Beautiful Mine

by Jordyn White

  The elevator dings and the doors open. Neither one of us moves. My heart is thumping in anticipation. “Do we?”

  “Yes. You’re about to go your way and I’m about to go mine, but clearly the universe thinks we need to talk some more.”

  Thump, thump, thump. Now it’s my turn to give a slow smile. “The universe, huh?”

  “Okay.” He grins. “It’s me. I think we should talk more.”

  The doors slide closed and we both ignore them. We’re just leaning against the back wall, giving each other smiles that have an edge of heat under them. “So, Whitney,” and damn but I do like the way my name sounds on his lips. “Are you game for dinner?”

  I might just be game for anything, I think, but what I say is, “Sure, Connor. I’m game.”

  After discussing options with the hotel’s concierge, we settle on a little restaurant just a few blocks away but still off the beaten path. It’s a favorite of the locals, something Connor specifically requested.

  We’re walking along a side street, away from the heavy activity of the busy streets we’ve left behind. His nearness is as stimulating as it’s been all along, if not more so. The physical attraction is a little startling, actually. But now that I’m out of the magic bubble of the elevator, my previous reservations come back to me: his involvement in the disturbing conversation I heard, and the fact that this is fleeting, whatever this is.

  Part of me just wants to enjoy the flirtation and not worry. What does it matter anyway, if it’s temporary? I can live with temporary.

  In fact, I’ll have to. Connor’s already going to be part of my Camino memories. There’s no preventing that now.

  But if he’s the kind of guy who has so much disdain for women, do I really want to be doing this? Whatever this is? It’s the last little thing giving me pause.

  “So,” I say, trying to sound casual, “those guys I saw you with before. Are they friends of yours?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. We met on the trail, but didn’t talk much.”

  “But you talked some?”

  He doesn’t answer right away. He’s giving me a searching look. I try to keep my expression light. I don’t want to accuse him of anything. I just have to know what he thought about what I heard, and if he was participating.

  “They were being assholes,” he says firmly. “The little I heard was more than enough.”

  Relief floods through me so strongly I have to wonder at myself. I didn’t realize how important it was to hear him say what he just said. I shouldn’t care so much. I barely know him. I could end this little outing any time, if I needed to, and go about my merry way.

  But I’m glad I don’t need to. Really glad.

  “I was kind of hoping you were going to go all gangsta on their asses though,” he says, and I laugh. “You looked like you wanted to.”

  “I did. I thought you were part of it.”

  “No fucking way. I don’t get guys like that. Don’t they have mothers?”

  Damn, now he’s making my heart go all squishy. I know it should be a given, but there’s still something so endearing about a man who genuinely respects women. “Your mom wouldn’t let you talk like that, huh?”

  “It’s not just that. It would never occur to me to talk about women like that. I mean, how can you have women in your life and not realize they’re amazing?”

  “Your mom must be pretty cool,” I say, and he nods. “You said you have a sister too, right?”

  “You may as well throw my cousin into the mix. She’s practically a sister.”

  “So three awesome women in your life and you’re convinced we’re all amazing,” I tease.

  He gives me a most delicious sideways glance. “Aren’t you?”

  The heat from that look spreads through my body and blooms on my cheeks. Damn, this guy. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

  We’re approaching a small intersection and he smiles at me before glancing at the signs. “I have no doubt. Here, it’s this way.” He points, indicating we need to turn to the right, and puts his hand on the small of my back to guide me, just for an instant. It’s not creepy or too much. In fact, it’s just right, and gets my chest fluttering.

  “So where are you in the family line up?” I ask, keeping my eyes on him more than on the sidewalk in front of me. I notice he’s doing the same thing.

  “My brother Rayce is three years older than me, then Lizzy’s next. She’s two years older.”

  “You’re the baby, then?” How adorable.

  He groans. “Yeah. They still like to rub it in, too. But Corrine is younger than me. Does that count?” He looks so hopeful, I have to laugh.

  “Wait, is that your cousin? Was she raised with you?”

  “No, but she lived nearby for most of the time we were growing up so we spent a lot of time together. Plus,” he raises a finger like he’s making a point, “she lived with us for a bit when we were in college.”

  I play along. “Hmmm, maybe that counts since you guys both lived at home when you went to college.”

  “Well...” he says, slowly, like he doesn’t want to say whatever comes next. “We were just home for breaks,” he admits quickly, and I laugh. “But we were both working for my folks, so...”

  I shake my head. “I think you’re pushing it. You really don’t like being the youngest, do you?”

  “I’ve been accused of that a time or two.”

  We come to a corner and stop, looking at the street signs. “Wait a minute...” I think back to the directions we’d been given. “Did we go too far?”

  He seems confused too, and looks back in the direction we just came. “Ah, yeah.” He points. There it is: the deep purple sign with white script. We’d walked right by it.

  We look at each other and start laughing.

  “Whoops,” I say, as we head back. “Maybe we should pay better attention.”

  “You’d better stop being so distractingly beautiful then.”

