by Jewel Allen
“That would be sweet.”
As we passed a strip mall, Gemma’s tummy grumbled. “Oops. I forgot I didn’t eat lunch. I got too busy.”
I hesitated then jumped in with both feet. “Why don’t I buy you dinner? My treat.”
“You sure?” Her eyes filled with a teasing gleam. “You didn’t have any cash the other day.”
“This time I do.”
“Okay, fine. Save me some money, why don’t you? But this isn’t a date, okay?”
I stifled a smile. “Okay.”
She glanced at me sharply, and I tried to school my features so I was angelic as could be.
She tapped on the steering wheel as she drove slowly down the street. “What would you like to eat?” she asked.
I couldn’t see any intriguing restaurants around, just mostly fast food. “How about a nice place for dinner?”
“What do you mean by nice, exactly?”
“You know, where it would be a treat if you were celebrating something.”
She thought for a minute. “The only place around here is a steakhouse just outside city limits.”
“There, then. What’s it called?”
“The Saddlery.”
“That sounds good.”
“The Saddlery it is.”
“What about Brigid?”
“She’ll probably grab something to eat too. They’ll be working out of the car.”
“Poor guys.”
“It’s part of their job. Don’t worry; they get paid well. And she’ll have vacation time coming. A different team rotates shifts.”
Gemma signaled left into a parking lot. “What does a bodyguard do on her time off?”
“Probably works out, knowing her. She’s a gym rat.”
I loved hearing Gemma’s laughter. “You sound so American. ‘Gym rat.’” She snorted.
“I watch enough movies.”
“You do?” She gave me a dubious stare.
“On long flights for games,” I clarified.
“Ah, okay. It’s hard to believe that you would have any free time for movies. I know I didn’t when I was playing.”
I wanted to ask her more about that, but it appeared we’d arrived at The Saddlery. There would be time to do so, I hoped. But the fact that she seemed more relaxed than I’d seen her since we met planted hope in my chest.
Chapter Fourteen
Gemma
Compared to our first dinner “non-date” at the burger place, this felt strange. The Saddlery was where everyone brought their prom dates, celebrated graduations, and hosted wedding receptions. For special occasions, I could understand. But for just “after work,” still in sweaty soccer training uniforms, it was pricey.
Cheapskate that I was, it was hard for me to even justify the cost for one steak when one could easily grill one at home for a fraction of eating out. But I wasn’t going to worry about this. Obviously, this prince had the money, so I should just enjoy this splurge without any hang-ups.
The hostess was a girl I knew from high school, Rissa. We chatted for a couple of minutes before she turned with a curious gaze toward Diego.
“And who’s your friend?” Rissa asked, not subtly at all.
“This is Diego. He’s visiting from…out of town.”
“And where is that?”
“A little principality off the coast of Spain.” Diego smirked. “You probably haven’t even heard of it.”
“Try me.”
“Mondragón.”
Rissa blinked. “You’re right. Haven’t heard of it.”
Diego and I exchanged amused glances. My stomach did a little flip at that blip of connection.
Rissa grabbed a couple of menus. “This way, please.”
“Ladies first.” Diego motioned for me to follow Rissa. I was loving this chivalry. Most boys from my high school wouldn’t have been as sweet. Which pulled me back up to reality. Diego was off limits. He lived in a totally different kind of world. A world with money and titles, and I had neither. I didn’t even have my athletic ability anymore.
Shunting aside my thoughts, I took the chair Diego pulled out for me, and then he sat across from me. We were in the nice cozy corner by the window overlooking the sunset over my small town.
“Pretty,” he said.
I turned to him to agree, but he was staring at my face and into my eyes. I shivered as though he’d reached over and caressed my skin.
I forced myself to look away and studied the menu. Why was I was even bothering to look at it? I always picked the same thing on those infrequent times I ate here. But I guessed it didn’t hurt to check if they had any new additions.
“What do you recommend?” Diego asked.
“What kind of food do you like?”
“I’m easy. I eat most anything. I prefer chicken over beef.”
“You’re not a steak guy?”
“Oh, I love a good steak now and then, but I like the lighter flavor of chicken.”
“In that case, I would choose their chicken and mushroom penne pasta.”
“That sounds good.” He closed the menu and sipped his ice water. “What are you having?”
“The usual.” I sipped my ice water too.
“Which is…?”
“You’ll think this is silly, ordering this at a fancy restaurant, but…meatloaf.”
His eyes sparkled with approval. “A very American dish.”
“A very humble dish. You don’t eat it in Mondragón?”
He shook his head. “Not much. Is it like Swedish meatballs?”
“Without as much of the cream sauce. This one is super good.”
“Would you let me try a bite?”
“Maybe,” I teased.
When he smiled back, I wished I was still hiding behind the menu. The gleaming expression in his eyes drew me in, making me panic about whether this “non-date” was such a good idea. But it was too late. To run away would be cowardly, not to mention rude. Besides, I could practically taste the meatloaf.
“So…” He swirled the ice in his near-empty glass. We must have both been very thirsty—I know I was. I’d guzzled the water down to ice cubes. “Tell me about yourself.”
