by Rebecca Shea
After my bath, I spend an ungodly amount of time getting ready for dinner. I change into a floral print shift dress and curl my hair so that it hangs long and wavy. I touch up my makeup and slip my feet into a pair of wedge sandals.
The condo is silent, but I know I’m being watched, evidenced by the security cameras all over the place. I try not to look suspicious, so I keep my normal routine, stopping by the refrigerator for a bottle of water, playing around on my phone, then slipping out the front door. I shake my head when I think that Alex probably knows my every move and that’s why he hasn’t called or responded to my text. Between the security cameras and Andres, he has to know every move I make. It angers me that he’s not considerate enough to address my concern for him in return.
The downtown streets are emptying out for the evening, and it’s not long before I sense Andres nearby. I don’t bother to look over my shoulder anymore—I know he’s there. I follow the same path I always do to Café Au Lait. Pulling open the front door, I step into the dimly lit café. It looks so different in the evening; peaceful, actually. The lights are turned down, the music is less upbeat, more calming. The place is full of students studying and people on their laptops.
I see Holly behind the counter with her bright red hair and porcelain skin. We met briefly yesterday as I was leaving and she was coming in. “Hi, Holly,” I greet her.
She smiles widely. “Hi, Emilia. What brings you here?”
“I think I left my cell here this afternoon. Have you seen it?” I feel bad lying to Holly, but I need to create a distraction so I can lose Andres.
“I haven’t. You might want to check Megan’s office. If Jax found it, he may have put it on her desk.” She nods to the closed door of the backroom that doubles as Megan’s office. A couple people line up at the counter, and I set my wallet down to help her, still stalling for time.
“Here.” I step out of the way. “I’ll ring them up, you make coffee.” I smile at her. I ring up the two customers and glance out the front window, finding Andres in his normal position. Perfect.
“You’re all set,” I tell her when the line has dwindled. “I’m just going to check the back for my phone, and I’ll let myself out the back door.”
“Sounds good. Thanks for the help, Emilia.”
I give her a goodbye wave and step into the dark office. Flipping on the lights, I close the door behind me, and push open the alley door. A blast of heat hits me in the face and I squint against my dry eyes. If I go right, I’ll end up on the main street again where Andres will see me. Going left will take me a couple blocks over without being noticed. I follow the map on my phone and find I’m six blocks away from the Mexican restaurant where I’m meeting Sam.
Two wooden doors adorn the entrance. They appear to be hand carved and heavy, with large, iron hinges holding them in place. How quaint. I wait for Sam outside the entrance on an intricate bench that matches the doors. Clouds are building out east, much like they have all week, and they look like large cotton balls in the sky. There is a slight breeze, and the hot, dry air stings my nostrils.
“Have you been waiting long?” Sam’s deep voice pulls me away from my daydreaming.
“No. I just got here.” I stand up to meet him.
He pulls me into a short hug and kisses my cheek. “Let’s go inside. I’ve got reservations for us at seven.” He holds the door open for me, ever the gentleman. Inside, a hostess meets us and recognizes Sam, her eyes widening a bit at the sight of me next to him.
“Mr. Cortez.” She smiles warmly at him.
“Savannah,” he acknowledges her.
“Your table is ready.” She guides us to a small table in the back. The glow of a candle centerpiece creates a wonderful ambience. Its iron base is twisted into the same design as the door handles I noticed earlier. Someone designed this place impeccably.
Sam pulls out the chair for me, and our server immediately descends upon the table with a basket of chips and a small clover-shaped dish with different sauces. Sam orders us sparkling water and pomegranate margaritas.
“I hope you like Mexican food. Those are different flavors of salsa.” He smiles at me and points to the clover-shaped dish.
“I’ve never really had it. Wait, I take that back.” I tap my chin. “On the bus ride to Arizona, we stopped at a Taco Bell. Their nachos are amazing.”
“Taco Bell,” he scoffs. “That’s not Mexican food. And nachos? You mean processed cheese drizzled on stale chips? If you want to taste some amazing nachos, I’ll order you some nachos.”
I light up at the idea, setting my menu aside. “Nachos would be great.”