  I glance at him. He didn’t say it like a slick compliment, but rather a simple statement of fact. He’s still half-laughing at our mishap, actually, and I can’t help but feel flattered by his off-handed sincerity. It’s nice to feel pretty, too, since my no-makeup-hiking-boot-Camino style is about as plain as it gets. I feel anything but plain around him though.

  We make it back to the restaurant, a tiny little alcove of a place with a dark, alluring color scheme, glass jars with candles on the tables, and an aroma that gets my mouth watering. It’s not very busy—we’re well ahead of the dinner rush since people here eat so late—but it does seem to be a place for locals since there’s not a pilgrim or tourist in sight.

  As we settle at a table in a back corner, I have to wonder if the hotel concierge sent us to such a romantic atmosphere on purpose. I guess we were kind of giving each other looks when we were at the desk.

  Connor’s giving me another such look right now. It gets a heat going, deep in my core. And he’s so fucking scrumptious. Seriously, looks this good aren’t even fair to normal humans.

  At this point I want to just rest my chin in my hands and take him all in.

  Oh, god. Take him in. I should not have thought those words because my mind’s in a completely different place now.

  I straighten, grab the menu, and hope I’m not blushing too much. I glance at him and he winks at me before turning to his own menu. If he keeps poking me with those winks of his, I’m going to have to ask him to poke me with something else.

  I try to focus on the menu and soon realize I’ll have to rely on my rudimentary Spanish for this one. “I can read maybe a quarter of this.”

  “I can help if you want.” Connor glances at my menu. “I’m fluent.”

  “Are you? Have you spent much time in Spain?”

  “Yes, some. I also took Spanish in school, but I figured out pretty quickly it’s a little different here than what we learned in class.”

  “I’ve noticed that too. I just took one year though, so it’s been in
teresting. I tried to refresh my memory before I left, but...” I wave at the menu helplessly.

  “Here.” He puts his menu down and gently turns mine so we can both look at it together. He leans in closer. I do too. “These are the soups and salads.” He points, going down the list. I’m not looking at the menu though. I’m facing it, because I don’t want to be too obvious, but I’m looking at his face.

  As I take in the angle of his brow, his soft lashes, the way the candlelight flickers over his skin... I’m back to wondering again. He glances at me briefly, then realizing what he saw, looks again. I could’ve quickly dropped my eyes to the menu and pretended I wasn’t watching him, but I don’t. He keeps his eyes on mine and I let our gaze linger, faces close, flame dancing quietly nearby.

  A moment passes. It’s short. Just a moment. But in that moment, whatever draw we’ve been feeling toward one another mingles with something deeper. I think about what he said earlier, about the universe wanting us to talk more. Does it? Because something’s happening here, for sure.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see the waiter approaching. We both glance at him, then lean back in our chairs, still watching one another.

  The waiter asks a question in Spanish and I pick up enough to know that he’s asking if we’re ready to order.

  I think Connor’s about to send the waiter away since we haven’t finished going through the menu yet, but I’m feeling bold and up for anything. “Surprise me.”

  He gives that half-smile of his and my heartbeat thickens. He quickly glances through the rest of the menu, then places our order in what sounds like flawless Spanish. The waiter nods and collects our menus. We hold a silent gaze for a moment longer, then he leans closer, one forearm on the table, and asks quietly, “What brought you to the Camino, Whitney? Was it all you’d hoped?”

  “More.” So much more. “I’m so glad I’m doing this.” He’s listening, really listening, making it easy to want to share. “It wasn’t a spiritual thing, exactly. It was just something I’d always wanted to do but never had the guts to do. And...” I shrug. “Life’s been a little unbalanced lately.”

  “How so?”

  We pause as the waiter brings two glasses and a bottle of wine. He and Connor talk for a minute, and the waiter gracefully pops the cork and brings the end to each of us so we can smell the bouquet. They’re both talking so rapidly I catch only a few words, but after our glasses are poured and the waiter leaves, Connor explains that he asked them to select the wine based on our entrees.

  I take a sip, enjoying the full, robust taste. It’s amazing. Something I’ve learned about Spain is they definitely know their wine.

  In spite of the interruption, our previous mood has been altered only slightly. “You were saying you feel unbalanced...” Connor prompts, leaning in again, and the intimacy of our conversation is restored.

  “Yes. Sometimes. My life kind of revolves around my work. I don’t mind it, mostly.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a placement specialist for the Kendrick Refugee Outreach Center, there in San Francisco. We find homes for orphaned refugees.”

  His eyebrows raise. “No kidding. That’s great.”

  I nod. “I really love it.” And I do. If only it weren’t so heartbreaking so often.

  He’s watching me carefully. “But?”

  I let out a small laugh. “Yeah. Okay. I do love it, but sometimes it’s really hard. It just... hurts to see those kids hurting. You know?”

  He nods, listening.

  “My boss keeps telling me that I get too attached to the kids we serve. She sees what it’s doing to me. I’ve tried, but man, some of these kids are so sweet. It’s hard not to care about what they’re going through.”

  It weighs on me more than it should. It’s the reason there’s an old lady in me, to tell the truth. But what I do also makes me feel needed and I’m good at it.

  “The work we do is rewarding, but... I wish it didn’t hurt,” I confess. “I know that sounds terrible.”