It was dangerous territory, but I played along, ready to pull back if needed. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
I poked at the tablecloth. “We’ll be here all night.”
He leaned forward, his fingertip tapping mine. “I don’t have to be anywhere.”
Oy, that little touch sent a thrill through me. His persistence in getting to know me was admirable. “I’m the second oldest in a family with five girls and a boy. My family has lived in Sunnyridge since we were little, but they’re not originally from America.”
Diego raised an eyebrow. “No?”
“My dad is from Cuba, and my mom is Filipina.”
“Nice. If I were to guess, I would have said you have Hispanic blood, but then sometimes, I’d look over and think you almost look more Chinese.”
“It’s a pretty common guess from people who don’t know me. Filipinos have Chinese ancestry.”
“I see.”
“And you? I would imagine you are Mondragónian through and through?”
“For generations, yes. But our royal family is also connected to Spain. From the time of Charles the Third.”
I set my glass down. “I have family from Spain too! Maybe we’re related.”
He scrunched his nose. “I hope not.”
I blinked in surprise. “Why not?”
“Then we wouldn’t be able to date.”
A delicious silence settled between us. “It’s a good thing we won’t be dating, then,” I retorted.
He just smiled.
Luckily, the server came with our orders, saving me from the awkward silence.
Diego grabbed his fork and knife and gazed at his chicken and mushrooms. “This looks delicious.” He flicked his glance at my meatloaf. “Yours does too.”
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��Don’t worry,” I promised. “I’ll share. If you’re nice.”
We tried our own dishes, and he crowed that the chicken was good.
“Told you.” I gestured toward him with my fork.
“Want a bite?” he offered.
I hesitated. His question sounded…flirtatious. But then again, I was probably just being paranoid. It was just a piece of meat. “Sure.”
He cut a piece of chicken and held it aloft. I opened my mouth dutifully, and he placed the meat in my mouth without breaking his gaze.
It was delicious. Amazing. Electrifying.
The chicken was good too.
I tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear and focused on the meatloaf.
“My turn,” I said. My voice sounded embarrassingly hoarse.
He watched my every move, following the progress of that juicy little piece of meatloaf as it made it from my plate to his waiting mouth. He closed his eyes, and for a moment, I thought for sure he was going to pass out.
“Wow, that is good,” he said.
“I have more than enough for me. Help yourself.”
“I will.”
And he did. I watched him with a smile as he indeed helped himself. Just for fun, I ate some of his chicken too. Abruptly, he stood, his chair clattering as he pushed it out.
“This makes it easier to share,” he announced, moving to the chair next to me. I had a little palpitation of nerves, but it seemed innocent enough. Just two colleagues sitting next to each other, trying each other’s food.
Diego’s arm brushed mine as we ate. I could smell his clean soapy scent, which made my head spin.
“If my mom could see us now,” I said, “she’d freak because we’re sharing germs.”
“Just think,” he cleared his throat, “if we were to kiss.”
My hands stilled, my eyes flying to his and then his mouth. Just as he looked at mine.
“It’s a moot point.” I leaned back. “She’s no longer with us.”
His expression turned sad. “I’m sorry.”
I cocked my head. “It’s okay. It was a blessing. She didn’t suffer long from cancer.”
“My dad’s gone too. Same reason. Stupid cancer.”
“Yeah. It’s the stupidest thing,” I agreed.
Our gazes collided and held. To find someone in the same stage of life, orphaned of one parent, was a welcome coincidence. He opened up about his dad, the memories he held dear. How much of a horseman and hunter he was. I imagined their family, riding on expensive thoroughbreds through their volcanic mountains as he described them. Except they were just boys, not princes with responsibilities on their shoulders. Not yet.
When he finished his sweet nostalgic tale, I told him about my mother. How creative she was, always sewing and making and cooking.
“Always feeding us. Too bad none of us girls really took after her in terms of cooking. We are just too impatient, I guess.”
“What did she cook?” he murmured.
I noticed then that he was sitting fairly close to me, his arm touching mine, our heads bent together as though sharing secrets. Which we were. I wasn’t sure about having a royal boyfriend, but having a friend for some real moments in life was welcome.
“She cooked everything,” I reminisced. “She would lug home cookbooks from the library and try some pretty good things and some pretty weird stuff. And then, sometimes, she just shared photos from these books. Like she wanted to imprint beauty in our sensibilities. She said, ‘So someday, you will recognize beauty in yourself and in others.’” I sighed. “I used to argue with her about that.”
“You did? That seems pretty straightforward.”
“I told her that what she considered beautiful might not be beautiful to us children. I think I kind of stumped her on that one.”
He rested his chin on his hand and gazed into my eyes. His lashes curled like a girl’s. His eyes were a warm brown. “What did you study in college?”
“I should have gone into law, as argumentative as I was.” I laughed.
“I was about to guess that.”
I shook my head. “Not anything that practical. Sports medicine. I could do EMT work for sports competitions if I needed to.”
“Makes sense.”
