by Marie Force
Sure, we can do that. Or I can cook at my place.
That sounds good, too. I like the idea of meeting her in private and having the chance to spend time alone with her. Ever since I threw the perfect game, I’ve been getting a lot of national press, and there’s a possibility of someone recognizing me if we go out in public. I’d hate that, and I’m almost sure she would, too.
Everly is coming, right?
I’m coming with the team from Tampa. She and my parents are flying in on Saturday morning.
Ah, I see. So just us, then.
Is that ok?
Yes, of course. Looking forward to seeing you.
Same. I want to tell her I miss her so much, but I don’t say that. I can’t say that, even if it’s true. Maybe I’ll tell her when I see her next Friday night.
God, how will I stand to wait another week?
Chapter 8
MARIA
After a torturously slow week, I leave work on the Friday of Austin’s arrival and drive to the restaurant to pick up the takeout meal I ordered earlier. I’m an okay cook, but there’s no way I’m risking disaster tonight, even if it means answering a million questions from my family about who I’m having over.
It’s bad enough that everyone is coming to the game tomorrow, after my dad spilled the beans about the team’s plans to honor me.
“As if we’d ever miss it,” Abuela said when I told them they didn’t have to come.
Even though Dee, Nico, Milo and I aren’t technically her grandchildren, Abuela has never missed an important event in our lives. Why would I expect her to start now?
I park in the back of Giordino’s and duck in through the back door, going directly to the kitchen, where I find my uncle Vincent packing up a to-go order.
“Hi there.”
“Oh, hi, honey. This is yours. Just waiting on some fresh bread out of the oven for you.”
“Thank you so much.” I pull out my wallet.
“This one’s on me, sweetie.”
“You don’t have to do that!”
“I know I don’t, but I want to, so you have to let me.”
“Thank you, but next time, I’m paying.”
“We’ll fight about that then.”
I go up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “You’re the best.”
“How you feeling?”
I’ve been asked that question a hundred times by every member of my family since I took two days out of work last week. “I’m fine. Back to normal.” That isn’t true, but it’s what he needs to hear.
“That’s good news. We were worried about you.” One of the prep cooks brings over the bread wrapped in foil. Uncle Vin adds it to the brown bag. “And with that, my dear, you’re all set.”
“Thanks again, Uncle V.”
“I hope you have a lovely evening, honey. I’ll see you at the game tomorrow.”
I grimace at the reminder of what I agreed to do, questioning the wisdom of that for the nine hundredth time since Austin first asked me if I’d be willing. “I’ll be there.”
I’m on my way to a clean getaway when Abuela comes in the back door, eyes my takeout bag and lifts her gaze to my face. “Who you buying dinner for?”
“A friend from out of town.”
“What friends do you have from out of town?”
Amused, I kiss her cheek as I breeze by her. “No one you know. See you tomorrow!”
Hurrying, I stash the food in the back seat and get in my car, eager to get out of there before anyone else can try to figure out my plans. Yes, I could’ve ordered from somewhere else, but I wanted the best for Austin, and to get the best, I had to come to Giordino’s. I pull out of the parking lot and breathe a sigh of relief that the inquisition wasn’t worse.
My phone rings, and I take the call from Carmen on my Bluetooth. She’s the only one I’ve told about my plans for tonight. I assume Jason knows, too, but he didn’t say anything when I saw him at the clinic yesterday.
“How you holding up?” she asks.
“I’m doing all right. Just picked up dinner from your dad, and I’m headed home now.”
“Did you decide what to wear?”
“I’m doing jeans with the black off-the-shoulder shirt.”
“I like that shirt. You look hot in it.”
“I’m not trying to look hot.”
“Why the hell not? You’re having dinner with a hot guy who you really like.”
“Do we need to go through this again?”
“No, we don’t,” she says, sounding defeated. I know how she feels. “What time does he land?”
“Around four.”
“What time is he coming over?”
“We haven’t set a time yet. He said he’d text when they land.”
“I want you to know that I heard what you said about all the reasons this can’t happen. I heard you, and I understand why you feel the way you do. It’s just that if this guy is ‘the one,’ Mari, do whatever it takes to make it work. Just go for it.”
Her sweet words go straight to my overcommitted heart. “Easier said than done.”
“Of course it is, but what’s worse? Taking a gigantic risk or spending the rest of your life wishing you’d had the balls to try?”
The question cuts straight to the crux of the torturous dilemma that’s grown and multiplied with every passing day since I cut things off with him. It hasn’t gotten easier with time. It’s gotten much, much worse, and I’m actually terrified about what’ll happen when I meet him in person.
“I hear you, and I appreciate what you’re saying.”
“Good luck tonight. Text me later if you need me.”
“You guys have the thing at the hospital tonight.” Carmen and Jason are attending a black-tie benefit that Carmen has been working on for weeks.
“I’ll have my phone close by. If you need me, text. I mean it.”