  “It doesn’t sound terrible.”

  “Plus, I’m kind of afraid to close my heart too much. I mean, what if I start putting up walls and can’t stop and then I become one of those people who doesn’t care about anything? There are people like that in the system. I see them, and I get it. If you care too much, it can really tear you up. They’re just trying to protect themselves. I don’t blame them. But I still don’t want to be that person, even though I’m getting all torn up. You know?” I didn’t mean to say all that. It just came out.

  “You sound like my mom.” He nods, like he really does understand. “She has a big heart too.”

  I smile. I like that that’s what he sees. It makes it sound nicer than it sometimes feels.

  “She’s had that kind of struggle, too. She says she tries to remember what she can control, and what she can’t. Instead of not caring about the stuff she can’t control, she tries to care most about the stuff she can.”

  I like the feel of that, and it makes sense. The stuff I hurt about the most is the stuff I can’t control: the tragedies these kids have already seen, the fact that they have to start over in a strange new world and struggle with grief, and language barriers, and culture shock. I don’t want them to have to go through any of that, but I can’t change it. And, ultimately, it’s okay that I care. I’ve already decided that.

  But if I try to focus my caring on what I can do—trying to place them with a good family, and directing that family toward resources that can help them with the other stuff... Well, that’s the part that always feels good. That’s the part I live for.

  I smile at him and he smiles back. “That’s a nice perspective. I think your mom’s right.”

  “She usually is. But don’t tell her I said that.”

  I laugh. “Want to see some pictures of my kids?”

  For a second he gets this stunned look on his face, then he says, “Oh! The kids you help.”

  I nod, laughing. “Yeah, definitely no kids of my own yet. These are good enough for now.” I pull out my phone. I haven’t had service for most of the walk, but I’ve taken plenty of photos and have checked in with my parents when I’ve been in the big cities, something I’ve yet to do here in Santiago.

  I flip to the album I keep for work and start going through it, Connor and I leaning close together again so he can see. Mostly it’s me posing with the kids, or with their newly-formed families. I’m sure it all looks the same to him and probably isn’t that interesting, but his willingness to look and listen only adds to his attractiveness.

  I tell him their names and ages, where they’re from and where they are now. Most are scattered all over central and northern California but I have a few living in Oregon too. I linger a little longer on the kids I really got attached to, the ones I still keep tabs on even though that’s “outside my job scope,” as my boss would say.

  “Since these aren’t my real kids, I don’t feel guilty about admitting I have favorites.” Connor smiles broadly. If he’s bored, he’s hiding it well. “This one, Nadim, is my very favorite. I placed him with a childless couple down in Swan Pointe. They’re really neat people. I really like them, but Nadim I love.”

  My heart squeezes at the sight of him. In the picture, his face is right next to mine because when I knelt down to take the picture with him, he threw his arms around my neck and hugged me so tight through the whole thing.

  “He’s a pretty cute kid.”

  “So danged cute. And he always has this big smile on his face. That actually made me worry about him at first. ” I lower the phone a bit and we look at one another, staying close. “I mean, he lost his whole family. I was concerned he was maybe blocking things and urged his adoptive parents to get him into counseling right away, which they did. He seems to be doing okay though. He has his moments and it’s been plenty hard for him too. But he’s really doing great, all things considered. He’s even on a Little League team and has picked it right up. He’s one of
their top batters.”

  I feel like I’m bragging about my own kid, which I know some people can find annoying, but Connor just grins at me.

  “I know he’s going to carry what he’s been through for the rest of his life, and we can’t help that. But... I think he’s a success story too, and I don’t know that it’s because of anything we’ve done. I’ve thought about him a lot and I think he’s just a strong kid. He smiles so much in spite of everything because that’s how he copes and because...” I hesitate, not wanting to repeat the words Connor just said to me, but it’s true. “Because he just naturally has a big heart.”

  “See?” Connor lays his hand on my wrist and squeezes gently. “A big heart’s not so bad after all.”

  I want to lay my hand on his. In fact, I want to lean right in and give this man a kiss. But the waiter comes with our food, and we have to sit back again to give him room.

  I smile, taking in the aroma of the dishes on the table. Steak medallions for Connor and what looks like salmon on a bed of black rice for me. “I’m glad Nadim didn’t lose that big heart. After everything.”

  “Me too.”

  “So what is all this?”

  “Seared salmon,” Connor says, gesturing to my plate.

  “Mmm. Good choice.”

  “And tenderloin cutlets with herbed potato slices.” He indicates his own plate.

  “Wow. That sounds good, too.”

  “That’s what I thought. I was hoping we could share a taste?”

  “Great idea.”

  We each start cutting a bite of our food. “Thanks for indulging me. With the pictures, I mean.”

  “Not at all.” He gives me an amused look, like he hadn’t done anything extraordinary to deserve thanks. Maybe he didn’t. But there’s too much bad in the world not to appreciate good things and good people when you come across them.

  He finishes cutting and brings his fork across the table to me, offering me the first bite. I smile and take it, our eyes holding for a moment, the heat rising in me again, and the delicious flavor of the tender meat and its tangy sauce bursting on my tongue.