“Isaac.” Her tone is gentle. Almost apologetic. “I’ve been in Brazil.”
My hands still. Not the answer I was expecting. “Oh.”
“Yeah, we did a month of filming there,” she says carefully, as if gauging my reaction. “It was amazing.”
“So . . .” She hasn’t been avoiding me, or moving on to someone new. Not that she owes me anything, let alone an explanation. What we did was impulsive. Reckless. Fucking hot as hell. I lift my gaze to hers.
“Yeah?” Her lips curve with the start of a smile and she raises her brow.
Wanna come in the back? When can I see you again? Stupid, impossible desires take root in my mind and bloom into the kind of hope I used to believe in. Before life and responsibility drop kicked me a new one. She wouldn’t want me—not for anything more than a quickie—would she? Deep down the truth threatens to steal my confidence. I have nothing to offer a woman like Cora. Not what she deserves, yet—I want her anyway. “Do you maybe want to grab dinner?”
Her eyebrows shoot up at my question. “Now?”
I laugh and shake my head. “I’ll feed you now if you’re still hungry. We have coffee cake and muffins.” I flash her a grin but my gaze drifts down to my hands. “But no, I was thinking just the two of us.” A date. “Someplace where neither of us is employed.” I lift my gaze, praying to find hers full of interest.
“Are you asking me out?” She smiles, calling me out on my roundabout invitation.
“Yeah.” I press my lips together, bracing myself for the sting of possible rejection. I probably shouldn’t ask, but I have to know. “Is that okay?”
Her fingertip traces the rim of her coffee mug, and she studies my face a long moment. “Yeah. Actually.”
“Okay.” I’m smiling like a fool. I know I am, but she is, too. We trade glances and my chest fills with anticipation. “How about tomorrow? After work?”
“That’s perfect.”
“Good. Good. I would really like that.”
“I would too.” She laughs, setting her mug down and circling a hand in the air. “I mean, obviously. I said yes.” She’s adorable, and maybe even a little nervous. I like that I’m not the only one affected by the attraction between us. “How do you feel about Mexican food?”
I bite back the urge to laugh.
“Oh, God.” She slams her eyes shut, covering her face with her hand. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”
Now I do laugh. “Hey, it’s okay.” I drag her hand away from her face. “I am Mexican, so I grew up on it, that’s all.”
She shakes her head, her cheeks pink with the stain of her blush. “Yeah, well, that’s not why I suggested it.”
“I appreciate that.” I pat her hand and think of all the assumptions people tend to make because of my skin color. Like when a stranger expects I speak fluent Spanish. Or the time I showed up for a volunteer opportunity back in college and the person working registration assumed I was the landscaper, not a student. So many microaggressions I’m all too familiar with. But Cora’s never done that. She’s always treated me as an equal. Maybe that’s why I have no inhibitions sharing with her. “My father’s family is from Mexico. His grandparents were immigrants. But my mother’s family has been in the U.S. for generations. Mostly from Mexico, although her great-great-great”—I pause, squinting as I make sure I have it right—“great grandparents were from Barcelona. And well, although we’ve never been to Spain, my tías and mamá have always made us proud of those roots too.”
“That’s amazing. I don’t even know where my family comes from.” She taps her fingers along the countertop with nervous energy. “I’ve always wanted to do one of those ancestry kits, you know?” She glances at her arms, a golden tan, but still lighter than my skin. “I’ve always wondered which countries I have ties to.”
“Your parents don’t know?” My brows lift with surprise. I can’t imagine not knowing that.
A flash of sadness passes over her, gone as fast as it appears. “We never really talk about it and I’ve never asked.” She shrugs, and reaches back to pull her hair down from its messy bun. She tosses the golden blonde tresses to one side, then plays with the ends. “So, about this date? The reason I asked about Mexican food is because one of my friends opened a place in Burbank. It’s not super fancy, but my God, they serve the best pozole.” She flashes me a soft smile, working her hair into a braid. “And the guac is to die for. So, maybe we could go there?”
“Sure. Want to meet there? After you’re done with work, I mean.” Tuesdays I have class in the afternoon, then pick up David from daycare. I won’t be near Burbank, but it’s close to Americana Studios. “I have something I need to check.” Like begging my sister to watch my son. That, and I don’t even own a car to pick her up. If I time it right, I can take the bus. “But we can figure it out tomorrow. I’ll call you.”
“Perfect.” Her smile grows. “You’ll need my number.”
“Yeah.”
“Here.” She digs in her bag and pulls out her cell, sliding it over. “Put your number in and text yourself.”
I take her phone and do just that, glancing up to find her watching me with a big ol’ grin on her lips. Lips I wish I could kiss this very second.
The bell at the door jingles with the arrival of two customers and I’m pulled back to work. Cora sticks around, but our opportunity for private conversation is over. Especially when a group of giggling high school girls enters next.
“Bye, Isaac.” Cora flashes a smile and tosses a reluctant wave.
I raise my hand, and the promise of tomorrow sweetens her departure. “Later.”
Later, when there’s finally a lull in customers, I do something against policy. I sneak into the back and retrieve my phone. Watching the front door from the security video monitor on the wall, I tap on my saved contacts and bring the phone to my ear. It rings twice before loud, thumping party music blares in my ear. I pull it away from my face to make sure I hit the right contact. “Marlena?”
“What do you need, Isaac?” There’s a slam of a door and the background music disappears. She’s out partying on a Monday night? Is that why she asked if Becca could watch Isaac tonight? I can’t believe Mamá and Papá would stand for that, if they even know.
I shake my head, focusing on the task at hand. My sister’s personal life isn’t my concern. She’s a grown woman. “How do you know I need something? Maybe I’m calling to see how you are?”
“I saw you this morning.” Her sigh is not amused. “And it’s almost midnight. Is everything okay with David? Becca’s okay?” Our younger sister isn’t as comfortable watching David, especially when he has a meltdown.
“They’re fine. It’s not about that. I need a favor.”
She laughs. “Knew it.”
Fuck. She’s going to give me so much shit. But there’s no one else I can ask, and I really don’t want to pass up this opportunity. “Can you come over tomorrow?”