“You say that now.”
He covers my hand with his and looks at me with affection and humor in his gaze. “I heard what you said before about timing and complications and whatnot. But I want you to know . . . When I got to the hospital yesterday and found out they weren’t exactly rolling out the red carpet for me, I nearly had a heart attack. I’ve put years of hard work into my career, sacrificed so much, and the possibility that it could be taken from me because of a vindictive woman . . .”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “But then I got the message that the lovely young woman who greeted me when I arrived was in trouble with my car and needed me to come to the police station. I was so thankful to have an excuse to get the hell out of that hospital. The minute I saw you sitting in that cell, I felt better. The turbulence inside me calmed when we started talking about how we might turn this thing around. You did that for me. After everything that happened with Ginger, I would’ve thought it impossible to feel anything for another woman, especially so soon after that disaster. But you . . .” He shrugs. “I feel something for you, Carmen, and I think you might feel it, too.”
I want to deny it. I want to go back to who I was yesterday morning when I didn’t know this man existed. I was safe then. Nothing bad can happen if you don’t put yourself out there. I can hear Abuela reminding me that nothing good can happen, either. Life is a risk, she says. Love is a risk. It’s all a risk, and the people who have the courage to take the leap are the ones who’re most richly rewarded.
And devastated when it ends. I can’t ever forget about that.
I lick lips that went dry as I listened to him and tried to process what he was saying. “I do.” I take a deep breath. Courage, Carmen. “Feel something.”
“And you aren’t sure you want that, am I right?”
I nod.
“I’m not sure I want it, either. I need to be one thousand percent focused on my career and fixing the disaster. And yet I find myself enjoying every minute I get to spend with you.” He gives my hand a squeeze. “All I want is to spend more time with you.”
“They’ll take one look at us, and they’ll know . . .” I lick my lips again. “That there’s something . . .”
“Okay.” He looks at me for a long moment that ends when his gaze shifts to my mouth.
I realize he wants to kiss me and that I want him to. I want that very much. But not here and not now. I clear my throat and look away from him, unnerved by the intensity of the connection I feel with him. It’s not the same as it was with Tony. That connection began with close friendship and grew into something wonderful and comfortable over a period of years. This is something altogether different. It has the potential to be cataclysmic if I allow it to be.
His stomach growls, breaking the tension as we laugh.
“I’m starving.”
“So I heard.” I glance at Giordino’s and then at him. “Let’s get you fed to within an inch of your life.”
“I’m down with that.”
We get out of the car and wait for a break in the traffic to cross the street. This place is as familiar to me as anywhere in the world, and as I walk through the doors into the rich scents and usual chaos, it feels like something big has changed. But the change hasn’t occurred in the restaurant, which is the same as it’s always been. The change is happening within me, and it’s all due to the gorgeous man who follows me inside.
As usual, we’re doing a bustling lunch business on both sides of the restaurant, but I’m relieved to see that the bar in the middle is mostly empty.
“Carmen!” My mother lets out a shriek and comes to hug me, as if she hasn’t seen me in months when in fact I was here two days ago for brunch, during which everyone toasted me and my new job.
She steps back from me, taking a measuring look at my face. “Why are you here in the middle of the workday? Did something happen?”
“Did you get fired?” my father asks when he joins us.
“I did not get fired.” I probably would’ve gotten fired if my boss knew about what really happened yesterday, but thankfully he doesn’t. I hug them both and then gesture to Jason. “This is Dr. Jason Northrup. He’s new to the staff at Miami-Dade, and I was asked to help him find a place to live and to show him around.”
My parents look at him and then at me and then at him again. I swear to God they can see everything that’s happened between us from the second we met, or so it seems to me.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Dr. Northrup.” My mother shakes his hand with the reverence she usually reserves for celebrities. “Welcome to our humble establishment.”
I want to roll my eyes at her ridiculousness. At just over five feet tall—and the “just over” part is very important to her—she’s about six inches shorter than me. In every other way, I’m her all over again.
“Please, call me Jason, Mrs. Giordino.”
“Then you must call me Vivian, and my husband is Vincent. We both answer to just V as well.” She loops her hands through his arm and tries to walk him toward the Cuban side of the house.
“We’re eating at the counter, Mami.”
My father looks at me and shakes his head at the shameless way she tries to take him to her side of the restaurant. He’s six foot two, with broad shoulders, dark hair and a handsome face that brings in the female clientele who blatantly flirt with him.
My mother encourages it because, as she says, it’s good for business and because she knows he’s hopelessly devoted to her.
“Where’re Abuela and Nona?” It’s almost unheard of that they’re not working the hostess stations during business hours.
“At the hairdresser. They’ll be back soon.”
“They went together?” That, too, is nearly unheard of.
“Nona told Abuela that her hair is blue and that she needed to go to Nona’s girl to get it fixed. They had a big fight about it until Nona wore her down.”
“Nona wore her down? Is Abuela sick? Did you take her to the doctor, Mami?”
“She’s fine. I told her Nona was right. Her hair is blue, and her lady is too old to be doing hair. The woman has cataracts the size of dinner plates that she refuses to do anything about. It’s no wonder she can’t get the color right.”
Next to me, Jason shakes with silent laughter.
“This is my life,” I tell him.
“It’s awesome.”
“Come, sit.” Dad gestures for us to take seats at the bar. He pours an ice water with a lemon wedge for me. “What can I get for you, Jason?”
“Soda water with a lime would be great.”
“Coming right up.” He gives Jason a large black leather-bound menu and pours his drink while my mother hovers nearby so she won’t miss anything.
“We thought we’d hear from you last night after your first day,” Dad says.
“I’m so sorry. I meant to call, but I got home late, and by the time I got my clothes ready for today, it was after eleven.”
His brows furrow. “Why’re they making you work so late?”
“It was Jason’s first day, too, and they wanted me to show him around. Mr. Augustino told me I’d be asked to work occasional nights when he hired me.”