“I’ll tell you what. I’m going to order a bunch of stuff, but…” His eyes glimmer with amusement. “You have to try it all.” My eyes must widen in horror, and he amends, “Just a bite. I swear this is the best Mexican food outside of Mexico itself.”
Mexico. Instantly, I’m thinking about Alex, wondering about him, worrying. Again. I wonder what he’s doing. If he’s safe. When he’ll be back. My stomach tightens with worry about him, but I shove those thoughts aside when the server brings us our drinks.
“Tell me what you think of the pomegranate margarita.” He licks some of the salt off his glass with his tongue, and, to my surprise, heat pools in my belly when I watch him.
My heart stammers, but then I feel guilty. I’m sleeping with Alex, I’m in love with Alex, and yet I can’t take my eyes off the gorgeous man across from me. I mimic him and swipe some of the salt from the rim of my own glass, sipping on the sweet drink. The saltiness mixed with the sweetness and the slight after-burn from the tequila, make for a dangerous combination.
“Oh my god, this is amazing.” I take another drink.
“Slow down there, tiger.” He chuckles. “These are strong, and as much as I’d love to see you tipsy, I don’t intend on getting you drunk on our first date.” First date. Those words cause my stomach to flip.
“Huh, a date.” I laugh nervously. “Is that what this is? I thought it was just dinner,” I joke with him. I know it’s a date.
“It is. It’s a dinner date.”
He’s quick with his comebacks. I like that. I blush a little as I say, “And you said ‘first date,’ as if you’re implying there will be more than one?”
Sam takes a long pull of his margarita before setting it down. “Oh, there’ll be more than one, Emilia.” He’s confident, but not arrogant. I find myself very attracted to that. There’s something about him that reminds me of Alex; they’re both dominant and controlling.
A shiver runs up my spine, and I shake my head slowly. “We’ll see about that.”
He busts out laughing. “This is exactly why I’m attracted to you. You’re beautiful, and I can tell you’re smart. But most importantly, you don’t put up with anybody’s shit.” I’ve been putting up with Alex’s, I think to myself. I’ve become weak to Alex.
“You mean your shit,” I correct him, and we both laugh.
My phone starts ringing on the table and Alex’s name flashes across the screen. Holy shit! He’s finally calling me. My heart is in my throat, and I’m desperate to answer it, but I can’t do that in front of Sam—for many reasons.
Sam starts to frown at me, probably because I suddenly look like I want to run. Almost in a panic, I reach over and silence my phone just as a text comes in, also from Alex. I glance at the screen before pulling it under the table to read it.
Where are you?
I also now realize that it’s been an hour since I walked into Café Au Lait and snuck out the back door. Andres must’ve caught on that I’m no longer there. I decide it’s best to respond to Alex quickly.
Out.
I power down my phone and set it back on the table. I should be ecstatic to hear from Alex. To know he’s alive, but I’m more upset that it took me skirting Andres for him to reach out to me. I want badly to yell at Alex right now, but I shove those feelings aside and bring myself back to the present and Sam.
Sam’s watching me intently in between sips of his margarita. “Everything okay?” he asks, cracking a tortilla chip in half and dipping it into some salsa.
“Yes.” I smile nervously at him.
He doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t say anything.
“What?” I ask shyly.
“I’m glad you came to dinner with me.”
“Me too.” It’s a half lie. I’m enjoying dinner, but undeniably, I miss Alex. I swallow hard and shift uncomfortably in my chair, tucking my hair behind my ear. I try to push the guilt aside by reminding myself over and over: it’s just dinner.
“So,” he says, perking up. “Tell me why you moved here from Illinois.” He shoves the small bowl of salsa and basket of chips closer to me.
“Came looking for my dad,” I say after dipping a chip in salsa.
“Did you find him?”
I nod, stuffing the chip in my mouth. “I did. However, it didn’t go as well as I hoped.” Technically, it didn’t go at all. He said hi, then bye, and I was gone. I waver between hurt and angry when I think about my father.
He sets his margarita on the table and leans forward, attentive. “What happened?”
