“Of course not, I’m the mother of his children,” she said and I was surprised she did that without gasping in shock that I’d suggest such a thing out loud.
Again, I fought back a smile. “Was he into PDA when you met?”
She leaned in to me, holding my eyes, “John Priest is not Manuel Cabrera.”
She could say that again. Not that Manuel wasn’t attractive and sweet, he just wasn’t a huge, hot guy, badass.
She looked to the door then to me and I didn’t like the expression on her face when I regained her eyes.
“I have a bad feeling about this, Cassidy.”
I didn’t like that either.
“Milagros—” I started but she shook her head.
“He’s very handsome. He’s good with the children. He’s respectful. But there’s just something…” she paused, took a breath, and finished, “off about him.”
At that moment I vowed that my next best friend was going to be blind, deaf, and learning disabled.
I got closer to her. “Honey, he’s a good guy.”
“You seem certain.” This was said in a way that shared she was not.
“I am.”
“How?” she demanded to know.
“Because he fixed my gutters.”
She leaned back. She got that. I’d been going it alone for a long time, but more, she knew there weren’t many men who would fix their new girlfriend’s gutters.
“And he thinks I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and he’s told me that,” I continued. “Often,” I stressed. “He likes my cooking. When he was away the last time, he didn’t eat or sleep on his way back and it took two days to get to me.”
She pulled in a soft breath at that, but I wasn’t done
“Because he likes sitting on my porch with me. Because he listens to me when I babble and when I say that, I mean he listens to me. Because, when I talk to him about the cabins, he gives good advice. Because, when I have a situation at Glacier Lily—which he was there during what happened a couple of months ago, honey—he’s present but he doesn’t take over. He lets me run my business and defers to me. Because he knows I can take care of myself but he’s made it clear I need to budge on that because the man he is, he can’t not take care of me. Because he’s beautiful. And because I feel like I conquered the world just when I make him smile, but when I make him laugh, I feel like I could do anything.”
“You’re falling in love,” she said softly.
“Yes,” I replied softly.
She held my eyes then did the sign of the cross, put her fingers to her lips, looked to the ceiling, and started talking to God in Spanish.
Since God was multi-lingual, I let her deliver her message, standing there quiet while she did.
Finally, she stopped talking to God and looked back to me.
“If he travels, how can he be there to take care of you at the cabins?”
Suffice it to say I wasn’t falling in love with Milagros. I’d fallen, head over heels. Her concern that was based in love and affection was one of the many reasons why.
I got closer, took her hand, and pulled it up between us.
“He does what he does and I have to let him do it. I can take care of myself when he’s away and I know you worry, but I can. I have been for six years. But it’s nice to know that he’ll be back to help me with the gutters. I haven’t had that, Milagros, ever. And I really, really like it now that I know just how good it feels.”
“And this is okay with him?” she asked. “Leaving you to take care of yourself?”
“No, that’s why he bought me pepper spray—four cans —a Taser, a stun gun, and a dog.”