“Coming right up,” he says with a delightful smirk just as two waiters return with my things. One of them rolls my carry-on luggage closer to me, while the other hands me the bag with the shattered vase, a bottle of water, my phone charger, and a pair of sandals.
I fish in my wallet for a few dollars and I hand them to the two of them.
“Thank you,” I mutter, trying to hide my embarrassment.
“No worries, ma’am,” says one of the waiters. They both nod politely and thank me as they walk away.
I stare at my cold burger to avoid looking around me to avoid any attention from the other patrons. I take my phone out of my bag to see if Brad has called or sent his first apology text—something he’s done many times in the past.
We didn’t fight that often, but when we did, it was always blowouts of epic proportions. Of course, it usually happened away from unassuming strangers, not like this. I look at the time and realize I still have time to call a car, go to the airport, and board the plane home, but I don’t want to. I have no desire to go back to him.
The attractive manager returns, placing a glass of bourbon on the table.
“Thank you,” I breathe out, as if he’s just handed me the Holy Grail chalice. I take a swig of my drink and I almost choke on it when I see he’s still here, looking at me with a bemused look on his face. I manage not to cough, covering my lips with my fingers, and then tilt my head in question.
“I was wondering…would you like another one?” he asks, pointing at the burger that’s been sitting in front of me for over thirty minutes. “On the house, of course.”
“Oh, no. That’s not necessary. It’s really nice of you, but I’m afraid I can’t eat right now. Thank you again, and sorry for inconveniencing you so much this evening. I’m sure it’s the last thing you need during dinner rush.”
A flash of white teeth takes me by surprise and he breathes out a laugh. The sound is so light and cheerful, it instantly makes me smile. I find reassurance in this stranger’s laugh and it shocks me.
I should be sad, terrified, worried I have done the wrong thing, a horrible thing.
Instead, the more time passes, the more I know deep in my bones that the implosion of my marriage was a long time coming, and I’m not sorry in the slightest. It’s strange to feel so relieved. It feels like I have just escaped the monster I foolishly let lock me up in an ivory tower.
“It was no problem at all. But I don’t want you drinking on an empty stomach,” he says after what seems like forever, eyes locked on mine. I blush, and I feel a tiny bit guilty for ogling him the way I am.
He’s perfect. How he stood up to my husband replays in my mind over and over.
Fucking Brad. How fucking sad that a complete stranger had to defend me. I will never, ever forgive him for this.
“I’ve been known to hold my alcohol but thank you. I appreciate it.”
“I have to go back to work. If there’s anything you need, please let me know,” he tells me in a low voice and gives me an adorable, shy smile.
I think he’s about to leave, but then he stretches a hand toward me.
“I’m Esteban.”
“Ines,” I say, and he shivers as my hand squeezes his. His eyes widen and his bottom lip trembles. What’s wrong? Am I suddenly scary to look at? I could have sworn he was checking me out a while ago.
He notices my frown and straightens up, and the panicked look in his eyes vanishes, replaced by a smile that illuminates his entire face.
“Nice to meet you, Ines. Let me know if you need any help.”
“Will do. Thank you.”
Esteban walks away, and for some reason I can’t peel my eyes away from him, so much so that for the next few minutes I observe his interactions with both the wait and kitchen staff. He catches me looking at him from time to time, when he looks up from the restaurant seating chart in front of him. I can only assume that’s what he’s looking at, having worked in a restaurant back in my college years, and knowing all too well that seating in a restaurant requires precision and strategy if you don’t want to put your wait staff through hell. Strangely enough, when he catches me looking at him, I don’t feel the impulse to look away. He’s the one who averts his gaze, eventually. This happens at least three different times before I tell myself that this is not the time to ogle strangers and I need to focus. It looks like I’m going to live out of a carry-on luggage for the time being, and realization hits me. I need to find a place to stay.
Right now, I’m thankful that my husband and I don’t share bank accounts, and the only thing we’ll have to fight over is the house…and whatever else we’ve purchased together through the years. I keep searching inside of me for something that tells me I’m doing the wrong thing, and I just can’t find any reason to pick up the phone and tell him that I made a mistake, and I’ll see him at home.
I’m done.
A waiter comes over to my table. I end up ordering fries smothered with cheese and green chile because I feel bad for occupying the table for so long.
I go over and over the list of things I need to be doing in my head, but I can’t bring myself to move or do anything. I stare at the New Mexico sky as it turns from bright blue to a darker shade tinged with purple tones. Only then do I realize how late it’s getting. I glance at the time on my phone.
My flight is about to leave without me. Have I really been sitting here for an hour and a half?
The sudden buzz of my phone makes me jump, and Brad’s text pops up on the home screen.
Brad: I meant what I said. I’m done with you.
Me: Okay.
Brad: Fuck you. Seven years of marriage and that’s all you have to say?
Keep your cool, I tell myself, but the blood in my veins is already boiling. What does he think this is going to solve? Cussing, calling me names? Does he think that’s the right way to make me hurry back home?
Me: I don’t know what else to say. I don’t want to do this anymore.
