His Perfect Partner

by Priscilla Oliveras

  A bittersweet pang ricocheted through him.

  Why couldn’t all of his and Maria’s meals be like this—colored with laughter and sharing? Like his had been, growing up. Since their move out of the city, far too often he arrived home after her dinnertime, counting himself lucky to tuck her in before she fell asleep.

  Sitting in Luigi’s now, the casual atmosphere reminded him of boisterous family reunions back home with his parents, siblings, and a growing number of nieces and nephews. The love they all shared made him feel both blessed and lacking.

  His failed marriage had convinced him that Maria was enough. He didn’t need a woman in his life.

  Being a single father might not be the norm in his culture, but in today’s changing world it was more common. It might take some time, but he and Maria would be fine.

  He took a sip of his drink, trying to wash down the lie.

  Being here with Yazmine, the doubts he usually silenced had morphed into ear-piercing screeches. Making it harder to tune them out.

  The restaurant door opened and instinctively he glanced up. A perfectly coifed Stepford-wife clone and a bleached-blond teenage girl in tight jeans and a designer-label winter jacket approached their table. The teen stopped close behind the woman, an uncomfortably pained grimace on her face.

  “Ugh,” Yazmine muttered under her breath. Tomás looked over in time to see her lip curl the slightest bit before she managed a forced smile. “Elaine, what brings you here?”

  The Stepford clone gave a brisk nod in greeting, making a show of tugging her gloves off her hands, one finger at a time. “I saw you through the window and since I hadn’t been able to speak with you at Hanson’s, I thought I’d take the opportunity to voice a concern I have regarding the Christmas show.”

  “We’re in the middle of our meal, but I’d be glad to give you a call la—”

  “This will only take a few moments.” The woman lifted her chin, pretention wrapped around her like an Hermès scarf.

  Intrigued, Tomás eyed the exchange.

  To an outsider, Yazmine’s demeanor and smile were polite, if not overly inviting. To anyone who had witnessed the power of her infectious grin firsthand, or seen it in his dreams the past several nights, the simmering irritation now lingering beneath the surface was obvious.

  “Do you mind?” Yazmine directed the question to him.

  Years ago he had lived to put snooty people like this woman, and all the other uptight Deburg Prep parents, in their place. Proving that he could succeed at their haughty school far better than many of their own children had empowered him. As a kid, it had blinded him with anger. As he’d matured, that anger had solidified into resolve. Now that he was older and wiser, women like this one only amused him.

  “Doesn’t bother me. As long as you’re good,” he replied.

  A self-satisfied smirk curved the woman’s bowed lips and she pressed on. “Lately Mrs. Hanson seems a bit . . . oh, how should I put this?” Her well-manicured hand fluttered through the air. “Scattered? Dare I say, unprofessional?”

  Yazmine’s mouth thinned. “Mrs. Hanson’s attention has been on more important matters, specifically, her health. What exactly are you unhappy with, Elaine? Perhaps I can take care of it for you.”

  The teen slid Yaz an uncomfortable look over her mother’s shoulder.

  The mom arched a thin brow before launching into a complaint about some costume and a fitting. He understood “sequin” and “spandex,” but got lost when “organza” and several other words were thrown in the mix.

  However, the woman was on a roll, like a snowball heading downhill, ready to wreak havoc on whatever, or whomever, was in her path. He had to hand it to her, she could give a few Deburg Prep parents a run for their snobby money.

  His admiration for Yazmine’s cool-as-a-cucumber approach inched up a notch.

  “Look, I can arrive early on Monday. The two of you come by and I’ll re-measure Elizabeth myself. Does that work for you, Elizabeth?”

  The teen nodded repeatedly.

  “Great. I’m sure the costume company will help us rectify the situation. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’d like to finish our meal.” Yazmine picked up her drink and took a sip, a clear signal the conversation was closed.

  “Fine. We will see you on Monday before class.” With a brisk jerk of her head, the woman departed, leaving a whiff of her no doubt Chanel No. 5 behind.