Silence descended upon us. Although there were other patrons in the restaurant, they receded to the background.
“Gemma,” he said, so low I had to lean forward, “this has been a wonderful evening. Thank you for agreeing to let me treat you.”
“Anytime.” I snickered.
He gazed deep into my eyes. “Seriously? I can ask you anytime and you’d accept?”
“If I can work you into my schedule, sure,” I joked, trying to keep things light.
His hand scooped up mine, making me catch my breath. He lifted the back of my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss onto my heated skin. And then he let me go, patting my hand.
I didn’t dare look at him, for I knew I would drown and maybe never surface again. I lowered my gaze and preoccupied myself with sharing a dessert of lava cake, confusion swirling inside me. I loved being with him, but none of the other concerns I had—that he would eventually leave, that he had a princess waiting for him back home, and every other complication my panicked brain could come up with—had been resolved.
I took one last bite of cake and patted my mouth with my napkin.
“You have something on the corner of your mouth,” he said.
I tried wiping, but he shook his head. “Here.”
I thought he would reach over and use his finger or napkin. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed me on the corner of my mouth. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
He licked his lips as he pulled back, his eyes intent on me the whole time.
“Did you get it?” I asked, my voice husky.
He shook his head and leaned close to kiss me again. But at the last moment, I ducked my head and my flaming cheeks. I leaned back into my chair, avoiding his eyes.
“Gemma.” He covered my hand with his.
I lifted my gaze.
His thumb traced a lazy circle on my flushed skin. “The night is young. Would you like to do something else tonight?”
If we stayed out more, there might be more kissing. And more falling for each other. “Probably best not to.”
Disappointment tugged at his mouth, but he simply pulled his hand back and, like the gentleman he was, helped me out of my chair as I stood, concluding our “non-date.”
Chapter Fifteen
Diego
Thank goodness for training the kids because it kept my mind off Gemma.
For the most part.
She greeted me professionally during the day, but I caught her several times looking at me, or maybe it was more like I was looking at her and she’d catch me.
Those were delicious moments, if frustrating. I wanted, more than anything, to have an excuse to be close to her. Instead, she stood about six feet away, looking super cute in her athletic shorts and jersey, her ponytail bobbing prettily. Lovely to look at. Forbidden to the touch.
“Can I help you with goalie drills?” I offered once again one morning.
To my surprise, she said yes.
“Hey.” I grabbed her arm as she turned to move away. She stood still and lifted her lovely brown eyes to mine, making me lose my train of thought. “I can’t remember what I was going to say,” I admitted.
She smiled. “Sorry, I can’t help you.”
“Sure you can,” I whispered. “How about if you stop distracting me?”
“Oh, so it’s my fault?” Her eyes flashed with a touch of amusement.
“Very much so.”
“Yoo-hoo!”
We jumped apart to Cherise grinning at us. “I hate to break up your cute couplehood over there, but, um…” She pointed at the field where Mindy and her nemesis, Gus, were duking it out for the ball. Mindy was not going to win it by brawn; it was pretty obvious.
“Those two,” Gemma muttered.
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br /> “Hey, do you mind if I handle it?” I offered.
Gemma glanced at me, unsure, but nodded.
I marched over to the pair and blew my whistle.
Mindy turned to me, her expression turbulent. Gus smirked.
“Good job, Gus,” I said, and I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, shocked.
“As in, good job giving Mindy a challenge. Mindy.” The girl’s head snapped up, but her eyes were defiant. “You will not win it by pushing back on Gus. You need to use this.” I tapped my head. “Cut him off early, sure, then ease off and aim for the ball, not his shoulder.” I looked from one to the other. “Why don’t you try that?”
Still looking skeptical, Mindy dribbled until Gus joined her. I could tell she was anticipating a body check, but the smart girl eased off like I suggested, throwing Gus off-balance. While he was unsettled, Mindy reclaimed ball control and dribbled it past him.
“Lucky,” Gus muttered.
Mindy’s eyes glowed. She ran up to me and gave me a high five.
“Okay, everyone, back to drills,” I said to the circle of kids that had congregated.
Gemma fell in step beside me. “Great job. Way to handle that.”
“Thanks.”
“I hope Mindy keeps going. She has a bright future ahead of her.”
“Santosh too.” I glanced at Gemma’s profile. “I can see why you love this job.”
She nodded. “It’s more than soccer.”
I nodded. “It’s more than soccer.”
By the end of my first week, things were clicking into place with the kids and training. Gemma gave me goalie training duties—finally!—which made for some fun dirty dives. But the kids absolutely loved it.
As for Gemma, I liked to think she watched me from behind her sunglasses. Admiring my spectacular saves, no doubt.
A man can dream.
As that Friday night rolled around, I wasn’t sure I had it in me to stay up and celebrate. I limped across the field to the bunkhouse and crossed paths with Gemma, who was leaving the office.
I hadn’t tried to ask her on a date or anything earlier in the week, trying to respect her space. But now, here she was.
“Hi,” she said, giving me a once-over. “You look terrible.”
