Her Perfect Affair

by Priscilla Oliveras

  She nodded, her face solemn.

  “I’m sorry for shutting you out,” she said. “I’m a little—bueno, more like a lot—freaked out about all this.”

  “Me too.”

  She slid her hand out from under his to scoot herself up in her seat. Silly as it might be, he wanted her to touch him again. Maintain that connection, however small it might be.

  “So I talked to Principal Meyer this afternoon.”

  Based on the way her lips twisted in a grimace, he figured it hadn’t gone too well.

  “And?” he pressed when Rosa didn’t elaborate.

  “And, the good news is that she agreed to the half days through December. The diocesan school council won’t meet until January, and unless Father Yosef objects, she doesn’t see the need to say anything until then.”

  “Sounds promising.” He signaled to make a right turn into her neighborhood before venturing to ask, “What’s the bad news?”

  “She thinks I’ll have to meet with her and Father Yosef to get his approval of the half days. Principal Meyer also mentioned the morality clause. I was right—my pregnancy could be a problem with some of the council members.”

  “They’d be crazy to make you leave, Rosa.” And he’d talk to whomever, even drop the Taylor name if it would help her. Despite how much he shied away from relying on that pull.

  “I agree. Muy loco.” Rosa’s Mona Lisa smile curved her full lips.

  Jeremy chuckled, the flash of her shy cheekiness a balm to his lingering worries.

  Moments later, they pulled up in front of her house. The two-story brick ranch with its grey shutters and mix of orange and yellow chrysanthemums lining the front walk welcomed visitors. The woven Mi casa es su casa mat Jeremy knew waited at the front door was a testament to their open-door policy for all who knocked.

  Intent on carrying Rosa in, Jeremy quickly rounded the hood of his car to her side.

  “That’s not necessary, really,” she insisted when he bent to pick her up. Though she didn’t balk at the arm he crooked for her to hold on to.

  Her slight weight pressed against him as she leaned her head on his shoulder, her subtle vanilla scent teasing him.

  Jeremy shortened his gait to match hers, guiding her up the curved cement walkway connecting the driveway to the front steps. A smattering of red and gold leaves blew across the path, crunching under their footsteps. With the cold front that had blown in, he expected the trees would soon exchange their leaves for a coat of the threatening snow.

  Fireplaces would be stocked with wood. The tasty Fernandez hot chocolate would be heating in a pot on the stove. If he had his way, he’d find himself enjoying a mug next to Rosa on her couch.

  Rosa unlocked the front door and Jeremy held it open for her. Inside, he hung both of their coats and her purse on the wooden rack in the foyer as she moved gingerly into the living room.

  “I appreciate you dropping me off,” she said once she’d eased herself down onto the sofa. “I’m just going to rest a bit. Yazmine will probably drop by later to check on me.”

  Not wanting to crowd her, yet still make it clear he planned on being more than her taxi service, Jeremy sat in the matching ottoman angled next to the sofa. “If you don’t mind, I’ll stick around for a while.”

  “I don’t want to be a bother.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face, searching for the patience that made him so well-respected at his company. IT problem-solving and troubleshooting were often time-consuming tasks. His tenacity and patience paid off.

  Unfortunately for him, when it came to Rosa, his ability to practice patience had fled the moment she’d announced her pregnancy. Which was what had probably led to her calling him a bully.

  Whether he liked it or not, there was a fine line for him to walk here.

  “Rosa,” he began, measuring his words to avoid saying the wrong thing. “I don’t know how many times I can say this before you believe me, but I’ll keep saying it until you do. You’re not a bother. This baby is not a bother.”

  “Oh, but you plan to be a bother.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, then caught the hint of a smirk on her full lips. Her shot of humor, the flash of the snarky side she didn’t show everyone, stalled his argument.

  “Smart-ass,” he deadpanned.

  Head leaned back against the sofa cushion, Rosa chuckled. Then winced and pressed a hand to her belly.

  Poor thing. She was wiped out.

