His Perfect Partner

by Priscilla Oliveras

  Whatever the reason, the next thing she knew, she’d hooked her arm through Tomás’s and stuck her other hand out toward the Realtor. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Yazmine. Trina, is it?”

  The Realtor’s questioning gaze moved quickly from Tomás to Yaz and back. “Yes, ma’am, it sure is. Nice to meet ya.”

  “Likewise. I hate to disappoint you, but I’ve already snagged a lunch invite from Tomás.” The flash of earnest regret in Trina’s eyes pricked Yaz’s conscience. She understood the sting of rejection and didn’t relish being a part of this woman’s. “You’re welcome to join us if you’d like.”

  Trina’s smile faltered, but kudos to her, she rallied. “I wouldn’t dream of intruding, but thank you. Maybe next time?” She pointed a finger at Tomás in a teasing reprimand. “Don’t be a stranger, handsome, ya hear?” Hips shaking, she strolled away before he could respond.

  Tomás let out a rush of breath the likes of which made a girl think he’d barely escaped death. He sagged against Yazmine’s side, his solid weight comfortable, yet heat-inducing in ways she needed to ignore.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled. “I’ve been dodging her since she sold us the house. Trying to politely let her know I’m not interested, but . . .”

  “She hasn’t gotten the message.”

  He barked out a short laugh. “You think?”

  Her ego tickled with the pleasure of sharing an inside joke with him.

  “So what kind of pizza do you like?”

  Yaz waved off his question, nervously easing away to put some distance between them. “I didn’t really mean what I said.”

  “Hey, I may not be interested in sharing a meal with Trina, but that doesn’t mean I want to lie to her either. Come on, I owe you anyway.” He gave her a half smile of encouragement, his dimple flashing in his cheek. “Maria, wouldn’t it be nice if Ms. Yazmine joined us for lunch?”

  Was he really going to play that dirty?

  Sure enough, Maria stopped dancing to grab Yaz’s hand, lacing their fingers. “Ooh, sí, sí! Please, Ms. Yazmine. ¡Por favor!”

  Ay, she was sorely tempted. By him and his cute little bundle of energy. His borderline flirtatious teasing sparked a volt of energy inside her she thought had long been shorted out. Maria’s excitement invigorated her, the child’s tiny hand warm and comforting.

  Still, she’d be a fool to get too close to this family.

  To fulfill her dreams, and especially Papi’s, she couldn’t get sidetracked again. It wasn’t smart for her to spend any more time with a man who brought to mind the painful lessons of her past. Especially when she’d tried so hard to learn from, but not dwell on them.

  Being near Tomás Garcia made her feel like she’d grabbed onto a live electrical wire. Exhilarating and hair-raising. And ultimately lethal.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie.” Yaz bent toward Maria rather than direct her words to Tomás, even if it was the coward’s way out. “I don’t think I should go. I’ve got to look over this inventory sheet with Mrs. Morgan.”

  “We don’t mind waiting for you,” Tomás said.

  “I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “You aren’t. I’m offering. Maria and I can figure out her dance shoes, maybe pick out a new outfit while you finish.”

  “Yes!” Maria fist-pumped the air.

  “I’m not so sure it’s a good idea.” No, she’d bet money it was a bad idea. For reasons she hadn’t shared with anyone, not even her sisters.

  “Come on.” He hiked up a shoulder in a half shrug, his dark eyes willing her to say yes. “It’s lunch at a noisy pizza parlor. What could it hurt?”

  She nearly laughed out loud. If he only knew.

  For a year and a half now, she’d been home, nursing her wounds and rebuilding the wall protecting her heart. She was wiser and stronger for the humbling experiences she’d left behind in New York. Or so she’d thought. Until him.

  Both times she’d been in this man’s presence her precarious tower of emotions teetered like a novice wearing her first pair of toe shoes. Spending more time with him was not a smart move.

  No matter how badly she was tempted.

  Yaz opened her mouth to refuse the invitation. What came out instead was a weak, “Okay.”

