She smiles lazily. “I already miss you,” she answers. “I’m getting right up…” She trails off, her body contradicting her words as she turns around, slowly melting deeper into the pillow. A grin spreads as I watch her for one heartbeat longer. Then I leave her there and exit her bedroom door as quietly as possible, trying my damnedest not to make a sound in the hallway, as I go to grab us that breakfast I promised.
I already placed the order at the Bagel Café, so it’s a quick trip, and before I know it, I’m back in her kitchen, brewing the coffee along with my churning wayward thoughts. As I think back to the night we shared, I can’t help but remember her reaction to the question about her parents. She said “Never,” and to me, that sounds like they died, or something bad happened where they aren’t returning. Not like, I’m disowned or I don’t talk to them. The finality with which she said that word caused her pain, and I’m willing to bet that it wasn’t that long ago. It seems fresh, and I can understand that. I have yet to unpack all the trauma with my ex.
I grab a couple of mugs from the shelf and laugh at the one I’m holding. It’s teal green and says,Pretending to Listen. I scoff and place it back, grabbing the matching set that says,I’m weird, andI love weird.
“Perfect.” I think this fits us. I place them on the counter and pour each cup full of piping hot coffee. The steam curls up from the mugs as I grab her flavored oat milk and put it in the frother. I have seen her do this, and she even has the same one at my house. I almost spit my coffee out when she took out her portable frother from her purse and whisked her non-dairy milk before me.
What I first thought was presumptuous, I find endearing, or maybe my feelings are changing for this woman in a way I didn’t expect. She has managed to break through my high defenses and penetrate through the tiniest crack in my exterior, cracking it wide open. As if my soul calls to hers, she appears there in the doorway, her hip leaning against the wooden beam of her craftsman-style home. She watches me, biting her bottom lip, and I want to do nothing more than bend her over that sofa in the living area and take her from behind. As if reading my mind, her eyes widen and she laughs.
She shakes with the effort it takes to suppress a laugh, but fails miserably. “Maybe later,” she teases, her voice laced with promise, before pushing off the wooden beam and sauntering my way. Her hips sway, knowing that I’m watching her seductive act as she goes to the kitchen island to see what I brought. When she spots the bagels I got us, her steps hurry, seduction gone in favor of hunger.
“Bagel Café?” Her eyes light up as she picks one out of the bag, steam still wafting from the freshness of the recently baked sourdough. “I love this place.” She pulls it apart and places a small piece in her mouth. “Reminds me of a Jersey-style bagel.” She stuffs a larger piece into her mouth this time as she continues to speak. “They are the best.” Her voice is muffled. I pick up her mug with froth on top and hand it to her. She smiles. “Aw, you remembered.” When she looks at me like this, I feel like I have won a prize.
“Of course, mi cariño.” She fucking beams at my Spanish term of endearment. “I remember everything when it comes to you.” I mean it more than I should at this point, but it’s true. Her brows scrunch, and I can tell there is a question coming.
“Manny?” And there it is.
“Yeah, baby?” She takes a slow sip of her coffee, and when her tongue slips out to catch the froth from her lip, I nearly choke onmy drink. I curse under my breath. Her brows rise in question. “Nothing, continue what you were saying.” I need to control myself. My daughter could come walking in at any moment and I haven’t had the talk with her yet about what this thing with Nadia is starting to mean. If it progresses, then we can have a chat with Catalina, but maybe?—
“Why did you call me mi cariño that time at the bar?” She bites her bottom lip, like she already regrets asking, but I can tell that she already wants to ask me more.
My mind stops reeling when she asks me about that. It was an accident, a mere slip, but one that I felt deep in my bones. I was wondering when she was going to bring that up. Mi cariño, mi amor, mi vida. They are all words that feel too big for this stage of whatever we’re in, yet all of those things I associate with her are just a different way to express how I feel about her. My sweetheart, my love, my life. They are all hers because when I envision us together, it isn’t just a possibility, it’s a promise. I sensed it, and it’s why I had to fight it, because I knew that even though my ex gutted me at her leaving us, maybe even cheating on me, this woman has the potential to rip my life apart. Not just me, but also my daughter. And that is the part that I fear the most, because my daughter is already falling for her, too.
