Passion's Sweet Surrender

by Ronica Black

  They rode in silence for most of the trip and only made small talk when they did speak. Sloane was respecting her need for space and she was grateful. She wanted to wait until after this excursion before she brought up Cam.

  About fifteen miles before town, they turned to head south and then drove for another forty minutes until they pulled into Pueblo de Consuelo, the small village Blake had visited the previous summer. She’d worked in the area as a volunteer physician and had fallen in love with this particular village.

  Excitement began to build. She was back. Finally. She crossed her fingers, hoping they could somehow make things work here. Sloane, too, had said she really liked it here. She and McKenna had come to see the village on their last trip down from Phoenix. Everything was moving along seamlessly.

  That was good, right?

  Then why am I getting so nervous?

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. They’d already developed a business plan. She and Sloane were doing most of the financing but also had a few charitable donations lined up. Blake had already made arrangements with a volunteer organization to recruit medical staff and others who wished to donate a few weeks of their time to come serve others. She actually already knew seven physicians and a handful of medical assistants who were anxious to be her first volunteers. They were friends and they were almost as excited as she was about this venture.

  A lot of the hard work had already been done.

  And now she and Sloane were about to embark on the next step. That step, which was finding and purchasing a location to set up shop, would be the biggest one to date.

  That was why she was nervous.

  This was really happening.

  She opened her eyes, determined to get on with it.

  It was time to put this dream into serious motion.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Blake and Sloane walked on one of the cobblestone streets through the village, taking in the surroundings. The village itself was only about four blocks long and two blocks wide. Most of the old buildings populating it were made of stone and painted in varied shades of pastel colors like pale yellows, oranges, pinks, and blues. Signs in Spanish in the windows beckoned customers inside, and some shop owners were standing in their doorways, talking to passersby, one woman sweeping her front entrance. A few kids rode by on bicycles and Blake stopped to pet a friendly, roaming dog. She did the same to a gentle burro being led by a quiet but friendly man and woman with hauls that looked equally as heavy as the one the burro carried.

  The others they saw eyed them with curiosity and eagerly returned their smiles. Some waved, and one man tried his best to lure them to his cart to buy hot corn on the cob. It smelled delicious, as did a café they passed, but they politely declined, promising to return another time.

  After they passed through the center of the village, they came upon the small, faded white building for sale Sloane had previously discovered. Blake was relieved to see it was still available. Just as she was trying to read the information on the flier in the window, someone called out. Sloane tapped her shoulder to get Blake to turn and look. A woman, along with two children, was waving at them from across the street. Blake grabbed Sloane’s wrist as recognition took hold.

  “I know them,” she said, completely surprised. “That’s Marta.” She waved back, and Marta and the children crossed the street toward them. Blake was thrilled to see them and after jovial embraces she introduced them to Sloane in her limited Spanish. Thankfully, Marta could speak a little more English than Blake could Spanish. After they managed some pleasantries, Marta asked about their visit. Blake pointed at the building and asked if she knew anything about it. Marta nodded and spoke to her son, Marco. He and his sister, Isabel, ran off, and Blake spent the next few minutes doing her best to find out how Marta was fairing.

  She was a young mother in her early twenties with long, dark hair and bright, friendly eyes. She’d traveled to the nearby church where the temporary medical clinic Blake had been volunteering at was. Blake had treated her and the kids, and she’d developed a strong fondness for them. And Marta, to show her gratitude, had invited Blake and some of the other volunteers to her village. They’d readily accepted and come for a visit, where they’d met Marta’s friends and loved ones as well as other villagers. It was then that Blake had heard firsthand about their great need for medical care and she’d begun thinking about opening her own clinic.

  Unbeknownst to Marta, her friendly invitation had led Blake to the biggest dream of her life. And as soon as Blake was able to tell her that, in the Spanish she was now very intent on learning, she was going to.

  Blake listened as Marta relayed how she was feeling, using both English and Spanish. Blake was elated to hear that she was doing well, and reportedly so were her children. When they returned, they had a middle-aged man with dark, sun-weathered skin and a crown of receding, silver hair with them. He greeted Blake and Sloane with the same friendliness exuded by Marta. His name was Javier and though his English wasn’t as good as Marta’s, he was still very willing to show them the building.

