Lamar did not want to remind his mother that his brother-in-law worked an average of one hundred thirty days a year, so he had time to become another Martha Stewart. “Good for him.”
“Do I detect a hint of jealousy?”
“Never.” He didn’t always see eye-to-eye with Jonathan when it came to politics, and the result was he refused to get into a debate with him.
“Come with me to the kitchen. I was just getting ready to make a pitcher of lemonade. Then we can sit on the porch, and you can tell me all about Cameron Singleton’s wedding.”
Lamar smiled when his mother mentioned Cameron’s wedding. It had been a night filled with surprises. The bride and groom had deviated from the tradition of speeches, toasts, cutting the cake, and tossing the bouquet and garter. The reception had been still in full swing, ongoing revelry that continued beyond his midnight departure.
The gathering had become even more memorable when he shared a couple of dances with Nydia Santiago, spent time talking with her, and now he looked forward to taking her out for a date that he hoped wouldn’t be the last time before she returned home.
Chapter 6
Nydia felt her pulse quicken when she spied Lamar walking into the Louis LaSalle lobby. It had been almost a week since their last encounter and images of him would creep into her mind when she least expected it. He wasn’t the type of man she’d found herself drawn to in the past—but then she hadn’t chosen very wisely in the past.
Those she’d encountered when she worked for the investment bank, who were attracted to her, tried too hard to impress. They were braggarts, egoists, and a few egomaniacs. They turned her off, while Danny had become a refreshing change from the well-heeled men earning six and seven figures. She’d told her ex over and over his salary did not have to match or exceed her annual income, but he needed to secure a permanent job where he could become an independent adult.
Lamar wasn’t a braggart or egoist, but intelligent and modest. He was an engineer, widowed, and a single father with a ten-year-old daughter. The fact that he spoke Spanish and was familiar with Puerto Rican food were assets and not liabilities.Hey now, she mused as he came closer,Papi’s got a little swagger in his walk. He was casually dressed in a pair of dark slacks, an untucked pale-blue shirt, and Italian slip-ons.
It had taken her a while before Nydia selected what she’d planned to wear to a place Lamar deemed rustic. And she interpreted rustic as a dive, greasy spoon or juke joint. Her bed was filled with discarded garments until she decided on a pair of black stretch pants, paired with an off-the-shoulder black-and-white striped stretched top, and four-inch animal-print sandals. At five-two, and she estimated Lamar was at least six foot, she needed a little assistance in the height department.
She stared up at Lamar through her lashes, unaware of how seductive it appeared. “Hello again.”
* * *
Lamar angled his head and kissed Nydia’s cheek. “Same here,” he said. When he saw Nydia standing near the table in the middle of the lobby he felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. The gown she’d worn at Cameron and Jasmine’s wedding had concealed a petite body with curves in all the right places. “You look wonderful.” She lookedandsmelled wonderful.
“Thank you.” She held her hands out at her sides. “I hope what I’m wearing is okay.”
“It’s perfect.”
Lamar wanted to tell her she would look okay wearing a burlap sack. Her subtly applied makeup accentuated her hazel eyes and lush mouth. The hair that had been styled atop her head was brushed off her face and fashioned into a bun on the nape of her neck. He marveled that she could appear so refreshingly young and womanly and sophisticated at the same time. He tucked her hand into the bend of his elbow and slowed his stride to accommodate Nydia’s shorter legs as he led her through the lobby and out of the hotel to the parking lot.
Lamar noticed men taking furtive glances at Nydia as he escorted her to where he’d parked his vehicle. He opened the passenger-side door to the Volvo and helped her up onto the leather seat, and then circled the SUV and took his position behind the wheel.
Nydia sniffed the air as she buckled her seat belt. “Your car still has a new-car smell.”
“That’s because it’s new. I bought it a couple of months ago. My old Volvo had more than one hundred thousand miles, and even though it was still running I decided it was time to buy another with updated safety features.” He punched the start-engine button and backed out of the space. “How did yourpastelesturn out?”
Nydia shifted on her seat and met his eyes when he glanced at her. “They were delicious. I saved a few for you. I’ll give them to you after we come back.”
“Thank you so much! Who taught you to make them?”
“My grandmother. The year I turned ten, Abuelita said it was time I learned to cook. Makingpasteleswas always a family affair that included my mother and aunts. Initially I was given the task of going to the supermarket and buying the onions, peppers, garlic, cilantro, culantro,ajices dulces, and tomatoes for the sofrito. Abuelita wanted me to recognize all of the ingredients that went into making it.
“Once she trusted me enough to use a knife without losing a finger, I chopped everything and put it into a food processor. Then she would grade me after spooning a tiny portion into the palm of her hand and tasting it. It took a couple of attempts before she gave me her approval.
When I graduated to peelingyautiaandcalabazaI was ready to literally throw in the towel because the skins are so hard to remove. However, in the end, all of the labor-intensive work was worth it, because thepasteleswere delicious.”
“How many did you make, and how long did it take to teach your friend?”
“She caught on easily because she’s a professional chef. But it took nearly four hours to make about one hundred.”
“Why so many?”
“Tonya plans to offer them on her Caribbean night menu once she opens her restaurant at the DuPont Inn. If they become a hit with their customers, then she and Gage will make them regular items.”
Lamar tapped a button on the steering wheel and tuned the satellite radio to a station featuring soft jazz as he left the central business district and drove in a northerly direction along Canal Street to Canal Boulevard. “Where did you grow up in New York?” he asked Nydia after a comfortable silence.
