her own since she was eighteen, paying for her own living expenses without the aid of her parents by selling her short stories to online magazines. She had even published a novel two years ago to moderate success. She was currently working on her sophomore piece. So far it wasn’t going too well. She hoped that a new environment and meeting new people would provide her with some much needed inspiration.

As they neared their final destination, the topic of conversation gradually shifted towards the night’s activities, particularly the meal they were both about to eat.

“I hope you’re hungry, Peter,” she teased, poking him playfully in his rotund paunch. “This place is notorious for having large portions.”

“Well, perhaps I forgot to tell you that I am notorious for having a large appetite, so I think that we’ll be alright.”

“I think you mentioned it once before. Enough to peak my interest…”

“How so?”

“Let’s just say that I have plans for you, mister. Big plans.”

“Maybe if I am not too full afterwards we can stop over at the big and tall store to scope out some of the so-called ‘hotties’ I keep hearing about.”

“I’m already with the only hottie I’m interested in,” she purred, giving him her most sultry vixen look out of the corner of her eye.

He took a deep breath and exhaled. The chemistry between them was electric, at least as far as he could tell. For the first time in his life a woman was aggressively coming on to him. It was invigorating. She even seemed as if she was looking forward to having dinner with him and watching him eat an ample, fulfilling meal. Whenever he dined with a friend or attended meals with his family for the holidays, it always seemed as if they were secretly disgusted with his extraordinary appetite and he felt as though he could never eat the amount that he wanted. As they turned into the parking lot of the restaurant, he wondered to himself whether he should abandon his inhibitions and really overindulge tonight in the way that he usually only did in the privacy of his own company.

The outside of the restaurant was not much to look at. It was a tiny building built out of stone with an open torch-lit entry way ensconced with a large sign which read “La Grotta” over a scenic oil painting of a vineyard that reminded him of the mountains in Tuscany. As part of a summer course in culinary school he had been afforded the luxury of participating in a student exchange program with the Culinary Institute of Florence for an entire semester. In between several courses on the intricacies of Italian baking, he had been able to explore the region by train and found it to be one of the quaintest places he had ever visited. He always promised himself that he would return one day. His weight had been holding him back. He could barely suffer through the three hours it took crammed in a plane seat to visit his parents back home. An international flight three times that length seemed too daunting, and the humiliation of his body overflowing two plane seats was another major deterrent.