by Force, Marie
Speaking in both English and Spanish, the men start giving him pointers, rules and advice, arguing about the best strategies and generally confusing the hell out of him. Thankfully, Mr. Perez translates for Jason.
Despite his initial reluctance, Jason gets sucked in, asking questions and fully participating as I suspected he would. The game is loud and spirited, dominoes clicking against the table with rapid movements that have Jason struggling to keep up. I suspect that doesn’t happen to him very often, and the faces he makes are comical.
I pull out my phone and start taking photos, moving around the table for better lighting and angles.
He throws his head back and laughs at something one of the men says about another’s idiocy, giving me the money shot.
Many minutes later, he resurfaces from the game, looking around until he finds me with the phone. I’m aware of the exact second he figures out what I’m doing and why.
He flashes a warm, private smile that lights me up from within. Every part of me is aware of him and how he makes me feel just by smiling at me. Despite the fact that we’re surrounded by people, the connection between us seems intimate somehow.
“We’d love to share the photos I took on Dr. Northrup’s Instagram account. Would any of you object to being in the photos?”
“You’re a doctor?” one of the men asks.
“I am.”
“What kind?”
“A pediatric neurosurgeon.”
They’re obviously impressed. They tease him about doctors they’ve seen on TV and begin to ask about their own medical issues, one of them showing him a mole on his arm.
“You should get that looked at,” Jason says.
“See?” the man says to one of his friends in Spanish. “I told you it was bad!”
“No objections to posting the photos?” I ask again, needing to be certain.
“Nope,” Mr. Perez says as the others shake their heads.
Jason stands to leave. “Gentlemen, this has been very educational. Would you mind if I stopped by to play with you again sometime?”
“Anytime you want. We’re here most days.”
Jason shakes hands with each of the men, which impresses them. For some reason, it matters to me that they like him. “I’ll be back.”
“We’ll be here,” Mr. Perez says. “Someone’s got to keep an eye on the place.” He looks at me and winks. “Me agrada tu amigo, mija.”
“Sí, gracias.” I keep my response low-key, hoping it won’t be all over the neighborhood that I brought a man home.
“That was fun.”
“Glad you enjoyed it.”
“What did he say to you in Spanish?”
“That he likes you.”
“Will he tell everyone you brought me here?”
“I really hope not.”
“Would that be so awful?”
“It would make things complicated, and I’m not sure either of us is in a good place for complicated right now.”
“True.” He sounds disappointed, and I’m not sure how to take that. I’m thankful he doesn’t pursue it any further.
When we’re back in the car, I open Instagram and log out of my account. “We need to start an account for you. What do you want your username to be?”
“Whatever you suggest.”
“How about MiamiDoc?”
He pulls a face full of distaste. “That’s kinda douchey.”
“It’s taken by another douchey doctor. What if we do JNorthMiamiDoc? We want to make the connection between you and your career.”
“If we must.”
“We must.” I set up the account using Priscilla@0624, the date we met, as the password. For his profile photo, I use one of the pictures I took of him looking contemplative while he listened to the men explain the rules of the game. I post photos of Jason with the men, using the caption, “Getting to know my new city. Thanks to my new friends in Little Havana for showing me how to play dominoes. Can’t wait to go back to play again. #newhome #miami #littlehavana #doctor #pediatricneurosurgeon.”
Then I create a story that encourages people to follow him as he discovers his new city. I do all this in a matter of minutes. Not only do I love Instagram personally, but I took an entire class in grad school about using it for marketing purposes.
“When do I get to see this restaurant I’ve heard so much about?” Jason asks.
“Oh, um, take a left at the light.”
He follows my directions until we arrive at the restaurant on West Flagler Street.
“There she is in all her glory.” The stucco building is painted a pale yellow with green shutters and window boxes. Both the Cuban and Italian flags fly from either side of the doorway. Above the door, GIORDINO’S is carved and painted in gold leaf that my mother touches up on the first of January every year. She also personally sees to the window boxes that change with the seasons. Right now they’re filled with purple petunias and pansies.
“It looks really nice,” Jason says.
“They’re quite proud of it.”
“You should be, too.”
“Oh, I am, for sure. They’ve worked so hard to make it what it is.”
“Do they expect you to take it over someday?”
“They do, which is why I’m determined to have a career separate from the restaurant while I can.”
“You don’t want it?”
“It’s not that so much as I don’t like the idea of having no choice about it.”
“None of your cousins are interested?”
“They might be, but my parents are the owners, so it would be weird for them to skip over me in favor of my cousins, or so my father says.”
“I can see that. You could always hire a manager, you know.”
“I’ve thought of that. I hope I won’t have to think about that for many years yet. My grandmothers will seriously live forever, and my parents are in their mid-fifties. They all scoff at the idea of retiring. Nona says she wouldn’t know what to do with herself if she retired.”
“They must really love it if they have no desire to leave it.”
“They do love it.”
“Do they serve lunch?”
“Yes . . .”