  Tomás flashed a triumphant grin. Maria whooped for joy and set off on another round of twirls around the shoe display.

  Yaz slowly backed away toward the counter to finish her conversation with Mrs. Morgan. Excitement and dread whooshed through her in a frenzied whirlpool, sparking her pulse into a quickstep rhythm.

  Dios mío, she’d actually done it—thrown common sense aside and given in to this insane desire to play with fire.

  Chapter Three

  Man, how quickly things could change. Last night, lying in bed in the dark, Tomás had merely considered asking Maria’s intriguing dance instructor out for a drink. Repeatedly listing the pros and cons in his head.

  And now, less than twenty-four hours later, he found himself seated in a red pleather booth across a faux wood Formica table from Yazmine, slightly shell-shocked by his impulsiveness.

  He’d painstakingly squelched all impulsive acts since marrying Kristine while at a conference in Vegas six years ago, complete with an Elvis impersonator and a curvaceous showgirl as witnesses. He still shuddered at the memory. And his mamá would never let him live that one down.

  Yazmine Fernandez had been on his mind since he’d first laid eyes on her Wednesday evening. The idea of asking her out had crossed his mind more than once or twice. So technically, their lunch together might only be considered semi-impulsive.

  Back at the dance store, the last thing he’d wanted to do was take a call from work, knowing it disappointed Maria. Some days, between his home and work responsibilities, he felt more like a circus clown bumbling a juggling act.

  He’d peeked through the storefront window while talking to John, intrigued by Yazmine and Maria’s interaction. When the sexy dance instructor had shimmied her hips into that purple tutu, his libido had taken notice. When she’d spun around the display area with Maria, eyes twinkling with laughter, he’d sworn he heard her velvety chuckle in his ear.

  Later, when she’d understood he needed rescuing from his Realtor—without his even saying a word—he knew he had to give this a shot. Life was about grabbing your opportunities. Instinct told him not to let this one pass by.

  “Welcome to Luigi’s.” A scrawny, pimply-faced teen approached their table, pad in hand. “How ’bout we start with your beverages?”

  The idea of sharing a drink with Yazmine brought back thoughts of Wednesday evening. After Maria and Mrs. Buckley had gone to bed, Tomás had toasted the coup of landing the Byer’s deal alone in his living room.

  Sitting in the dark, his mamá’s words had mocked him. “M’ijo, you need to find a good woman. One who appreciates the man you are.”

  For the first time in years, he’d contemplated what it would be like to celebrate his successes with someone special. Was he ready to open that door? Or was it better, safer, to keep it chained and bolted shut?

  Today, he’d quit ping-ponging between the two questions and taken the plunge. Instead of an awkward first date with Yazmine, why not lunch with him and Maria? Keep things casual.

  “And for you, sir?” the teen asked, pencil ready. “Your drink?” he prodded when Tomás gave him a blank look.

  “Uh, root beer, please.”

  “Great. Menus are behind the napkin holder. I’ll be right back.”

  Their waiter hurried off, waving to a group of teens seated at another booth across the restaurant, then deftly sidestepping a rambunctious toddler scampering around the tables, a frazzled mom in his wake.

  Luigi’s might rank low in the romantic ambience department, but it scored high on the family-friendly scale. That made it the perfect spot for them.

  “So what do you like on your pizza?” He reached for a laminated menu.

  “No anchovies or mushrooms for
me,” Yazmine answered.

  Maria wrinkled her nose. “Yuck!”

  Dark heads tilted together, Yazmine and Maria chatted about their favorite toppings, sharing an elated grin when they discovered their shared preference for pepperoni and black olives.

  Bit by bit his giggly little girl was coming out of her shell again, in large part thanks to the engaging woman seated beside her.

  A sense of peace spread through him, soothing his bubbling anxiety over the lunch date. Being here felt good.

  As if on cue, doubt reared its serpent-like head, a remnant of the devastation from his botched marriage.

  Sure, Yazmine spent hours with children every weekday, but while she didn’t seem to tire of it, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was too good to be true.

