“Exactly. So you can only imagine.” I laugh as she smirks at me. I pick up my fork and dig into the chicken mofongo she made for us. If you don’t eat it the very moment it’s placed in front of you, it’ll be ice cold the very next. I don’t make the rules.
A notification pings and I pull my phone from my pocket. There’s an unread email from Glen, the General Manager from the Mossy Oaks Golf Club. “It must be something about the charity event,” I mumble to Mami so she won’t think I’m ignoring her.
From: Mossy Oaks Golf Club
To: Albatross Charity Group
CC: Clinton Morrison
Hello everyone,
I am excited to meet with all of you this week.
We’ve got the beginnings of a great committee, and now our very own Clinton Morrison is back to headline this charity to raise money for the Albatross Youth Academy. He’s bringing golf to the youth in our community, and his vision is more than just enhanced golf training; he’s building a safe space for kids. Attached is a mock-up of the space, along with a list of anticipated activities to give you a better idea of this wonderful addition he’s bringing to Cypress Lake.
Best,
Glen
General Manager
My knuckles strain from how tight I’m holding my phone as I pull it away from my face, letting my arm hang loose at my side. I can’t believe Clinton is the one who is putting on this charity. They hadn’t revealed much information when they asked for vendors. Only that it was something big for the kids in our community. Many of our customers at Shaken Tropes are parents, and for them to have a place where their kids can go to develop a skill, do homework, heck—just be a kid, is huge. I knew I wanted to be a part of it. But it being Clinton’s project…I don’t know.
Sliding my phone into my pocket, I remind myself it’s been seven years. He’s clearly moved on, maybe not with an intimate relationship, with building a business. And I;’e moved on with my life too.
Soft taps pull me out of thoughts and I notice Mami’s eyes are wide, and she’s pursing her lips so hard it’s a wonder they’ve not fallen off yet.
I lean my head in toward her. “Why are your lips so aggressive?”
“The handsome man—,” she starts to say, but I cut her off.
“Mami, I cannot believe you gave my number to some random guy. Have you lost your marbles completely?” She rolls her eyes at me and purses her lips again.
“He’s here. The handsome man,” my mother says, rising from the table we’re sharing as I attempt to turn and inspect the man she handed my number to. Her voice is all-knowing when she speaks again, “You may have missed your shot, mijita.”
I turn in my seat slowly, hoping to catch a small glance from over myshoulder, and time stops as I catch a glimpse ofwhothe handsome man is. Snapping my head back to face forward, I slouch in my chair.Just my damn luck. She’s right. He’s incredibly handsome, still. Unable to stop myself, I steal another look—his rich brown skin is highlighted by the teal polo he wears, one which grips his biceps in a way that should be against the law. My breath comes out uneven at the thought of his eyes landing on me, and I wipe my sweaty hands on my pants. He stands tall at six feet, and when his hazel gaze takes in Sweet Bean, it sweeps over in my direction, seemingly too caught up in the ambience of the space. I would know; I helped thrift many of the tables and decor.
His salt-and-pepper beard only makes his chiseled jaw more pronounced. This man is absolute perfection. I shift my eyes over his strong, lean frame, one I have intimate knowledge of. His graying curls are more silver than I remember, but he is still the sexiest man I have ever laid my eyes on.
I have to approach him.
No, absolutely the fuck not.
His name sits on the tip of my tongue, drying out my mouth at the thought of saying it. I refuse, biting the inside of my cheek, sayinghisname would make this real. I’m scared out of my mind to be caught ogling him. Even so I push my chair back and take a deep breath preparing myself to stand.
Right before my ass leaves the seat, an equally stunning woman walks in after him. She’s laughing, her face exuding joy, and I feel a weight land in my gut.
Of course! What luck…the goddess next to him is the same woman who visited Shaken Tropes a few hours ago—the book I picked for her tucked snugly inher arms.
He looks around the shop searching for something, and I turn back around in my seat, needing to have my eyes on anything else but him. Of course Clinton Morrison would come back to Cypress Lake with a stunning woman on his arm. Watching them laugh with one another, it's clear there is a deep love between them. My chest burns with jealousy, as if I even have the right to be jealous after what I did. Why did this have to be my first time seeing him, and why did it have to be now?
I glance from the corner of my eye at her, her walk is cat-like, sure and agile in every single step. She has a modelesque physique, and though very different from my plus-sized curves, she’s still every bit as incredible. My eyes search her for something I can pick apart, something I can mock or obsess over, but there’s nothing, and honestly I don't want to be petty.
Internally I want to wish them the best but can’t, not him. Even after all these years, the very thought catches in my throat, drying it out. Just as he shifts in my direction, I tilt my head forward and cast my eyes to the fruit in front of me.
I hear the chair scrape against the tiled floor before she speaks. “Why are you sulking, Loma?” Mami asks me. I hadn’t realized she’d been watching me.
“No es nada.”It’s nothing.I wave her off, not really wanting to get into this with her right now.