  She needed rest, not verbal sparring with him. As fun as that might be.

  For her sake, he hoped this sickness went away once she passed the first trimester. Dr. Jiménez had mentioned it was a possibility.

  As for him, he hated feeling powerless to help her, especially since she kept pushing him away.

  “It’s really okay if you go home,” Rosa said, her voice groggy with sleep. “I’ll be fine—aaaah.”

  The word ended on a huge yawn that she covered with her fist.

  “Here, let’s get you more comfortable.” Jeremy slid to his knees on the carpet in front of her, his arm accidentally bumping against the wooden coffee table.

  “What are you—” Rosa craned her neck to look down at him. Her mouth formed a little O of surprise when he reached for one of her feet to slide the black low-heeled shoe off, then did the same with the other.

  “Come on.” Gently grasping her shoulders, he coaxed her to lie down across the sofa. Then he lifted her legs to rest on the other end so she could stretch out.

  In a clear testament of the depth of her fatigue, Rosa didn’t even argue. Her chest rose and fell on a soft release of air as she relaxed into the cushions.

  “I’ll just rest for a little while, if you don’t mind then.”

  The words were barely a whisper. Had he not been kneeling beside her, he probably wouldn’t even have heard them.

  In minutes, her beautiful face relaxed, the tension easing away. The tired lines creasing her mouth and eyes smoothed and her breathing slowed, growing measured.

  Unable to resist, Jeremy brushed a hand down her silky hair to cup her cheek. Rosa’s lips curved and she burrowed closer to his touch.

  Desire arced through him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then forced himself to back away. What he really wanted was to spread out beside her, feel the length of her pressed to his side again.

  No doubt she’d feel crowded on the cramped sofa and he’d wind up scaring her off even more.

  Damn, her bully comment still rankled.

  He’d spent his entire life striving to show others that despite being an adopted Taylor, he deserved the name.

  Rosa deserved better than Roger Wilson’s son. Jeremy vowed to be better for her. And their baby.

  Thinking she might be hungry or thirsty when she woke up, he headed into the kitchen, where he stopped in front of the fridge. Bemused, he studied the calendar held up by a plastic magnetized clip, a map of Puerto Rico decorating the front. Rosa’s neat print marked the days with chores, appointments, special occasions, and other notes. Different colored ink indicated categories in whatever organizational system she’d devised. Poetry Slam was written in bright red ink, several exclamation points emphasizing the date in just over two weeks.

  Must be the school club event she’d mentioned to Dr. Jiménez. The one she absolutely refused to miss. If it meant that much to her, he’d like to hear more about the slam. Add it to his calendar.

  Making a mental note to ask her when she woke up, Jeremy tugged open the fridge. He peered inside, intent on finding something he could easily throw together for Rosa. A plastic container sat center stage on the top shelf next to a gallon of skim milk. He picked up the container and pried off the lid. A quick sniff confirmed the cream-colored mush with orange flecks was probably the pureed chicken soup with vegetables Dr. Jiménez had recommended.

  To avoid making more noise than necessary, he nixed using the microwave and quietly dug out a pot from a lower cabinet to heat some of the concoction.


  Ten minutes later, he had a dinner tray set with a small bowl, several crackers from the green tin on the counter and a cup of apple juice. With the soup warming on the stovetop, he returned to the living room to wait patiently for Rosa to wake up.

  His phone vibrated in his pants pocket and he dug it out to find a message from Yazmine.

  Tomás came home with whatever flu bug Maria has. Can you stay with Rosa? I’ll see if Pablo’s wife Dolores can stop by to check on her in a bit.

  Jeremy tapped out a quick response. I’ve got it covered. No need to bother Dolores.

  There was a brief pause before Yazmine got back to him. Too late. She said she’ll be over soon.

  Jeremy muttered a soft curse.

  When he’d first reached out to Yazmine earlier today, she’d played the protective big sister card. Again. Her lecture had been short and to the point, peppered with a few Spanish words he didn’t understand. More than likely choice ones he wouldn’t learn via his Spanish language computer software.

