At first, his kisses are soft, his lips caressing mine. But then his tongue penetrates my mouth and swirls over and around fervently, his hands grasping onto me with possessiveness.
I pull away and look around, afraid that one of his neighbors may interrupt us. “Hi,” I say. My fingers linger on my lips, my breathing heavy.
“I missed you,” he confesses.
“I see that,” I respond, biting my lower lip while smirking.
“Come inside.” He holds the door open for me, and I step in, slipping my booties off and placing them on the mat to my left.
When I enter the living area, I see the table set. There is a bottle of red wine in the middle of it next to a vase of red roses in full bloom, the cupped petals perfectly symmetrical. I place my pockabook onto the end table, opening it in search of a cloth to wipe my glasses. Once they’re clean, I drop it back in my bag.
“Everything looks nice, and these flowers are gorgeous.”
“For you.”
“Thank you, that was sweet. Want me to pour us some wine?”
“That would be good. Then I can call the restaurant to order. One of my guys will bring it to us.”
“Great. I eat pretty much everything—except no veal and no swordfish.”
“Okay. I’ll order a few things to share. A caprese salad, and bucatini all’ amatriciana. Do you prefer involtini di pollo or grilled lamb?”
“Let’s do the chicken.” I pad over to the dining table to open the bottle of wine while Massimo calls in the order. I pour, swirl, sniff, and sip it. It’s delicious.
When he’s finished, he saunters over, and I hand him his glass.
The melody of the music streaming through the speakers is hauntingly beautiful, and I ask, “What are we listening to?”
“Andrea Bocelli’s ‘Aria: The Opera Album.’ It’s one of my mother’s favorites, and it grew on me.”
“I’d never take you as a guy who likes opera.”
“I’d never take you as a girl who likes Rocky.”
I purse my lips and nod before turning toward the balcony’s sliding doors. “Can I open it, go outside?” My hand is resting on the handle.
He strides toward me, stands flush at my back, and murmurs, “The answer is always yes,” softly at my ear. It sends shivers down my spine. With his left hand, he covers mine with his, unlocks the door, and slides it to the right, opening it.
It’s the tail end of the day; the sky is changing colors as the sun sets behind the city skyline. It’s so peaceful out here. I rest my arms on the railing, taking in the deep oranges across the horizon and hiding behind the tall buildings. “What an amazing view.” The city’s skyscrapers fill the sky to the right, with the Boston Harbor extending wide across. In the distance to my left, Logan Airport’s control tower stands tall. “Do you come out here often?”
“No. I work too much.”
I glance at him. “But you must take a day off at least once a week, no?”
He shrugs. “Not really. I took last night and tonight off to be with you but haven’t had a full day off in months. Between the restaurant and helping my parents, I’m always busy. It’s good to have my head occupied though, keeps me out of trouble.”
“You’re definitely trouble. It’s written all over here.” I lift my hand to touch his face, swiping my thumb across his right cheek. I begin leaning into him, wanting to taste him and press my lips to his, jutting my tongue out in search of his, and he complies. Our tongues twist and swirl, deepening our kiss, but his phone ringing interrupts us.
“Sorry,” he says, his breathing heavy. “It might be our dinner. Otherwise, I wouldn’t even have the phone on me.” He checks his phone and then answers it. When he hangs up, he says, “I’m going to meet Kevin downstairs and bring everything up.”
“Do you want me to help you?”
“No, I’m good. You relax. I’ll be right back,” he says and jogs out toward the door. I linger on the balcony, taking in the last few minutes of dusk, enjoying the brisk air. My fingers rub my swollen lips, remembering his kisses. I would give anything to have an apartment as sweet as this one. I’d sit out on this balcony every day, the weather permitting; enjoy my coffee; and read my books. It’s heaven. If things continue as they’ve been, I may be able to do just that. I really like him and hope we’re not rushing only to realize he’s too good to be true. I’m not ready to have my heart broken again, and I know he would shatter it.
“I’m back.” I hear him say.
Massimo pulls the DVDs from the entertainment center and drops them onto the coffee table, and we sit on the couch to relax.
“Oh, you have all five movies.”
“My brother and I used to watch these movies all the time growing up. We’d love catching them on TV back in the day.”
“Ah, the good ole days.”
“Which one do you want to watch?”
“All of them, but let’s start with the first.” At that, he rewards me with a crescent-shaped smile.
“Yo, Lena, let’s do this.” He winks and gets up to put in the movie.
CHAPTER 6
Noche Buena
MARIALENA
Two Months Later
“BABE, WHAT SHOULD WE do for Christmas this year? It’ll be our first together,” Massimo asks.
“What do you usually do?” I respond.
“I’m with my parents on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. What about you?”
“Christmas Eve, or Noche Buena as we call it, is the big night for my family,” I begin telling him. “We celebrate that night more than Christmas Day. We usually go to my Tio Ramon’s house for Noche Buena; his house is known as the party house. Christmas Day, we go to my parents’ house to open gifts and have an early dinner. We keep it chill.”
“Do you want to do the twenty-fourth with your family, and we can have Christmas Day with mine?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
I load the car with the gifts I have for my aunts, uncles, and cousins. My mom is making the potato salad to take, and she asked me to make coquito. Earlier this week, when I was making it, Massimo came over to hang out. He was curious about the drink since he’d never seen it. Puerto Rican egg nog was the easiest way for me to explain it. Coconut milk, sweetened condensed milk, evaporated milk, egg yolks, rum, and cinnamon. It’s my father’s recipe. I hope everyone likes it as much as they like my dad’s, although his is undoubtedly better than mine.
When he backs out of my driveway, Massimo asks, “Where in Cambridge are we going so I know which way to go?”
“Broadway, near Kendall Square. I usually take the Pike and get off at the Allston-Brighton exit.” I’m searching the radio for some music and stop when I hear *NSYNC singing “It’s Gonna Be Me” and crank up the volume. As he’s driving, Massimo is stealing glimpses to watch me sing along, trying to hide his smirk.
When the song ends, he turns the volume down and says, “You and your boy bands.” He chuckles.