  Her daughter mouthed a quick “I’m sorry” to Yazmine before hurrying off.

  “She wasn’t very friendly, was she, Papá?” Maria scrunched her face in disapproval.

  “No, m’ija, she wasn’t.” He bowed his head in deference to Yaz. “Well handled. I see what you mean about most studio problems not involving the students.”

  “Funny how you remembered that.” Yaz reached for her pizza, her lips curving in a grin.

  “I’m smart that way. Seriously, it’s impressive how well you’re handling everything at Hanson’s. Sounds like you have the know-how to run your own studio.”

  Yazmine stopped, her slice midway between her mouth and her plate. Surprise flashed in her eyes before her lids swept down. She swallowed, but didn’t say anything.

  “I’m full. Can I go dance, please?” Maria pointed to another little girl about her age, swaying side to side in front of the jukebox.

  “Are you done?” Tomás picked up her plastic cup of milk, pleased to find it empty. “Good job. Okay, m’ija. Be careful to stay right there so you’re not in anyone’s way. And remember what I said about not getting cold from the door opening and closing.”

  “Sí, Papá.”

  Once Maria had left the table, Tomás continued the conversation. “From what you’ve said, you’re practically keeping things running while Mrs. Hanson recovers from whatever she has going on. It’s obvious you love your job, and you’re good at it.”

  “It’s not for me.”

  “How come?”

  Yazmine set down her pizza slice, then reached for a paper napkin to carefully wipe the grease from her hands. A delay tactic if he’d ever seen one.

  “Teaching at Hanson’s is rewarding. But owning a studio?” She shook her head, her ponytail waving from side to side behind her. “That’s not what I’m supposed to do.”

  Supposed to do. That sure sounded more like expected to do.

  He started to ask about it, but his gaze zeroed in on a dollop of pizza sauce coloring the corner of her mouth. Right on the edge where her full lips met.

  Temptation double-dog dared him to swipe it off with his finger.

  Common sense made him settle for reaching across the table to gently dab at it with his napkin.

  Yazmine sucked in a quick breath. But she didn’t shy away.

  “You, uh, had a little bit of sauce.” His gaze wavered between her lips and her eyes. Damn, he had the crazy urge to lean closer and kiss her.

  Yeah, crazy was right.

  Slowly he eased back onto his seat, surprised—okay, more like confused—by his actions. Not to mention the ones he wasn’t allowing himself to consider.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “Uh, sure.”

  He took a long pull of his soda, welcoming the trickle of cool liquid down his suddenly dry throat.

  It took him a full minute to remember what they’d been talking about before he’d gotten distracted by her mouth. Hanson’s, right. “So you’re happy being a teacher? No plans to take over the place yourself someday?”

  He caught the shake of her head before he turned around to check on Maria.

  “Once we’re certain my father’s in remission and he’s okay, I’m headed back to New York.”

  Tomás spun around so fast he nearly knocked over his soda with his elbow. “New York City?”

  His sharp tone was probably the culprit behind the squinty-eyed perplexed expression on her face.

  She nodded slowly.

  “I wasn’t—I didn’t know you were thinking of moving.”

 
“It’s common knowledge at the studio. I’m sure Mrs. Buckley’s heard.”

  The three pieces of pizza he’d eaten suddenly felt like huge Texas-sized boulders in Tomás’s stomach. “I’m the workaholic, remember? I’m way out of the info loop.”

  “Right. Not even a tiny seedling in the mommy grapevine yet. But you will be,” she joked, though he couldn’t return her smile. Not when he felt like he’d missed a turn somewhere between meeting her Wednesday night and deciding to take a chance on getting to know her better today.

  “I assumed Mrs. Buckley had shared my background with you, since I’m teaching Maria.”

  “Nope.”

  Mrs. Buckley had researched the area dance schools for him. He trusted her opinion and hadn’t asked personal questions about Maria’s instructor. He hadn’t even been thinking personal thoughts about Yazmine, until recently. Big. Mistake. “Care to share the details?”