  Eventually she had run out of steam and quieted enough to listen to him. He knew she’d always stand up for Rosa, but at least she had come around to believing that he had Rosa’s best interest at heart. It’s the only reason why she’d entrusted him with driving Rosa home today. Now that he was here, he planned to take advantage of this extra time with her.

  If she woke up before Pablo’s wife arrived.

  Though he’d only met the older woman a few times he knew she was a staunch disciplinarian. Lilí often groused about Dolores holding her feet to the fire for some antic or another Lilí had tried to pull growing up. Pablo and Dolores had always been like surrogate parents to the Fernandez girls, even more so since both their parents had passed.

  What he didn’t know was if Rosa had shared their pregnancy news with the older couple. If so, no telling what kind of reception he’d get from Dolores when she arrived.

  Better that he let Rosa take the conversational ball when the time came. No use letting the cat out of the bag before she was ready. That definitely wouldn’t add a check in the pro column of the “Say Yes to Jeremy” pro-con list he’d bet she had already drafted.

  * * *

  Jeremy had been lounging on the ottoman answering work emails on his phone for a good forty-five minutes before Rosa stirred.

  Like a sultry Latina Sleeping Beauty, she rolled her shoulders, her small breasts pressing against her pale peach sweater. The stretch undulated down her body like a caterpillar’s crawl, her black slacks pulling taut over her slender hips as they rose off the couch before she shifted over onto her side.

  Her eyes blinked open and she sent him a soft smile that shot directly left of center in his chest.

  She looked at peace. Content. And for the first time in the past week he felt the same.

  It didn’t last long.

  He knew the moment she realized they were at her house. Him quietly watching her sleep.

  Her body stiffened. Her brown eyes widened with surprise, her face coloring a sweet shade of deep pink.

  She pushed herself up, immediately grabbing her head with one hand and her stomach with the other. She swayed to the side, and Jeremy was off the ottoman and on the couch in a flash.

  “Take it easy,” he said, wrapping his arm around her back.

  “I—I just moved too fast.” Rosa scratched her temple, confusion puckering her brow. “What are you doing here?”

  “I brought you home.”

  “I know that.” The “duh” wasn’t said, but definitely implied by her tone. “You’ve just been sitting there, for—” She glanced at her watch. “Dios mío, almost an hour?”

  “You needed rest. And I didn’t mind. It’s nice being with you.”

  Her cheeks pinked again, a much better color than her recent pallor.

  As if she’d become aware that they sat much closer than they normally would when they’d been mere friends, Rosa scooted to her left. Moving to the farthest cushion.

  Jeremy dropped his arm, missing the warm sensation of her tiny frame nestled next to his.

  Patience, he reminded himself.

  With that mantra on repeat in his head, he stood up and strode to the kitchen.

  “I heated some soup for you,” he called over his shoulder.

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I wanted to. Now sit still. I’m bringing it over there.”

  He dished up a ladle full of the soup mush, then picked up the dinner tray. On his way back to the living room, he explained about Maria and Tomás coming down with the flu, and that Dolores had been called in for reinforcement.

  “I really don’t need a babysitter,” Rosa complained.

  She took the tray from him, mumbling her thanks, but he caught her frown when she glanced down at it.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she grumbled. “I’m just tired of eating baby food. Not to mention throwing it back up.”

  He grimaced. That stuff didn’t look good in its present state. He didn’t want to think about it coming back up. Too bad she’d been doing more than just thinking about it; she’d been living it.

  “Sorry, that’s probably gross.” Rosa wrinkled her nose at him, a cute gesture that reminded him of her niece, Maria.

  He couldn’t help but wonder if, should he and Rosa have a little girl, she would make that same adorable face.

  God, he hoped so.

  Rosa picked up the spoon and dipped it along the edge of the bowl. With barely a nibble on the utensil, she brought it to her mouth like she was sampling the food.

