Funny, for all my self-control, my pulse doesn’t care about patience.
Rosa glances toward the decanter. “So this is what we do while we wait? Stare at the wine?”
“We talk.” I lean toward her. “Or pretend not to think about kissing again.”
Her mouth curves. “Maybe both.”
I shake my head. “You surprise me, Rosa Delgado.”
“Good. I like surprising people who think they’ve figured me out.”
I watch her, the playfulness in her voice catching somewhere deep. “I didn’t expect you to be…”
She tips her head, cautious. “What?”
“Funny. Self-depreciating. Gorgeous. Someone I can’t stop thinking about.”
Doubt flickers in her eyes. “You’re notseriouslytrying to flatter me.”
I shake my head. “No, of course not.”
“Uhh.” She exhales, half laugh, half warning. “You barelyknowme, Santiago.”
“I know what happens to my heart when I look at you,” I admit quietly. “I haven’t been able to stop reliving every moment of our flight.”
She hides her face behind her hand. “You’re trouble.”
“Probably.” I take her hand and move it away. “Maybe thegoodkind?”
Her laughter fills the small room, rich and unguarded. When it fades, she studies me. “How old are you, anyway, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Forty-five,” I say. “And you?”
“Thirty-three.” She swirls the decanter absently. “You’ve achieved a lot at such a young age. You seemto have balance. My sister says I work too much to have a life. She might be right.”
“If I remember from our plane conversation, she’s the one who just got married?”
She nods. “Marcella. She’s a lawyer and used to be a workaholic. Until she met her husband, Seamus. He’s a surgeon, eight years younger. Now she’s full of advice about balance between love and work.”
I lift an eyebrow. “You sound unconvinced.”
“She means well.” Rosa fiddles with the hem of her dress. “I don’ t have a point of reference. I’ve never had a serious relationship, unfortunately. A few attempts. Turns out, I’m usually terrible at reading the situation.”
I shake my head. “I bet if you thought about it, your gut knew. I find it hard to believe your instincts are so off. You read flavor better than anyone I’ve ever known.”
“It’s not the same.”
“It’s close,” I insist. “It’s mostly about trusting yourself and your instincts.”
She hesitates. “I guess you have a point. For me it’s easier with food. Iknowwhat to do with food. With people? Not so much.”
“Anyone would be lucky to be with you,Rosa.”
Her eyes flick to mine, uncertain. “Well, thank you. I haven’t…donethisin a while.”
“What’s a while?”
Her lips press together. “Ummm. Embarrassingly, years.”