  “Sure. It’s old news around here.” She shrugged lazily, like she hadn’t just knocked the wind out of his newly opened sails. “I started dancing at Hanson’s in elementary school and after graduation I headed to New York. I’d been a working dancer for over six years. Landed several off-Broadway shows, a few workshops. I was about to start another show when . . .”

  Her voice trailed off. She frowned—at him or the memory. He wasn’t sure which.

  “When what?” he asked after several heavy seconds had ticked away. “Your dad?”

  “Not at first.”

  “So . . .” He felt like a kid picking at a scab, knowing if he didn’t stop he’d make it bleed. Yet he couldn’t quit.

  Yazmine fiddled with her straw wrapper, winding and unwinding the paper around her finger. Her eyes held a faraway, pensive look.

  “You know how it goes. Promises made, but not kept. Someone looking out for himself. Apparently financing for the show was a problem, but only a select few were clued in. Then the lead dancer bailed, decided to hook up with someone financing a bigger production. It was a good career move for him.”

  She spoke matter-of-factly, yet the flecks of paper that had once been the straw wrapper now littered the table in front of her. “That old dog-eat-dog mentality. A reminder that this business can be harsh.”

  He wasn’t quite sure if she was talking to him, or reminding herself.

  “Nothing worthwhile is easy,” he offered.

  “Yeah.” The word was said on a rush of air. Part scoff, part heart-heavy sigh. “Wise words.”

  “My father’s. Drilled into me and my brother and sisters whenever we talked about giving up on something.”

  “Well, I don’t plan on giving up. Too much rides on my success.” Yazmine dropped the stump of the mangled straw wrapper on top of the pile of pieces. “But when I got the call about Papi . . . The show’s demise, the lies I’d been told, the people who’d been hurt. None of it mattered.”

  Her voice trembled, a sign of some pain she kept well hidden. He recognized it. Had mastered the art of disguise himself.

  “What happened to your father?” he asked.

  “Lymphoma. Diagnosed almost two years ago.”

  Tomás winced. Damn, he couldn’t imagine getting news like that about anyone in his family, much less his parents. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Gracias.” She flicked a red-painted fingernail at the olives dotting a half-eaten piece of pizza on her plate. “My mom’s been gone for a while. She died in a car accident when I was in high school. So I came home to take care of him.”

  “You don’t have any siblings?”

  “I’m the oldest. My middle sister, Rosa, is a year and a half younger. She’s working on her master’s degree in library science, set to graduate in May. She has a job waiting for her here at our Catholic high school. My youngest sister, Lilí, is in her second year of undergrad. I wasn’t about to let either of them mess up their scholarships.”

  “Familia primero.”

  She glanced up, sending him a relieved smile he was happy to see. “Sí, family first. I guess your parents taught you the same motto?”

  “One of many.” He admired her devotion to her family. And now understood why the idea of someone putting work before loved ones was a hot button. “So you set aside your dream, to nurse your father back to health?”

  “He needed me. Besides, I wasn’t sure if I—there were things that didn’t . . .” She waved off her own words. “I needed to be here.”

  She fiddled with the silverware, shooting him a smile probably meant to make him think everything was fine. Though she couldn’t hide the slight tremor in her hand.

  His ability to read people had always come in handy in the boardroom. Now he honed in on Yazmine’s non-verbals, allowing her to “speak” to him with her movements and body language.

  Gaze downcast, she dabbed a finger at the pool of water from the sweat off her glass. The way she pressed her lips together, as if considering her words, told him she’d wind up leaving some of them out. Probably important ones.

  “It was time for me to return. Like I said, I needed to be here.” She spoke so softly, he barely heard her.

  Yazmine glanced up at Tomás. In the seconds before she looked back down, he caught a flicker of inner anguish, a hint of what he would have sworn looked like self-doubt. The idea floored him.

  This woman ruled her studio. He’d seen her in action. She was great at sharing her joy with her students, didn’t think twice about bandying shots back and forth with him. She held her own when confronted by a pushy mom. No way would he have thought she’d have even a sliver of doubt inside her.