I think about it for a moment, wondering if I should share it with him. If it would matter. Finally, I decide I don’t really mind. It is what it is. “Honestly, he blew me off. He bailed on my mom when she found out she was pregnant. I shouldn’t have been surprised that I’d be less than welcome now, being an adult, but I didn’t expect outright denial. He literally told me to go away and he shut the door.” I’m more confident telling Sam this story. Maybe it’s the margaritas, or maybe I’ve suddenly come to terms with the fact that I’m alone in this world.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, placing his hand on mine.
I pull my hand away, cringing. “Sorry I’m so depressing.”
“You’re not depressing, Emilia. Your dad’s an asshole,” he says point blank. “Any father would be blessed to have you as a daughter.”
I feel a blush creeping up my face. It’s a sweet thing to say. Whether it’s true or not, I don’t know. “So, now, I’m just working to save up some money until I figure out what I’m going to do.”
“Will you stay in Phoenix?”
“I’m not sure. I never envisioned staying here without my dad.”
Sam nods and rubs his chin. “What about your mom?”
“Even more depressing than my dad,” I say quietly, feeling emotional just thinking about it. My mom would have loved a restaurant like this.
“Jesus, Em.” He shakes his head slowly.
“We can save that story for another time.” I offer a tight smile. “Tell me about you.” Please, because I don’t want to talk about me anymore.
“You’re looking at it.” He smiles, sitting back in his chair. “Work has pretty much consumed my life for the last five years. I graduated from college and took a job and have been working ever since. Just spent my time climbing the ranks and it left me little time for much else.”
“What do you do for the government?”
“A little of this, a little of that. They keep me busy.” Why is he evading my question? Maybe he’s embarrassed of his job.
I sip on my delicious margarita. I’ll have to see if Rosa can make something like this sometime.
“So, you don’t have a girlfriend?” Yeah, that boldness was definitely the margarita.
He turns his head and chokes out a laugh. “Ah, no, Emilia. If I had a girlfriend, I wouldn’t be at dinner with you.”
Oh, right. “I like that answer.” I laugh and dip a chip in some salsa. His eyes lock on mine for a brief moment before I drop mine and look at my margarita.
“I like you, Emilia. I’d love to get to know you better.”
Before I have time to respond, our server shows up and delivers small plates of tacos, enchiladas, tamales, rolled tacos, and another round of margaritas. In between bites of tacos and tamales, Sam and I enjoy getting to know each other. Surprisingly, we have a lot in common. By the end of dinner, our stomachs are full and we’ve made plans to take a desert hike once it begins to cool down for the fall.
Although my stomach turns when I think about Alex as I make plans with Sam.
“I bet you’ve never been on a date where a girl has eaten this much,” I joke with him as I push myself away from the table. “I’m sold on Mexican food.”
He laughs heartily. “I’m just glad you enjoyed dinner.”
“I did. I’ll definitely be coming back here.”
“Let me know if you do. I’ll call and let them know you’re on your way.”
I scrunch my eyebrows together, confused by his comment.
He explains, “My aunt and uncle own this restaurant. And another out in the East Valley. My uncle was born and raised here in Phoenix, but has family in Mexico. He spent a lot of time there growing up. All of these decorations were imported from Mexico.” He waves his hand around the room that is decorated in Mexican style décor, including mirrors, wrought-iron chandeliers, and paintings.
My eyebrows shoot up. “Your family owns this place?” I’m seriously impressed. My body warms as the tequila from the margaritas I’ve been drinking finally settles in.
“They do. I used to work here growing up. I bussed tables all through high school.” He says it with pride, which makes me like him even more. The guy respects hard work. That’s a great quality.
“Well, please tell them that, for someone who’s never had Mexican food aside from Taco Bell, I’m pretty sure theirs is the best.”
“I’ll pass that message along. With Taco Bell as their competitor,” he teases, “I’m sure they’ll be glad to know they’ve ranked first on your list.” He gets up and pulls out my chair, then reaches out to help me stand, but never releases my hand. Instead, he repositions it as we walk toward the exit.
He waves goodbye to some of the staff and holds the door for me again as we step outside. The wind has picked up, and lightning is shooting across the sky.