  Kristine had barely lasted six months dealing with the responsibility of a baby, even though they’d hired a nanny to handle most of the day-to-day care.

  He’d known Kristine was independent and driven. That’s what had attracted him to her in the first place. Unfortunately, he hadn’t fully grasped the depth of her self-centeredness until Maria was born.

  Lesson learned: Look before you leap over the Grand Canyon of relationships and marriage.

  The waiter arrived, plunking their drinks on the table and jerking Tomás back to the present. The kid took their order, then hurried off again.

  “Have you been at Hanson’s Academy for long?” Tomás asked Yazmine.

  She nodded as she squeezed a lemon in her water. “Well, kind of. I started teaching in high school. Moved away for a while. When I came back home a little less than two years ago, I took a position again.”

  He tried imagining a younger, less mature version of the vibrant woman in front of him. No doubt she’d been just as arresting. “So you’ve always been a talented dancer.”

  “I like to think so.” She flashed him a sassy grin that soothed his lingering unease.

  “Since you were going over costume orders at the store, I take it you do more than teach classes.”

  “Mrs. Hanson started having health problems about six months ago. I took over the scheduling, placing students in the right level of classes and managing our special events. The extra responsibility’s been challenging, but fun.” Her eyes sparked when she talked about her work, luring him in with her enthusiasm, reminding him of the thrill of seeing her in action last Wednesday.

  He pulled his straw wrapper off, relieved by the ease of their conversation. “Sounds like you’ve taken on a full-time job.”

  “Not really. Mrs. Hanson still plays a big role. Besides, working there allows me time to practice my dance skills when I’m not taking care of my father. He’s been ill for a while.”

  “Papá, can I have some money to play a song?” Maria pointed to the jukebox near the front door behind him.

  “Sure, m’ija.” He dug his wallet out of his back pocket. “If it gets cold by the door, come back for your jacket. Want me to help you?”

  “No, gracias. I can do it.”

  He kept an eye on her as she slid out of the booth and headed to the front of the pizza parlor, her pigtails bouncing with each step.

  “Es preciosa.” A gentle smile curved Yazmine’s full lips, crinkling the edges of her eyes as she watched Maria.

  “Thanks. I think she’s pretty precious, too.”

  Yazmine chuckled, the warm sound vibrating through him. His body hummed like a swarm of locusts waking after years of hibernation.

  “So let’s see what I know so far. You’re a beautiful woman who’s obviously talented. Smart, if you’re running the studio.” He ticked off each item on a finger. “Caretaker for your father.”

  She ducked her head, her ponytail swooping down to drape across her shoulder. “And you’re a smooth talker.”

  The blush creeping up her neck into her cheeks made her even more appealing. His body tightened with need.

  Nearby someone’s cell phone rang, the tone ominous. A warning sign.

  She was reeling him in way too easily, his body giving in to primal urges he’d subdued of necessity in recent years. Caution advised him to slow things down. If not, he risked getting caught up in the moment, potentially doing something he’d regret.

  “Enough about me.” Yazmine spoke into the charged silence filling their table. “What’s your story?”

  “I’m an open book.” He gave her what he hoped would pass for a lazy shrug. “What would you like to know?”

  “Really?” She crossed her arms over the Chicago Cubs team logo on the front of her gray sweatshirt. The directness of her stare reminded him of the stern disciplinarian she’d been at the studio. “Okay then, what’s with the workaholic rep you have around the studio?”

  He choked on a sip of soda, quickly grabbing for a napkin to wipe his mouth. “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, the mommy network is alive and thriving at Hanson’s. They’ve certainly been chattering about you. I hate to tell you this, but now that you’ve made an appearance”—the edges of her mouth curved up in a rueful smile—“I’m sure the phone lines and text messages have been burning up the airwaves.”

  Great, as if that’s what he wanted to be, the main topic of discussion around the studio lobby water cooler. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  “No problem.” Her gaze sharpened and she leveled him with another one of her I-mean-business stares. “But you’re dodging my question. Does the reputation fit the man?”