“I will. Thanks. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I disconnect the call and pull into my driveway a few minutes later. When I get inside, I transfer dinner to casserole dishes and put them in the oven on warm. Then I hit the shower and redo my makeup, using waterproof mascara because I expect this could be an emotional evening.
Austin texts me at four fifty. Just landed and headed to the hotel. What time do you want to get together and where am I going?
Do you want me to pick you up?
No need. I can grab a car.
I send him my address. I’m in the garage apartment in the back. Come whenever you want. I’m home.
Sounds good. I’ll text when I’m on the way.
I send a thumbs-up emoji, but only because they haven’t yet created the combo swoon, top of head blowing off, blushing, bug-eyed emoji to sum up how I’m feeling right now. I finish getting ready and strap on chunky-heeled, open-toed black sandals and check myself in the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door. If you ask me, I have way too much ass and a cup size more boob than I’d prefer, but guys seem to like what I’ve got going on. And besides, this night isn’t about impressing anyone.
“You’re so full of shit, it’s not even funny,” I tell my reflection.
Disgusted with myself and sick of my own thoughts, I go into the kitchen and pour a glass of Chardonnay. If there was ever a time for liquid courage, this is it.
An hour later, Austin texts that he’s on his way, and Uber is saying he’s twenty minutes away.
It’s a good thing he’ll be here soon, because I’m almost through my second glass of wine. I turn on the outside light and go to the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth so I don’t get him drunk with my wine breath.
I wish I could calm the hell down, but every part of me is on full alert as twenty minutes becomes ten and then five, and then I see headlights in the driveway, and he’s here. I go to the door to wait for him and watch him come up the stairs. He looks up, sees me waiting for him and smiles. In the two seconds before he reaches the top step, I realize I’ve made a huge mistake
allowing myself to meet him.
AUSTIN
This has been the longest day. Hell, it’s been the longest week I’ve had since Ev got sick and time seemed to stand still for months on end. Counting down the days until I could see Maria reminded me of being a kid waiting for Christmas. Only, finally seeing her is way, way, way more exciting than any Christmas I’ve ever had.
Of course I already knew she was beautiful, but she’s even more so in person. She opens the door and greets me with a shy, tentative smile that tells me I’m not the only one who’s nervous about tonight.
On the short flight to Miami from Tampa, I gave myself a talking-to about staying cool when I meet the woman who saved my daughter’s life. But all that is forgotten when the moment is upon me, and all I can think about is the amazing gift she gave me—and Everly.
“Could I, um, hug you?”
Again with that shy smile that does wonderous things to her gorgeous face. “Sure.”
We come together in a hug for the ages. It’s smooth and easy, as if we’ve been hugging for years, and she fits in my arms like she belongs there. Everything about her appeals to me, but the physical attraction is secondary to what I know about who she is on the inside.
Neither of us is in any hurry to let go.
“I know I’ve said it a hundred times already, but thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Such simple words to represent the greatest gift anyone has ever given me.
When we finally pull back, we both have tears in our eyes.
She laughs as she contends with hers. “We’re a mess.”
“You could never be a mess.” I can’t stop staring at her. I’m so damned happy to finally see her, to be with her. I want to bury my face in that mane of dark curls and just breathe in the rich scent of her until I satisfy my craving. I suspect that’ll take a while.
“Come in,” she says.
That’s when I realize I made it a foot inside her door before hugging her. Way to play it cool, AJ. I follow her into the big, open room that serves as a combined living room and kitchen. “Something smells good.”
“I cheated and picked up dinner from the restaurant. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I ordered a few things to share if that’s okay.”
“Of course. I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble.”
She glances at me, still seeming adorably shy. “I made a phone call to my uncle.”
I laugh, and she seems to relax a little. At least I hope so. I don’t want her to be nervous around me.
“What can I get you to drink? I have beer, wine, soda, water.”
“I’ll have a beer, please.”
She gets a bottle of Sam Adams out of the fridge and opens it for me. “Glass?”
“Nah, it comes in one.”
“True.”
Maria refills the wineglass she already had going and sits next to me at the bar, where she’s put out some crackers and dip. “Giordino’s famous spinach and artichoke dip,” she says. “You have to try it.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” I dip a cracker into the dip and take a bite. The rich flavor explodes on my tongue. “Holy crap, that’s good.”
“Right?”
I have another cracker full of the amazing dip. “Did you take one for the team by going to the restaurant to pick up dinner for two?”
“How’d you guess?”
“I’m honored that you took such a big risk for me.”
“I wanted you to have the best of Miami, and to do that, I had to go home to Giordino’s. But it wasn’t too bad. I only saw Uncle Vin and Abuela.”
“That’s Carmen’s dad and her grandmother, right?”
“Yes,” she says, seeming impressed.
“I’ve reread our emails a thousand times. I think I have them memorized by now.”
“Me, too,” she says softly.