Brad: I’ll fucking divorce you and leave you with nothing.
* * *
Not so fast, buddy. I put my share of money into the house.
Me: Okay. Should I wait for you to draft the papers, then?
Brad: Yeah. I’m done with you, bitch. You can go fuck off.
I refrain from replying to his last text. Anything I’d say would just egg him on.
I knew my words were going to piss him off. He could never deal with me whenever I kept my cool.
Chapter Four
A few minutes pass after Brad’s last text. I know that by now he’s had to switch his phone to airplane mode. He couldn’t text me any more niceties, at least for the time being. The sky turns just a little bit darker, and the bright lights of the restaurant cast my reflection on the glass windows. I stare at the scene happening behind me, waiters and busboys still hustling around.
I start browsing on my phone for a place to stay not too far away from Old Town. This restaurant is right on the edge of the oldest part of Albuquerque. I’d rather not go somewhere across town. Splurging on a boutique hotel seems like a stupid idea, and the best-looking Airbnbs are already taken for the night.
Then I remember the For Rent sign I noticed when we came in.
I stand up and leave all my belongings at my booth. I march to the entrance, all too aware of the heads turning behind me, and I pull the ad from the door.
I’d only glanced at it for a few seconds, but the pictures on it were what caught my eye, as well as the title of the ad.
A Room with A View, the ad said, with a brief description of the room, a two-hundred-square-foot ex-storage room on top of a store in Old Town converted to a mini apartment complete with bathroom, kitchenette, and the best view in all of Albuquerque. The apartment even had a tiny balcony.
There was a picture of the mountains, presumably the view from the room.
Experience your very own tiny house, the ad continued, for six hundred dollars a month. A bit expensive for two hundred
square feet, but it was in Old Town after all. A room at the hotel nearby was about two hundred bucks a night.
I was sold.
A tiny room in a traditional adobe building. Basically, my New Mexico dream come true. A couple of years ago, during happier times, Brad and I had visited Santa Fe, and dreamed about buying a little property to escape to from time to time. It was just one of those fantasies that I knew would never come true, but that didn’t mean I stopped thinking about spending a little more time in the state of terracotta and turquoise-colored homes.
I picture myself in the room, working on my laptop, staring at the mountains, trying to forget about my failed marriage and ready to start over.
I walk back to my table staring at the paper in my hands and bump straight into someone’s chest.
Crap.
“I’m so sorry.” I step backward, realizing that I’ve bumped into none other than Esteban.
If I were in a romantic comedy, I’d say, “We need to stop meeting like this.” He’s grinning, but he’s uneasy. I laugh nervously and tug my hair behind my ear.
“Excuse me,” I say before he walks away. “Could I please have the check?”
“Sure thing,” he replies, eyeing the ad in my hands.
I sit down, gather all my belongings, including the pieces of the vase clanking in the bag. I wish I’d asked the shop owner to bubble wrap it more carefully. I take two pieces out and examine them in my hands, wondering if I might be able to glue it back together.
“That’s too bad,” Esteban says, nodding at the vase when he returns with the check. He could have sent a waiter, but instead he came back and brought it himself.
Why? I feel stupid for even thinking about whether a guy might or might not be flirting with me right now. Is it bad that it feels good? Is it bad that it feels nice to have someone notice you and treat you nicely for a change?
“I might be able to fix it,” I reply, connecting the two pieces together.
“If you want me to give it a go, I can help.”
Surprised by his suggestion, I smile at him. My smile is short-lived, however, replaced by a frown when I start to wonder if his words are an invitation for something else. I feel stupid for even thinking about whether he might or might not be flirting with me.
If I flirt with him, does that make me an adulterer?
Does it even fucking matter? After seven years of dealing with Brad’s mood swings, maybe it’s time to cut myself some slack.
“I couldn’t help but notice the ad,” he says, pointing with his chin at the ad splayed out on the table.
“Yeah, I think I’m going to call the number and see if the room it’s still available.”
“I know the owner.”
Oh, no. Is he the owner? I didn’t think it was a very good idea for me to get so close to this very attractive man I know nothing about. What if he lives next door?
That might just be a recipe for trouble.
I need to stay far, far away from trouble, even though I’m not upset by the way he looks at me. He studies me as if I’m a mystery to unfold, like I’m some fascinating, complicated puzzle to solve.
“You know the owner?”
“It’s my sister’s. She renovated the old storage room on top of our family’s jewelry store, and yes, it’s still available.”
His sister’s. Thank God.
“I was about to call her. I don’t have much with me,” I say gesturing at my belongings, “but it sure would be nice to get settled tonight instead of going to a hotel, if possible.”
“Let me know if you can’t reach her, and I’ll call her for you.”
“That’s very nice of you. Thank you, I appreciate it.”
I ring the number. Once, and again, but no one picks up.
It’s past 8:30 p.m. She could be busy, or momentarily away from her phone. The waiter cleans up the plates on my table and asks me if I need anything.
A few minutes later, Esteban wanders over again.
“Did you get in touch with my sister?”