  “But, Papi’s almost in the clear now,” Yazmine continued. “I’ve regrouped. I’m ready to get back. Nothing’s going to stop me this time.”

  She thumped the tabletop with her closed fist, emphasizing her last point. Her straight shoulders and steely-eyed expression spoke of determination. Still, he swore he caught a hint of unease underlying her war cry.

  He’d never been much of a betting man before. If he were, he’d lay money down on the fact that whatever Yazmine had experienced in New York involved more than the normal show-business setbacks.

  Much more.

  Curiosity urged him to delve deeper. Common sense harped at him to back away. Any fledgling idea he’d held about asking her out on an “adult date” had to be squashed.

  Despite whatever disappointments she harbored, Yazmine was bright-lights-and-big-city bound. He’d moved out of the city a few months ago. Searching for a slower pace, a more family atmosphere for Maria.

  Something about Yazmine Fernandez pulled at him. Made him reconsider his single father status and count the number of years he’d been without a woman’s touch. Despite that, he knew that any personal involvement with a career-focused woman would start him down a road he’d already traveled with Kristine, hitting every freaking pothole along the way.

  Disappointment might taste bitter now. Heartache and disillusion would taste much worse later if he ignored the warning signs.

  “Well, I may not know much about the dance industry, but from what I’ve seen and heard, you’re good at what you do. I’m sure you’ll head back to New York and find success.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Enough said.

  The waiter appeared with their bill and Tomás reached out to take it.

  “I can pay for my half,” Yazmine said.

  “No, this is our treat. We invited you.”

  On a whim that had come back to bite him in the butt.

  Yazmine held on to the zipper of her black woven bag a moment longer, finally setting it down beside her when he shook his head and handed the waiter some cash. “Fine. But I owe you. Maybe we can do this again?”

  Only if he were a glutton for punishment.

  She was an interesting woman with a beautiful smile, amazing talent, and a dedication to her family he admired. She was tempting, but headed in the wrong direction for him.

  “Thanks, probably not though.” The words came out
a little brusque and he rushed to soften them. “My schedule stays pretty full.”

  Scooping up the mess she’d made with the straw wrapper, she dropped the flecks of paper onto her plate. “Sure. The workaholic thing, I forgot.”

  “Any free time I have is devoted to Maria.”

  “As it should be.” She spoke in the same cool tone she’d used with the Stepford wife earlier.

  Even knowing anything between Yazmine and him was impossible, Tomás found himself regretting that his brush-off had her grouping him with the haughty mom.

  “So, when are you heading back to New York?” The sooner she left, the sooner she’d stop being a distraction to him.

  “When Papi’s given the all-clear. Hopefully sometime after the New Year. I couldn’t make it to his last appointment. And, it’s kind of strange, he was pretty cryptic about what Dr. Lopez told him.” She clasped her hands in front of her on the table, her white knuckles proof of her anxiety. “I’m having a hard time not worrying, actually.”

  He’d feel the same way if it were one of his parents.

  Without thinking, Tomás reached out to cover her hands with his, offering comfort. Warmth immediately sparked through him, zapping his pulse.

  He was wading into dangerous waters here. His attraction, like a strong current, pulled him relentlessly toward her.

  Slowly he drew back, wanting to prolong the contact, knowing it’d be stupid to do so.

  Yazmine cleared her throat and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “My sisters and I’ll dig any info we need out of him when they’re home for Thanksgiving this week. As for New York, I’ve been working hard to stay in shape and I keep in touch with my agent. It’s only a matter of time before I go back.”

  That sealed the deal. Soon they’d be living in two different states, with two distinctly different life goals.

  When Kristine had moved out, he’d vowed never to put himself or Maria in a position to be rejected like that again.

  He wasn’t dumb enough to think he could protect Maria from everyone or everything forever. He could damn well try though.

  If Yazmine had her sights set on the bright lights of Broadway, she wasn’t the right woman for him.