I’m not sure what compels me to reach for her hand, to link my fingers with hers, but the need to touch her is overwhelming.
She looks down at our joined hands, her face flushing with color that only makes her more adorable—and sexy. She’s curvy and sweet and beautiful and…
Slow your roll, AJ. She put a stop to this for reasons that still exist.
“Is this okay?” I ask.
“It’s okay, but I have to be honest that I’m a little freaked out by all this.”
I turn on my stool to fully face her. “All what?”
“You. This.” She squeezes my hand, and that’s all it takes to make me hard for her. “It’s a bit overwhelming.”
“For me, too. I don’t want you to think this is something I do all the time. It isn’t. I’ve never talked to anyone the way I’ve talked to you.”
“Me, either.”
Hearing that settles something in me, and I begin to relax, too.
“You can’t eat the dip if you’re holding my hand,” she says.
“Watch this.” I put down my beer and use my right hand to take another cracker full of the delicious dip and then chase it with a sip of beer before waggling my brows at her suggestively. “I’m good with my hands.”
The comment succeeds in making her laugh and blush again, both of which are quickly becoming my favorite things to do.
“What happened in Seattle?”
I wince. “You saw that, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“You happened.”
“What? What does that mean?”
“After we talked that night when I was in Detroit and agreed we shouldn’t continue this, I was really screwed up.”
“I was, too.” She looks up at me with beautiful brown eyes. “I called out sick to work the next two days. I’ve never done that before.”
With my free hand, I reach out to cup her face. Her skin is silky soft, and I want so badly to kiss her, I burn from the need that overtakes me in a tsunami of emotions I’ve never experienced before. Not like this. “Maria…”
“I, um, I should check on dinner.”
I pull back from her and release her hand, even though it’s the last thing in the world I want to do. But more than anything, I don’t want to hurt this sweet, precious woman who did such a big thing for my daughter. So I let her go, take a deep breath and try to get myself settled. I have to follow her lead. She’s the one who said this couldn’t happen, and I have to respect her wishes.
Even if I want her with every fiber of my being.
MARIA
I’m dying. He was going to kiss me just now, and I wanted him to. I wanted it more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. So much for calling a halt to this thing between us. Ten minutes in his presence, and I’m holding his hand and trying not to kiss him.
I can’t kiss him. Hugging him was bad enough—in the best possible way.
When I open the oven, a blast of heat hits me in the face and forces me to think about something other than how much I want to kiss Austin Jacobs. And you know what’s really not fair? That he’s even hotter in person than he is on TV. I thought he couldn’t get any hotter than he is in his uniform, but wearing an untucked dress shirt with sleeves rolled up over muscular forearms and jeans that hug all the right places, he’s a thousand times sexier in person.
Not to mention the groove that appears in his right cheek when he smiles or the subtle hint of cologne that makes me want to get closer so I can further investigate the appealing scent or the tattoos that cover his forearms. The whole package—from how he looks, to how he dresses, to how he smells, added to what I already know about him—is almost more than I can handle.
The cheese on the lasagna and chicken Parm is bubbling, which means it’s ready. I grab pot holders and hot pads and remove the dishes from the oven, placing them on the bar. My place is too small for a table and chairs, so the bar is my table. Serving dinner gives me something to do besides want to kiss Austin.
You can’t kiss him, no matter what, because if you do that, this is going to get worse than it alread
y is. Remember those two days you were in bed crying because you couldn’t talk to him? How will you feel when you can’t kiss him anymore because he’s gone home to Baltimore, which is hundreds of miles from here?
I grab the bread, salad and another beer for Austin and bring everything to the counter.
That’s when I realize I forgot plates and silverware. Some kind of waitress I am. I fetch what we need and join him at the bar.
Serving spoons. We need them, too. I jump back up to get them. “You’d think I’ve never done this before.”
“I’m not thinking anything but how good that looks—and smells.”
“I should warn you that this meal will ruin you for Italian anywhere else. People come from all over for this.”
“Wow, now I really can’t wait.”
I serve him some of both dishes and divide the salad into bowls. “The house Italian dressing is my favorite.”
When he takes a bite of the lasagna, his moan travels all the way through me to land in a throb between my legs.
Awesome, I think as I cross my legs. Now I’m getting turned on by him eating. Think of something else to focus on, will you, please? My better judgment is turning out to be a huge pain in my ass. “Is Everly excited about her trip to Miami?”
“So excited.”
“Does she know why you guys are coming?”
He takes a sip of beer, wipes his mouth and nods. “I told her we’re going to meet the wonderful lady who helped her get better. And that we’re very happy to meet her because she did such a nice thing for us.”
“Do you think she understands?”
“Not really. She’s been on airplanes before and loves to fly, so that’s the headline in her world. But I hope you know—”
I put my hand on his arm. “I know. I get it. She’s three. Thankfully, she’ll never remember any of it.”