“Storm’s rolling in,” he says. “We haven’t had a good one in a few weeks. I love the summer monsoons.”
“Then I’m going to get going. I have a few blocks to walk and want to beat the rain.”
He looks at me like I’m ridiculous. “You’re not walking.”
“It’s not that far. I’m just a few blocks that way.” I point in the general direction of the tall office buildings.
He shakes his head, adamant. “I’m driving you home, Em. Get your ass in the car.” He pushes the button on his key fob and the headlights flash on a black Mercedes in the next row over.
“I’ll be fine,” I insist. “I’ll text you when I get home.”
“Get in the car, Emilia.” He all but drags me to his car by my elbow as I concede. I’m glad he insisted on driving me as large raindrops begin to bounce off the windshield not more than a minute later. He opens the front door, and I slide into the warm leather seats; then he gets in on his side. A flash of panic spreads through me as I wonder if Andres will be waiting for me.
He pushes a button on his dash and the car purrs to life. “Where to?”
“Um, right by Café Au Lait. I’m just a couple blocks down from there.” I power up my phone while Sam weaves through the downtown streets, and we get closer to Café Au Lait. My phone begins to chime with text messages, but I shove it down into my purse. “That brown brick building on the corner. Just stop here, I’ll walk across the street.”
“That’s where you live?” Sam’s voice is filled with surprise.
“Well, my roommate owns the place. I just have a room.” I hate saying “roommate,” but at this point, I don’t know what we are.
He shoots a concerned glance at me. “Let me park and I’ll walk you up. I don’t want you walking alone.”
I almost groan. I don’t need another man thinking I can’t take care of myself. It’s Phoenix, not Detroit. “I’ll be fine,” I blurt out. “But thank you for dinner. I really had a lo
t of fun.”
He grips the steering wheel and stares at the building before turning to me. “So did I.” Then he leans over and presses a gentle kiss to my cheek. Tiny butterflies fly around in my belly. “Goodnight, Emilia.”
“Night, Sam.” A smile tugs at my lips as I run my fingers over the spot on my cheek where Sam kissed me. I can’t deny an attraction to him. He’s a lot like Alex, only different. Where Alex is dangerous, Sam is professional. Both are remarkably attractive.
I jog through the lobby and take the elevator to the top floor. Exiting, I scan the area for any sign of Andres. All clear. Inside, lights from the kitchen illuminate the hallway, and I exhale, my heart rate returning to normal. I did it. I made it back without suspicion. But in the living room, I stop suddenly when I see a dark figure on the couch.
It’s Andres, his face contorted in anger. Standing, he pulls his cell from his jacket and presses a button. I can see the veins in his forehead pulsing. This is not good.
“She’s here.” That’s all that’s said before he deposits the phone back into the pocket of his jacket. I move to pass him, but he steps into my way, tall and bulky.
“Excuse me,” I say, trying to move around him again.
This time, he steps aside, but not before grabbing me by the arm. “What you did tonight will never happen again. Do you understand me?” His grip is firm.
A pained cry falls from my lips. Yanking my arm out of his grasp, I narrow my eyes at him and turn away, walking down the hall to Alex’s room.
“Answer me, Emilia.” His voice is low and raspy and scares me.
I don’t want to answer him. He’s Alex’s dog. I don’t deserve to be treated this way, and he doesn’t deserve my answer. Because my life is none of his damn business. It’s my life. I appreciate Alex’s attentiveness to my safety and his willingness to protect me, but I will not be bullied by a bodyguard.
Even though I spent the evening with Sam, I can only think about Alex. I retreat to the only room in this house that I feel safe. Even when he’s gone, I feel Alex here. Kicking off my shoes, I pull my dress off over my head. There’s a white, ribbed tank-style undershirt of Alex’s lying folded on the floor, and I unfasten my bra, tossing it to the ground before pulling on the shirt. Pulling back the covers on Alex’s bed, I slide into the middle and place pillows all around me. I’m cocooned in his scent, but there’s nothing that’ll replace the feel of his arms wrapped tightly around me. I miss him.
