How Much I Feel - Marie Force Page 0,58
with her husband. He owns the car service company that took me and my friends to prom. Of course she wants to know about the handsome man I’ve brought with me today.
“This is Jason.” I hold up two fingers, and she gets busy making two of my usual.
“Is he single and looking to mingle?”
“No, he isn’t.” Jason gives me that panty-melting look he ought to trademark because it’s that effective.
“So it’s like that, is it?” Juanita smiles at me over her shoulder as she works her levers and valves. Like everyone around here, she knows my story and takes an interest in anything I do. Such is my lot in life. In our community, when a young widow starts dating again, it’s big news. Hell, everything is big news in our community. My mother jokes that we’re outstanding at minding each other’s business.
Juanita brings two steaming cups to the counter and goes back for two of the buttery pieces of heaven that’ve contributed to my curves. I give her a ten and two ones.
In Spanish, she says, “Bring him back again soon. He’s easy on the eyes.”
“Is he? I haven’t noticed.”
She snorts with laughter. “Sure, you haven’t. You go, girl. It’s time.”
I offer her a small smile and a nod and then join Jason back at the car. We get in to drink the coffee.
He takes a bite of the pastelito. “Oh my God. What is this pastry?”
“First, you never call it ‘pastry.’ It’s pastelito.”
“It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my entire life.”
“Try the cortadito.”
He takes a sip and moans.
I flash a smug smile. “Told ya.”
We eat and drink in companionable silence.
“I can’t believe we bought this at a gas station window. Starbucks has nothing on this place.”
“I know, right?”
“You’re going to have to teach me how to make this coffee so I can have it every day for the rest of my life.”
“I can show you, but mine is nowhere near as good as Juanita’s. I don’t know what the hell she does inside that little shack of hers, but it’s magical.”
“I’m a convert.”
“Her grandparents fled Cuba in fifty-nine, too. My grandmother knew her grandmother in Havana. They were in school together.”
“Does everyone know everyone else around here?”
“The long-established families in Little Havana tend to know each other, at least the grandparents do, but the rest of us don’t know everyone. Although my family knows almost everyone because of the restaurant.” I glance at the clock, which is edging closer to eight thirty. “We should get to the clinic. You’re due to start in half an hour.”
He turns the key, and Priscilla roars to life. Before he puts the car in reverse, he looks over at me. “In case I forget to tell you, I appreciate all of this. Even if it doesn’t work—”
“It’ll work. They’d be crazy not to want you on our staff. We’ve still got twelve days to show them that. Try not to worry. We’re going to make this happen.”
“You make me believe it.”
“You can believe it. We’re doing everything we can and then some.”
He shifts the car into gear and follows my directions. “I’d be losing my shit without you helping me. Thank you. I truly mean it.”
“I’m enjoying it. All of it.”
“Don’t talk about ‘all of it’ until later when we can do something about it.”
“Do something about what?” I ask with pretend nonchalance.
The look he gives me is nothing short of incendiary. It scorches every inch of me and leaves me with no doubt whatsoever of what’ll happen the next time we’re alone together.
A twinge of apprehension works its way through me. What if I’ve forgotten how? What if I panic at the last minute or—
His hand covers mine, infusing me with his warmth. “Stop fretting. Nothing will happen between us unless or until you want it to. You’re the boss in every way.”
I melt into the leather seat, moved nearly to tears by his insightful comment. He gets it. He really gets it. Other men I’ve dated didn’t have the first inkling of what it’s like to suffer a loss like mine. They tried to be sensitive, but most of them were ham-handed clods when it came to navigating the emotional minefield that comes with dating a widow.
In the online support group of widows I belong to, people post stories about their dating disasters and some of the hilarity that ensues. Every so often, someone will post about their first significant relationship after the big loss.
Will Jason be that