“Are you ready for another truth, baby?” She pulls up a chair at the island, slides into it, and makes herself comfortable.
“Yes,” she says reluctantly. “Tell me.” Her eyes show vulnerability that I readily want to push away.
I nod, ready to get it all out and anything else she wants to know. I blow out a breath. Okay, here it goes. “That time at the bar when I saw you for the second or maybe third time…” I pause, averting my eyes from hers. “I…I thought you might be stalking me.” There, I said it. I hang my head in shame. But I swing it back up at the snort that comes out of Nadia.
“Oh, my God, you did not!” she says, laughing. Bagel particles fly out of her mouth as I watch in horror. Why does she still look cute, even now? Oh, damn, I have it bad. I stifle a moan, my hand covering my face as I place it down, shaking with my own stupidity.
“I know. I know,” I say. “I get it, but you don’t understand. Ihad that woman, Sylvie, stalking me, and I just thought…” I see her stiffen, and I need to know what's wrong. It’s the same type of posture she made yesterday. Is there a connection? Oh, fuck no. I walk over to her, bending at her side. I place my hands on her cheeks, pulling her face to look up at me. “Baby, what’s wrong?” I ask with concern etched on every muscle, and I need to know how to make her smile again.
“It’s nothing,” she says softly, and I know she’s lying. She won’t even look at me.
“Nope, you need to tell me what it is. When I mentioned that she-devil’s name, you got upset. I saw it. What happened? Did she tell you something?” She looks up at me and I know that bitch said something to her. “Tell me now. What did she say?”
She sighs like the thought of telling me pains her. I can’t even imagine. She runs her hand over her face before she meets my gaze once again. “She told me about your hookup.” She braces herself for whatever it is I am going to say, but rage consumes me.
“The fuck I did.” Her eyes shoot back up to me, hope blooming in her eyes.
“You didn’t do anything with her?” she asks, hopeful, and I can’t lie. Although I didn’t sleep with her, I might have. I’ll never be happy that Catalina was sick that night, but I’m grateful that I had to leave before I made a mistake. Drowning in my grief made me lack good judgment. She must see the guilt on my face, because her shoulders drop and she pulls into herself.
“I never slept with that woman. I did kiss her and maybe a little more, but nothing like I did with you.” While she doesn’t seem to like it, she is happy that I didn’t fuck that woman, and I am, too.
“That was a bad night,” she says, looking at me. “She told me some terrible things about Parker, too.”
“What things?” I ask, because I had forgotten all about that guy. I try not to show my jealousy, but I must do a piss-poor job at it because she immediately sets my mind at ease.
“First of all, Parker is just a friend. We did not have a romantic relationship. He was pining for his ex, and while I didn’t know it until that horrific woman told me they were making out, I left upset, not because I was mad that Parker was back with his ex, butbecause of what she did with you.” I move closer to her.
I realize I never told her my truth. “You wanted to know why I called you that at the bar?” She nods, so I continue. “It was because I see myself when I look into your eyes. The same sadness and loneliness I felt. It was like looking at the same side of a coin—my mirror image. I was drawn to you. Maybe like a moth to a flame. You know that it could burn you, but you are just drawn to it, so damn close, and think fuck the consequences.”
We stand there, looking into each other’s eyes, and all that we don’t say is conveyed in the briefest of kisses before I force myself to back away. I groan at the time. “I have to get to work, as much as I don’t want to, mi amor. But let’s get Catalina up, huh? I’d like to say goodbye before I leave.”
I hold my hand out to her, and she stands, smiling up at me. As I walk to wake up my daughter hand in hand with this woman at my side, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to do this every day. I refuse to get my hopes up because this is only for the summer, and good things don’t last. At least, not for me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