“No. She didn’t pick up.”
“Let me see if I can reach her.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials her number. She answers after a few seconds.
“Lupe. I have someone here who’d like to rent the room. Yes. No, I don’t think so. A woman. Yeah, she’s here right in front of me. Okay, hold on.”
He hands me his phone, and when he does, my fingers touch his, and this time I’m the one who shivers, as a jolt of electricity runs up my arm. He pulls back, startled, eyes wide.
Breathe, Ines.
He smiles at me reassuringly as I take the call.
“Hello? Lupe?” I ask, unsure.
“Hi,” a cheerful voice says on the other end. “My brother says you want to rent the apartment? Do you need to see it before you make a decision?”
“I don’t think so. As long as everything is in working condition and it looks like it does in the pictures, I don’t think I should have a problem renting it right away.”
“Do you want to meet sometime tomorrow? I open the store at ten, and I’m usually there around nine. Does that work out for you?”
“I was actually hoping you could meet me this evening. I had a change of plans and need a place to stay.” Change of plans. Talk about a way to minimize the blow. But, I’m on the verge of a freaking life crisis wouldn’t sound that reassuring coming from a prospective tenant. I think I even see Esteban raise his eyebrows in surprise.
“Do you want to meet me over there in twenty? I’m not that far away. Do you know where it is?” she asks.
“I have the address right here. I think I was at your store earlier today. I’ll meet you there.”
I hang up and hand the phone to Esteban. Esteban. Even his name is gorgeous and somehow fits him so well. This is wrong. I shouldn’t be noticing this type of stuff right now, should I? I should be upset about my broken relationship. I should be too distraught to notice. But somehow, ever since I arrived in Albuquerque the other day, every man’s attention reminded me just how much my husband neglected me in more ways than one. Brad could have learned a thing or two about chivalry, that’s for sure.
Why did you stay married to him for so long? I ask myself once more. Now my friend’s remarks through the years make so much sense. “If things aren’t working out, you don’t have to stay, Ines,” my friend Lily told me on more than one occasion.
“Thank you for calling her for me,” I say to Esteban, shoving my hands in the pockets of my jeans. “Now I just need to get myself over there. I’ll call an Uber and get out of your way.”
“Or I could give you a ride to my sister’s store. I need to give her something and that would actually save me a trip across town to her house.”
“Oh, really? Is it something I could give her myself?” I offer.
“I’m afraid not. It’s family-related stuff.”
“Oh.”
“So, would you like to ride with me?”
Chapter Five
“Will you get in trouble if you leave now?” I ask him. Amusement dances in his eyes as he shakes his head and lets out a laugh.
“No, I don’t think I will, since I’m not just the manager, but also the owner of the restaurant and it’s almost time to close.”
“Oh, gosh. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. You own this restaurant? I thought it was a family franchise?”
“Yes, it is.”
“You own the franchise? And your sister owns a jewelry store? Holy smokes.” I smile and give him an appreciative glance. His cheeks redden with the faintest blush and he presses his lips in a straight line. It looks even more adorable against his emerald eyes. “So, yours is a family of entrepreneurs?”
“In a way.” He shrugs. “But it’s because our parents decided to retire and start traveling across the US in an RV. They left Lupe and me in charge of everything.”
“Wow. That sounds a bit daunting.”
“We’re used to it. I actually enjoy the work.”
I can’t help but stare at his green eyes, the same ones that had kept a vigilant gaze on me ever since Brad had left. I know I should say no, I know I’m not being prudent, but for the strangest reason I trust him.
He stood up for me when my husband was ready to rip me to shreds in front of everyone and he’s kept an eye on me ever since Brad left me. Something urges me to consider his behavior circumspect. The safe, rational part of my brain suggests that the way he’s been keeping watch on me should bother me, but the carefree, trusting part of me wants to remain open-minded, despite what I’ve just gone through. I accept his offer, and in a matter of minutes, I’m sitting next to him, on the worn-out black leather seat of an old Chevy truck that has been painted a New Mexico turquoise.
I try to contain my excitement when I realize this is his truck. I had seen it earlier in the parking lot of the restaurant, and I couldn’t help but notice it.
Turquoise has always been one of my favorite stones and colors, and over the years it only helped me fall in love with New Mexico even more.
A tiny brown leather dream catcher with white feathers hangs from his rearview mirror. The feathers are so soft under my fingertips.
“This is so pretty,” I say absentminded.
“It was made by a local Navajo artist.”
We fall into comfortable silence as Esteban drives through the already sleeping Old Town. I walked down these streets earlier this afternoon, but I can’t stop looking at every single detail. I love this place and its distinguished charm so much. All the souvenirs and ceramics displayed outside the stores that livened up the streets earlier have been put away. The little square with the adorable Stars Hollow-like gazebo I biked by earlier today is surrounded by lanterns. It’s possibly even cuter than it was during the daytime. The nighttime version of Old Town has an eerie quality to it, but for some reason, I don’t despise it. I feel drawn to it.
Enchanted By You Page 3
