He cuts his eyes to the floor. “My shoes. You haven’t said anything about them.”
I follow his line of vision and find myself laughing again.
“What have you done to my boots?” I ask, slipping out of my chair and going to my knee. I place his foot on my thigh and tsk. Running a finger over the worn black leather, I hold his ankle with my other hand.
“Please don’t tell me your friends think I’ve created these monstrosities.”
He inhales sharply, then laughs airily.
“Of course not,” he says on a hiccup. “I would never besmirch your brand with my name.”
I stand, rolling my eyes at him. “Nothing associated with your name could ever be besmirched. Though, to be fair, I don’t know what besmirch means. I’ve touched your shoes, so let me wash my hands, and when I come back, you’ll explain it to me.”
He opens his mouth, then snaps it shut, giving me a short, nervous nod.
My English is decent and I’m a genius with context clues, so I already gather mostly what it means. But I like giving him an assignment.
On my way back from the washroom, Sandy the bartender gestures for me to come over.
“Here, I have the drinks you ordered,” she says, smirking.
She’s even shorter than me, barely clearing the bar as she wipes it down. There’s only one reason she’d call me over instead of having them delivered to our table.
“What do you want to know?” I ask, not even bothering to hold back my grin.
“Have you two finally stopped circling each other?”
I lift a shoulder, hoping to appear unconcerned. “As far as I know, this is simply dinner with a friend.”
“But you do want more, right?”
Even though Ant and I share nearly everything, I don’t always share my struggles. Sandy, having a bartender’s nose for such things, has been a surprising source of calm. Not only is she an excellent sounding board, but her advice has also always been spot on, and the Broken Oak has become the place I can go when I’m overwhelmed.
“Of course. It’s hard getting started though. I think we had an immediate connection, but he knew I needed time. So, now I feel awkward about saying ‘Hey, you can fall in love with me now.’”
“Love?” She raises her brow playfully. “How fancy. I thought you were just trying to get yourself a slice of British pound cake.”
“You are terrible.”
Sliding the drinks across the bar, she tosses back, “Considering I was a little heavy with the tequila, I think I’m fantastic.”
I chuckle as I grab them. “That you are.”
Before I walk off, she gestures for me to come closer. “By the way, he’s been fidgeting since you went into the bathroom. I think he wants this as much as you do, but he might need some encouragement. Don’t be afraid to be forward with him.”
“He won’t think I’m pushy?”
“You’re a Hernandez, right? I thought pushy was the brand.”
“You might be right about that,” I retort, grinning.
She winks, pushing me toward the tables. “Good luck, sweetie. You deserve him.”
“Okay.” I take a deep breath, and hope blooms in my chest at her bracing words. “Thanks.”
I wind my way through the other tables and set his beer in front of him, just as he puts away his phone. I’m guessing he’s still avoiding his father.
“So, now I’m worried,” he starts.