  Jeremy watched, entranced, as her mouth opened, her lips closing over the spoon before she slowly withdrew it. If he was a betting man, he’d lay his next paycheck down on the fact that Rosa had no idea how incredibly sexy she made eating pureed chicken soup look.

  Even wearing plain black slacks and a ribbed pale peach sweater, in her stockinged feet and with her nearly makeup-free face shadowed by the circles under her eyes, she took his breath away.

  No use denying that she always had.

  There must be a way to get them back to the closeness they’d shared before the night of Yazmine’s wedding. Before he’d followed her up to her room and crossed a line they weren’t ready to cross. Even though she’d jumped over it first.

  That was irrelevant.

  What mattered now was regaining her trust.

  “Listen.” He rubbed a hand along the tension knots in the back of his neck while he chose the right words. Hopefully. “I feel like I’ve been sticking my foot in my mouth ever since you came to my condo.”

  Rosa swallowed, then carefully placed the spoon back on top of the napkin he’d folded and left beside the bowl. She lined up the bottom of the utensil with the edge of the napkin, nudging the top to straighten it out.

  “I know I came on a little strong before,” he said.

  She arched a brow.

  “Maybe more than a little,” he added.

  She gave him the stern, no-nonsense stare he’d seen her lay on an unruly child at the bookstore where she’d worked during her graduate program.

  “Okay, a lot strong,” he admitted.

  Her expression softened. “I’m listening.”

  “Pushing you to get married might not have been my smartest move.”

  He could have sworn he saw hurt flare in her eyes, but she ducked her head and reached for her juice. She took a sip, then set the drink back down, the tip of her tongue slipping out to lick a drop of the nectar clinging to her top lip.

  Heat pulsed through him.

  It took everything he had not to slide over to the couch, take her mouth with his, and sample the juice on her lips himself.

  Talk about coming on strong.

  Instead, he concentrated on convincing her of his sincerity.

  “I care about you, Rosa.”

  Gross understatement. But he wasn’t sure what exact label fit his feelings for her. The talk with his mom had illuminated that.

&n
bsp; “I don’t want to mess things up between us,” he said. “So I promise not to push you into anything. But I need you to understand that I’m not going anywhere. There’s no chance that I’m walking away.”

  Head still bowed, she gave a slight nod. She reached up to rub her nose, but he caught the flick of her knuckle under her left eye.

  Holy hell, was she crying? Remorse clenched his gut.

  “Rosa?”

  “I’m fine,” she mumbled. Tucking her wavy curtain of black hair behind her ear, she finally looked up at him. “It’s just hormones.” She sniffled. “And relief. I hate being mad at you, even when you deserve it.”

  Her attempt at a playful scowl reassured him, but the tears glistening on her lashes lured him to her like a hummingbird to a flower’s sweet nectar.

  Thankfully she didn’t scoot away again when he joined her on the couch.

  He wiped a tear from the edge of her right eye with his thumb. “I don’t like you being mad at me either.”

  They shared a soft smile, and a sense of peace he hadn’t felt since their time in Champaign engulfed him.

  “I realize this baby affects you, too, Jeremy. But it’s my life, my body, that’ll have the most drastic changes. Many of which I can’t control. And that . . .” Rosa took a shaky breath, her fingers nervously tapping against the metal edges of the dinner tray. “That really, really scares me.”

  She was a creature of habit, his Rosa. The queen of “everything has a place and everything in its place.” With both an online and a hard-copy color-coded planner to keep her “everythings” running smoothly. He’d marveled at her planners the first time he’d seen them.

  Her organizational skills were unparalleled. Though he was also aware that her need for order occasionally led to a level of stress when things went awry. Like they had when Reynaldo had died. And like they were now.

  The uncertainties their situation created for her—both personally and professionally—had to be playing havoc with her carefully guarded sense of security.

  Which brought him back to why she should allow him to be a source of support.

  He took Rosa’s hand in his, hoping she saw it as the gesture of encouragement he intended.