“I’m kinda hungry.”
“Jason . . .” My entire system goes haywire at the thought of walking into the lion’s den with him.
There are never parking spaces available on the street, except for right now. He skillfully parallel parks and kills the engine. “I can take whatever they’re dishing out.”
I’m not sure I can take it. As he reaches for the door handle, I’m frozen in place.
He glances over at me. “It’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”
I laugh. “How can you possibly know that when you’ve never met them?”
“I’ve met you. They raised you, right?”
“Yes . . .”
“Then they must be great people, because you’re amazing.”
I hold his gaze for a long, charged moment before I look down, overwhelmed by his words and the way I feel around him—dizzy, off my game, aroused, intrigued, afraid. The last time I gave my heart to a man, it was broken into a million pieces. I just don’t know if I have it in me to go there again. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life alone, but sometimes I think that might be easier than risking the safety net I’ve built around myself since I lost Tony.
“Tell me what I need to know about them.”
CHAPTER 10
CARMEN
I’m not at all prepared to take him in there. They know me so well. They’ll take one look at me with him and know I’m attracted to him.
I swallow hard, as nervous flutters in my abdomen make me feel like a teenager in the throes of first lust. That’s exactly how this feels, as if the ground beneath me has suddenly disappeared, sending me spiraling into the unknown.
“If you don’t want me to meet them, that’s fine, too. It’s completely up to you.”
I do want them to meet him
, so I dig deep for the courage it’ll take for me to bring him in there, knowing full well what they’ll make of it. “When you meet my grandmothers, be sure to make eye contact. That’s important to them. And it’s often loud and boisterous in the restaurant. You might think something awful must be happening, but it’s just business as usual. If someone wrinkles their nose at you, they’re just asking you to elaborate on whatever you just said. They’re not saying you stink.”
He laughs at that. “Good to know.”
“Abuela, my Cuban grandmother, will invade your personal space. She’s not trying to be intimidating. That’s just how she rolls. They’re apt to kiss you, so be prepared for that, and there’s always lots of touching and whatnot. People who aren’t used to it tend to be surprised by that. My grandmothers and my parents love to complain about everything, but in reality they hate drama of any kind. They’re all talk and no action when it comes to controversial topics. What may sound like a knock-down, drag-out fight to you is just a conversation to them. Left side is Cuban. Right side is Italian. There’s a bar in the middle, and we’ll sit there to avoid showing favoritism to either side.”
His eyes light up with amusement. “I can’t wait to meet them.”
“You say that now.”
He covers my hand with his and looks at me with affection and humor in his gaze. “I heard what you said before about timing and complications and whatnot. But I want you to know . . . When I got to the hospital yesterday and found out they weren’t exactly rolling out the red carpet for me, I nearly had a heart attack. I’ve put years of hard work into my career, sacrificed so much, and the possibility that it could be taken from me because of a vindictive woman . . .”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “But then I got the message that the lovely young woman who greeted me when I arrived was in trouble with my car and needed me to come to the police station. I was so thankful to have an excuse to get the hell out of that hospital. The minute I saw you sitting in that cell, I felt better. The turbulence inside me calmed when we started talking about how we might turn this thing around. You did that for me. After everything that happened with Ginger, I would’ve thought it impossible to feel anything for another woman, especially so soon after that disaster. But you . . .” He shrugs. “I feel something for you, Carmen, and I think you might feel it, too.”
I want to deny it. I want to go back to who I was yesterday morning when I didn’t know this man existed. I was safe then. Nothing bad can happen if you don’t put yourself out there. I can hear Abuela reminding me that nothing good can happen, either. Life is a risk, she says. Love is a risk. It’s all a risk, and the people who have the courage to take the leap are the ones who’re most richly rewarded.
And devastated when it ends. I can’t ever forget about that.
I lick lips that went dry as I listened to him and tried to process what he was saying. “I do.” I take a deep breath. Courage, Carmen. “Feel something.”
“And you aren’t sure you want that, am I right?”
I nod.
“I’m not sure I want it, either. I need to be one thousand percent focused on my career and fixing the disaster. And yet I find myself enjoying every minute I get to spend with you.” He gives my hand a squeeze. “All I want is to spend more time with you.”
“They’ll take one look at us, and they’ll know . . .” I lick my lips again. “That there’s something . . .”
“Okay.” He looks at me for a long moment that ends when his gaze shifts to my mouth.
I realize he wants to kiss me and that I want him to. I want that very much. But not here and not now. I clear my throat and look away from him, unnerved by the intensity of the connection I feel with him. It’s not the same as it was with Tony. That connection began with close friendship and grew into something wonderful and comfortable over a period of years. This is something altogether different. It has the potential to be cataclysmic if I allow it to be.
His stomach growls, breaking the tension as we laugh.
“I’m starving.”
“So I heard.” I glance at Giordino’s and then at him. “Let’s get you fed to within an inch of your life.”
“I’m down with that.”
