Finally, he said, “Mamita, you’re a little crazy.”
Maybe I was.
But I was also on a mission.
“Do I get to paint your living room?” I asked.
He sighed then rested his forehead against mine. This time, he kept it there.
Then it was his turn to give in. “Just not pink.”
“I’m not going to paint your living room pink!” I yelled, pulling my head away. “I can’t believe you’d even think that.”
At my outburst, his face went warm and, for some bizarre reason, he muttered, “Will of f**kin’ steel.”
“What?” I asked.
“Shit keeps comin’ at you. Bad shit. Rape, your mother’s murder, arson, kidnapping and you’re standin’ here wantin’ to paint my living room. You got a will of f**kin’ steel.”
I didn’t know what to say to that so I didn’t say anything but Hector did.
“And before you ask, mi corazón, that’s good,” he told me quietly.
My belly went into melt mode, he touched his lips to mine, soft, sweet and way too short.
I decided to change the subject from my “will of steel” (even though I liked that he thought that about me, it felt good).
“I need to talk to you about what Jerry and my father said.”
“You had breakfast?”
“Jerry gave me a bowl of cereal.”
He let me go, stepped away but curled his arm around my neck and headed us to the door.
“I’ll feed you, you tell me then we’ll go to Home Depot, get you some paint.”
I smiled at him. I couldn’t help it because there it was again.
I had a trauma.
I survived it.
Then Hector made life better again.
I stopped our progress to the door by planting my feet, putting a hand to his stomach and pressing into his side. I leaned up on tiptoes and, this time, I touched my mouth to his.
“Thanks, babe,” I said softly against his mouth.
At my words, I watched, close up, as his eyes flared, he curled me fully to his front, his mouth came down on mine and he gave me a kiss that was so far from a touch on the lips, it wasn’t even funny.
When he was done, he lifted his head. I was leaned into him, arms around him, unable to hold myself up and he had that possessive look in his eye.
“There she is,” he whispered.
“Who?” I asked.
“My Sadie.”