“Yeah,” I chuckle. “Hope you’re ready for the in-flight circus. I call aisle seat, by the way, less risk of accidentally falling asleep on your shoulder.”
It’s a dumb joke, but she laughs softly, and I swear it eases something in my chest. We’re not back to where we were five minutes ago, but we’re not worlds apart either. And that’s something.
I let her laugh settle in my chest for a moment before I lean back into the cushions and turn slightly toward her.
“So,” I say, trying to reel us back in, “you want more ice cream?”
She shakes her head softly, eyes back on her phone. “Not right now.”
I nod, respecting the shift in her mood. Can’t blame her, I was the one who backed away like I got caught sneaking into the cookie jar. I should’ve kissed her. Why didn’t I just kiss her?
But instead of pressing, I let her steer.
“Can I ask you something, though?” she says, glancing at me.
“Always.”
“What’s it like… being Puerto Rican?”
Her question catches me off guard but in a good way. I sit up a little straighter, surprised and kind of honored that she wants to know.
“It’s amazing,” I say with a smile. “I mean, having two cultures it’s something I’ve always been proud of. Myparents made sure I knew where I came from. They’d blast salsa music on Saturdays while cleaning the house, cook arroz con gandules and pernil every chance they got. Spanish was the first language I learned, even though I was born here. I learned English when I started school and it was hard at the beginning but I am proud that I can talk both languages fluently.”
She’s watching me closely now, like she’s seeing a new piece of me.
“I liked being the only Puerto Rican in my friend group growing up,” I continue. “People never guess I’m Latino ‘cause, you know, light skin, green eyes, light brown hair. So they’d start speaking Spanish around me like I didn’t understand a damn word.”
I chuckle, remembering one particular time. “There was this girl once, at a party. She was talking with her friend about how hot I was, saying she’d climb me like a tree, like full-on thirst mode. In Spanish. I waited until she was done, walked up to her, and told her in perfect Spanish that she better bring climbing gear next time.”
Eva bursts out laughing. “You did not.”
“Oh, I absolutely did.” I grin. “Her face turnedbrightred. But hey, she got her climb later.”
She laughs again, shaking her head, but I can see her relaxing a little. That spark’s still there.
“So, you really are a ladies’ man?”
“Iusedto be the ladies’ man,” I say, emphasizing the past tense. “I was okay living my life like that. I just wanted to have fun and never lied to any of the girls I hung out with. They always knew it was just one or two nights, and then I was done. I wasn’t into relationships. I guess I liked keeping it light. No strings attached.”
“Why are you talking in the past tense?” she asks, tilting her head slightly. “Are you saying you’re not like that anymore?”
Her eyes are fixed on mine, and something about the way she’s looking at me makes it hard to keep things surface-level. I rub the back of my neck, searching for the right words. How do I tell her I’ve been trying to find something real this past year? That I’m tired of short flings and empty conversations? I don’t want to come off like I’m just feeding her a line, and I sure as hell don’t want to sound like a softie either.
So I go for the truth. Or at least part of it.
“Because I think I’m ready for something different,” I say, my voice lower now. “I had fun, but I want more in my life.”
Guess I ended up saying it all anyway. But the way she’s looking at me right now makes me want to tell her every damn secret I’ve got.
“I think it’s good to realize that,” she says softly. “It’s not easy to change that mindset, going from being the ladies’ man to aone-ladykind of man. But I think you can do it. I hope you find the perfect woman for you.”
“I hope so too,” I whisper. And God, I want to tell her that I think I might be looking at her right now. But instead, I give her a wink and say, “Besides, I’m a catch. Any woman would be lucky to have me.”
She laughs, a soft sparkle in her eyes. “That you are. Handsome, bilingual, cooks like a five-star Michelin chef, and funny. What else could a woman ask for?”
“So youdothink I’m handsome?” I tease, wiggling my eyebrows at her.
She rolls her eyes. “I wonder whythat’sthe only part you heard.”