We get out of the car and wait for a break in the traffic to cross the street. This place is as familiar to me as anywhere in the world, and as I walk through the doors into the rich scents and usual chaos, it feels like something big has changed. But the change hasn’t occurred in the restaurant, which is the same as it’s always been. The change is happening within me, and it’s all due to the gorgeous man who follows me inside.
As usual, we’re doing a bustling lunch business on both sides of the restaurant, but I’m relieved to see that the bar in the middle is mostly empty.
“Carmen!” My mother lets out a shriek and comes to hug me, as if she hasn’t seen me in months when in fact I was here two days ago for brunch, during which everyone toasted me and my new job.
She steps back from me, taking a measuring look at my face. “Why are you here in the middle of the workday? Did something happen?”
“Did you get fired?” my father asks when he joins us.
“I did not get fired.” I probably would’ve gotten fired if my boss knew about what really happened yesterday, but thankfully he doesn’t. I hug them both and then gesture to Jason. “This is Dr. Jason Northrup. He’s new to the staff at Miami-Dade, and I was asked to help him find a place to live and to show him around.”
My parents look at him and then at me and then at him again. I swear to God they can see everything that’s happened between us from the second we met, or so it seems to me.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Dr. Northrup.” My mother shakes his hand with the reverence she usually reserves for celebrities. “Welcome to our humble establishment.”
I want to roll my eyes at her ridiculousness. At just over five feet tall—and the “just over” part is very important to her—she’s about six inches shorter than me. In every other way, I’m her all over again.
“Please, call me Jason, Mrs. Giordino.”
“Then you must call me Vivian, and my husband is Vincent. We both answer to just V as well.” She loops her hands through his arm and tries to walk him toward the Cuban side of the house.
“We’re eating at the counter, Mami.”
My father looks at me and shakes his head at the shameless way she tries to take him to her side of the restaurant. He’s six foot two, with broad shoulders, dark hair and a handsome face that brings in the female clientele who blatantly flirt with him.
My mother encourages it because, as she says, it’s good for business and because she knows he’s hopelessly devoted to her.
“Where’re Abuela and Nona?” It’s almost unheard of that they’re not working the hostess stations during business hours.
“At the hairdresser. They’ll be back soon.”
“They went together?” That, too, is nearly unheard of.
“Nona told Abuela that her hair is blue and that she needed to go to Nona’s girl to get it fixed. They had a big fight about it until Nona wore her down.”
“Nona wore her down? Is Abuela sick? Did you take her to the doctor, Mami?”
“She’s fine. I told her Nona was right. Her hair is blue, and her lady is too old to be doing hair. The woman has cataracts the size of dinner plates that she refuses to do anything about. It’s no wonder she can’t get the color right.”
Next to me, Jason shakes with silent laughter.
“This is my life,” I tell him.
“It’s awesome.”
“Come, sit.” Dad gestures for us to take seats at the bar. He pours an ice water with a lemon wedge for me. “What can I get for you, Jason?”
“Soda water with a lime would be great.”
“Coming right up.” He gives Jason a large black leather-bound menu and pours his drink while my mother hovers nearby so she won’t miss anything.
“We thought we’d h
ear from you last night after your first day,” Dad says.
“I’m so sorry. I meant to call, but I got home late, and by the time I got my clothes ready for today, it was after eleven.”
His brows furrow. “Why’re they making you work so late?”
“It was Jason’s first day, too, and they wanted me to show him around. Mr. Augustino told me I’d be asked to work occasional nights when he hired me.”
“But your first day.” Mami clucks with disapproval that doesn’t surprise me. If they had their way, I never would’ve gone to college or done anything other than work at the family business. I know they’re proud of all I’ve accomplished, but disappointed at the same time that I chose a different path from the one they planned for me.
“What looks good to you, Jason?” Dad asks.
“All of it. What do you recommend?”
“How about a sampler with a little of everything?”
“Including Cuban?” I ask him, raising a brow.
“Of course.” He feigns offense that I’d even ask. I roll my eyes at him, letting him know I don’t buy his act. I wouldn’t put it past him to bring only Italian food, the way my mother would bring only Cuban. Like their mothers, they’re nothing if not territorial that way.
“A sampler sounds perfect,” Jason says. “Thank you.”
Dad goes into the kitchen to give orders to both chefs, and yes, we have executive chefs for both sides of the house, while Jason takes in the signed photos of my parents with various celebrities that line the walls. Everyone from Frank Sinatra to Taylor Swift has come through our doors at one time or another. The restaurant is listed as a “must-see” on most of the Miami-area tour sites, and we see a steady stream of tourists along with our local regulars.
“Eva Perez said you were playing dominoes in the park this morning,” Mami says with a nonchalance that’s totally fake. She’s gone behind the bar to wipe the gleaming surface that doesn’t need wiping.
Honestly. I can’t make this shit up. This really is my life. “We stopped by because Jason wants to get to know his new town, and I thought he’d enjoy learning to play.”
“She said you took photos.”
“Yes, for his social media.”
