“Thanks, Gage. I appreciate that.”
“Yeah, Gage,” Savannah coos. “We appreciate that.” I snort, turning around and hopping off my bar stool, crashing into a wall of muscle.
I almost fall back when an arm stops my descent, holding me tight, pressed against his hard, chiseled chest. I lean in, gravitating forward, as my nails press into him, grabbing for purchase. I jolt at the sensation as I look up and catch sight of those blue eyes that stared me down at the diner. His eyes narrow, and he lets me go before I can stand upright, regaining my footing.
“You should be careful where you’re going, mi cariño.” He leans in like he’s going to tell me a secret only meant for my ears. His warm breath caresses my cheek, contradicting his icy blue eyes that narrow in on me like a hunter targeting his prey that he’s now backed up against the bar. They almost smolder like the steam wafting from the most delicious cup of coffee as he stares me down. My breath hitches, and my lips part slightly. I want to say something, but being this close to him short-circuits my brain. I’m confused because I don’t know what that word he called me means, but I feel sure it must be an insult because his muscles tense as he says it. And God, are there muscles underneath that tight tee that hugs his pecs much like the tension that hugs the air between us?
I don’t engage or acknowledge his comment, but instead, I walk off and search for the nearest toilet. When I return, composed and ready to give him a piece of my mind, I search the bar for him, but he is nowhere to be found, and Savannah is now kissing Gage behind the bar.
Fuck my life.
CHAPTER TEN
“Fuck my life,” I mumble under my breath, but my mom hears it with her laser-sharp hearing. I walk to the cabinet and shake the bottle, finding it almost empty. I frown, opening it and retrieving a couple of antacids. “Oh God, I hope it’s not an ulcer.” I clutch my upper abdomen.
She waves her hand, dismissing my antics. “You are too young to be worrying like this. You do too much.” She tsks. “Have you heard from?—”
“Don’t bring her name up, please, Amá.” I look around for my little angel, but she returned to her room to finish coloring her drawing. Like my mother, she has the same inherited bat-like hearing skills. “We don’t know when she will be around for her supervised visitation.” I glance at the clock and noticeI still have a little time after breakfast this morning. “Honestly, Catalina hasn’t even asked.”
My mom frowns, making the sign of the cross and mumbling something under her breath before turning around to fold the remaining clothes in the hamper. I start to load the dishwasher, but I’m quickly interrupted by someone snapping to get my attention. My head pops up, searching for the sound.
“Leave it,” she commands. “I’ll get it after you leave for work.” I place the pan back in the sink, arms up like I was caught red-handed, and walk away. Má always cooks good food when she is here, but all those spices do not help the queasy feeling in my gut that now churns from all the increased acidic bile that threatens to appear if I bend over or hiccup. I’m glad I don’t have to bend to load the dishwasher after all.
Looking back at my má, I find her facial expression softens, and she walks toward me. I hate the look in her eyes. I don’t want anyone’s pity for my life choices. Those were mine and mine alone. I don’t know if I regret it because it gave me the most wonderful gift—my daughter, Catalina. From the moment I held her at the hospital, I knew there was nothing I wouldn’t do to protect this little girl. I’d give her all I could and more.
“Amá, you shouldn’t have to stay here to help.” I avert my eyes from hers. “I feel bad.”
She places her hand on my cheek, looking up at me. “Mijo, I love taking care of my granddaughter. It is no trouble at all.” My mother has been staying with us since I started this new job last week. I had a couple of weeks off, but couldn’t put off work any longer. “Any hits from the post you placed for a nanny?” she inquires. I frown, thinking about the couple of women who came to interview. The most qualified one is a teenage girl who didn’t have reliable transportation because she wasn’t old enough to drive.
“The options are limited,” is my reply. She continues folding Catalina’s clothes, and I feel like I’m undoubtedly a failure. I’m exhausted, and with work and taking care of Catalina, I’ve been falling asleep when she does, around eight o’clock, and waking at five. I still feel unrested.
“Mijo, you are too stressed. Why don’t you go out to havedrinks with the guys after work?”
I contemplate the offer, and the more I think about it, the more appealing it sounds. I nod. “You know what, Má? I think that it might be good for me to get to know my crew a little better. They have been asking me to go and hang out with them. I have to be up early tomorrow for Catalina’s t-ball game, so it shouldn’t be a late night,” I inform her, but she just shrugs.
“Not a problem if you want to stay out, mijo. I’m here until you find someone.” She picks up the hamper and walks to Catalina’s room to put away her folded laundry.
“What about Apá?”
She snorts. “Your dad is a grown man who can care for himself.” She pauses. “Plus, I like it when I’m away. When I return, I swear he appreciates me just a little bit more.” She winks and walks off. I can’t help but chuckle. I think that’s where Catalina gets her sass. It’s hard to remember any redeeming qualities about my ex, except that she provides half of my daughter's DNA. She also broke my heart, so there’s that.
I shout “Bye, girls!” as I walk toward the door. “Bye!” is shouted in unison at my departure as I close the door behind me and leave for work.
The job site isn’t far today. I’m working on a lake house renovation, which consists mainly of the decking around the back and down the steps leading to the dock. I find myself pausing multiple times during the day to take in the view and wonder what it would be like to own a house on the lake. I could shoot off fireworks with Catalina and maybe drink my coffee out on the deck while reading a sports blog about all New England sports teams.
Obtaining the permits for this job took some time. The homeowners were frustrated by the delay, but as a structural engineer, it is my responsibility to work closely with the town to ensure the blueprints are accurate and that the remodel they requested would be structurally sound, safe, and able to withstand the elements. The home sits on a one-acre lot, featuring a deck set against stone retaining walls and walkways accented with granite steps. Large pavers are interwoven sporadically along the walkways, leading to the dock, with a small sandy patch nestledalong the water on the lower level.
This project is a big deal for my company, and I am committed to ensuring everything runs smoothly by enhancing the structural integrity of the existing building. I plan to build my bank account with the promise of good pay and future job opportunities, most of which will come through word-of-mouth, a common practice in this line of work. I want people to say, “He is reliable, trustworthy, and honest.” Those are the qualities clients look for in a contractor. They want someone who can tell them what to expect and show up every day. I’ve lost count of how many jobs I have had to step in and finish because another contractor took half a payment and never completed the job. It gives us a bad name. I’m still mulling that over when I hear Luc’s voice behind me.
“Manny, are you coming out with us tonight?” I turn to Luc, who is walking toward me, his tool belt slung across his arm. I nod, and his eyes widen. “No way. Ha!” He turns to yell at another employee, Luis, coming this way, as we are all loading up our trucks to get out of here. Luis hands Luc a twenty-dollar bill. “I told you I would get him to cave in at some point.” Luc gloats, while Luis shakes his head and walks away.
“Alright, I’ll see you there. I’m going to run home and shower quickly, then meet up with you guys.”
“First round is on me,” Luc says as he places his twenty-dollar bill in his wallet.
“Did all you fuckers bet on me not coming out tonight?” I ask Luc, a little irritated.
“Correction,” Luc says, raising a finger in the air. “I bet you’d come out tonight, and I’m glad you are. You won’t be disappointed.”