  He chuckled, more so to cover his discomfort over a question that hit too close to home. Unfortunately, the determined jut of her jaw told him she wouldn’t let him off the hook.

  “I don’t know that I’d necessarily label myself a workaholic,” he hedged.

  Twisting to the side, he propped an elbow along the back of the booth. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Maria, while at the same time trying to gauge Yazmine’s mood.

  The edge in her voice warned him that more than he knew rode on his answer. It reminded him of their uncomfortable conversation about his absences in dance class. Yet, her earnest gaze made him feel like this meant something more personal to her.

  “How many hours a week do you usually work?” Yazmine pressed.

  “Roughly, sixty.” Sometimes more, depending on the account.

  “Which probably means more.”

  He schooled his features, hiding his surprise at her insight. “When you’re fighting to get to the top there are always sacrifices.”

  “Believe me, I know.”

  Interesting response.

  Tomás eased back against the booth’s pleather-cushioned seat and pushed up his sweater sleeves, enjoying their conversational volley. “Are you speaking from personal experience?”

  “Ha, nice try. We’re talking about you now. Not me. Climbing the corporate ladder doesn’t leave you much time to spend with Maria, does it?” Regret laced her words, but her barb poked home.

  Guilt flared within him, followed closely by the sting of annoyance. This was the second time since they’d met that Yazmine had called him out for something that really wasn’t any of her business.

  He sat up straight, ready to say as much, until his gaze met hers across the table. A tumultuous swirl of determination, sorrow, and guilt stared back at him. His annoyance at her rudeness drained away as easily as if he’d pulled the plug out of a bathtub.

  It was like she somehow understood his daily struggle between work and family, even though she was a single, part-time dance instructor. It didn’t make any sense.

  Drawn by this strange connection to her, he answered Yazmine’s question the only way he knew how—honestly. “Actually, no. I don’t spend as much time with Maria as I’d like.”

  Yazmine started to respond, but he held up a finger to stop her. “Which is why my accounts are shifting and, after Thanksgiving, I’ll be working from home two days a week.”

  Her mouth formed an enticing “oh” of surprise.

  “Weren’t expecting that, were you?”

>   She shook her head. “That’ll be good for both of you.”

  “That’s the plan.” He waited a beat before throwing a challenge her way. “So, did I pass your test?”

  Behind her dark eyes he could see her considering his question.

  The jukebox switched from one Top Forty hit to another. Noise from the other patrons and staff buzzed in the air. After several seconds Yazmine’s lashes fluttered down, momentarily breaking their eye contact.

  “I guess I should apologize,” she finally said.

  “You guess?”

  “Okaaaaay.” She drew out the word with a droll smile he found entirely too cute. “I apologize. The subject happens to be one of my hot buttons.”

  He laughed at her pouty-mouthed expression. Damn, she was almost as hardheaded as he was. “So I gathered. Maybe you should—”

  “It’s ready!” Maria skipped up to the table. Hot on her heels, their waiter followed, carrying a silver pizza pan.

  “Here you go, one large half pepperoni and black olive, half pepperoni and mushroom.”

  “Mmmm! Smells yummy.” Maria pinched off the strand of cheese dangling from the piece Tomás served her.

  They filled their plates and ate in companionable silence for a while, but Tomás couldn’t stop wondering what lay behind Yazmine’s mini interrogation moments before. What might have caused the regret he sensed in her. Or what could have happened to bring out such a fierce reaction to his long work hours.

  With Maria present he wouldn’t pry. Instead, he listened to Maria and Yazmine chattering about the upcoming Christmas recital. His daughter’s giggles formed a lyrical descant to Yazmine’s throaty chuckles.

  “My favorite TV show is Dora,” Maria shared. “How ’bout you?”

  That easily, Maria and Yazmine dove into a discussion about the things they liked more than pizza. She soaked up Yazmine’s undivided attention, her animated face and gestures bringing a lightness to his chest.