“Your Mom… cooked… for me?” I stammered.
He pul ed me into the room, closed the door and maneuvered me so my h*ps were against the counter, his hands were on them and he was close. “Yeah. She cal ed today. She wanted me to come over tonight and I told her I had plans. She asked about you, I told her and she decided to cook dinner for you.”
I blinked at him. “What did you tel her about me?” He came closer, so much closer that I had to tilt my head way back to look up at him. He bent his neck so his face was close to mine.
“I told her you were a pretty blonde with a great smile who’s workin’ two jobs and takin’ care of her disabled mother at the same time.”
My body got tense. I had an uncomfortable feeling that this was a pity dinner, maybe in more ways than one.
He felt me tense.
“Steady there, Chiquita. Mamá just knows you’re workin’
hard and you need a quiet night. After fol owin’ you around for a couple of days, I need a quiet night too. That’s al this is, she was tryin’ to be nice.”
“I don’t like people knowing about me,” I told him, my body stil stiff as a board.
“I already got that.”
We were at a standoff and just staring at each other.
Then I smel ed him and I started to slip into an Eddie Daze. My body began to relax and then it began to tingle.
“I’m hungry,” I told him, trying to shake the “Daze”.
His hand came to my jaw and his eyes got warm.
“Me too.”
He wasn’t talking about food and my bel y began to feel funny.
“We should eat,” I said.
His lips turned up at the corners and his eyes dropped to my mouth.
“Yeah, we should eat.” His voice was low and kind of hoarse and I wondered what he was thinking about eating.
hoarse and I wondered what he was thinking about eating.
I slid out from in front of him and took a mental deep breath.
“What can I do to help?” I asked, trying to sound bright and cheery.
He smiled at me, he knew exactly how he affected me and I found it perversely attractive and annoying.
He opened the wine and told me where the plates were.
His Mom had cooked homemade tamales, Spanish rice, refried beans and made a salad. The rice and beans were in a divided crock pot, the salad in the fridge and the tamales staying warm in the oven.
We piled up our plates and went to the dining room.
Eddie lived in a one-storey bungalow in Platte Park. I hadn’t taken much in the last time I was there and the night before I’d waited (more like dozed) in the truck while he packed a bag.
When he flipped the light switch I saw it was living room up front with a gorgeous tiled fireplace and a couch and armchair both built less for decoration and more for roominess, comfort and durability. To the left were two bedrooms, separated by a bath and a smal hal . The floors were hardwood and looked like they’d recently been redone. The wal s were painted a warm sage. There were no decorative touches, pictures on the wal or fancy furniture. Just a thick rug in front of the couch with a coffee table on it.
The living room led into a dining area with a beat-up wood table and ladder-back chairs, a bay window and a built-in hutch with mirrored back and glass-fronted doors.
There was nothing in the hutch.