  He unlocked the door, and Blake and Sloane entered the dimly lit space. The front room was wide and open but otherwise sparse. There was no flooring, or counters or cabinetry. But the walls seemed to be intact and they found the same to be true in the three small adjoining rooms. The ceiling, however, needed repair in four places and two new windows were also needed. As for the rest, they’d have someone else come in to assess that. But otherwise Blake couldn’t help but feel a rush of enthusiasm at what she’d seen. It was the perfect size for a clinic and the location couldn’t be better.

  She thanked Javier and asked him for a phone number. He held up a finger and spoke to Marta, who then took Blake by the hand and led them down the street. Blake shrugged at Sloane, who was now holding the children’s hands, and followed Marta to the café they’d passed earlier. Javier waved and continued on while they entered the establishment with Marta and her children. The café was really a bakery of sorts, with the heavenly scents of freshly baked food filling the air. A counter ran along the back, with a glass display of said food. Blake looked longingly at the pastries and breads, and their delicious smells quickly lured the kids over to peer through the display. Blake smiled at their excitement and turned to take in the rest of the café.

  It was small, but not uncomfortably so. Four round tables set for two were positioned in front of the windows. Marta urged Blake and Sloane to sit before she disappeared behind the counter. She returned a few moments later with another woman, who Marta introduced as Sofia. She appeared to be older than Marta, with her dark hair wound into a bun and a well-worn apron covering the front of her stout figure. She gave them each a plate of small shell-shaped goodies and then nodded to Marta, who gave them both mugs of what looked to be hot chocolate.

  Blake knew better than to try to politely decline their generosity. So she and Sloane thanked them and the women disappeared behind the counter, this time taking the children with them.

  “So are we supposed to wait here for Javier?” Sloane asked.

  “I think so.” Blake picked up a warm, doughy shell. “I really need to work on my Spanish.” She took a bite of the pastry. “I hate not being able to talk to people, and if I’m going to live and work here, I can’t expect everyone to speak English as well as Marta can.” She chewed and savored the flavor of cinnamon bursting in her mouth. “Oh, my God, these are good.”

  “You’re not doing so bad,” Sloane said, laughing a little, probably at her reaction over the food.

  “Yeah, but I need to do more than just get by. I need to be fluent.”

  “You know more than I do.”

  “That’s not saying much.” She took another bite, thoroughly enjoying the treat. “What are these? They’re so good they’re almost sinful.”

  “Now this I do know,” Sloane said. “They’re called conchas. Mexican sweet bread. And you’re right, they are killer good. These are the best ones I�
�ve had so far.”

  Sloane chewed and then sipped her hot chocolate. “Kenna and I are going to order one of those language programs. It’ll probably be one of those older ones with the cassette tapes since we can’t do it online at the beach house. This living for weeks at a time without internet thing we’re embarking on is already hurting me. Kenna loves it, though. She’s going all Little House on the Prairie on me. The electricity fiasco didn’t really bother her. She snuggled up to me all night long talking about how romantic it could be if we lived without it and used candles instead.”

  “But she was so grateful to Tomas, so thrilled that he was able to fix it.”

  “She was glad we didn’t have to pack up and go back to Phoenix. That was what she was worried about. She’d be fine living without power if we were prepared. She sure did her best trying to convince me that I’d like it to.”

  Blake grimaced. “Spare me the details, please.”

  “What? All I was going to say was that she was right about the candles. It was romantic.” She sipped her cocoa and gave a crooked grin.

  Blake gave her her usual rolling of the eyes and took the last bite of a concha. Her eyes rolled again, this time in sheer delight. “I have got to learn how to make these.”

  “Yes, you do. That way you can make some for me, too.” Sloane chewed a bite and swallowed. “I get why you like it here,” she said. “Why you want to help so badly. This little village is so quaint and colorful. The people are so friendly and generous.”

  “Thank you.” She touched Sloane’s hand, but then looked away. “I’ll never be able to express just how much your help in this means to me.”

  “I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

  Blake smiled at her graciously and then her mind went to the one concerning obstacle blocking her dream. “I just wish my parents could be as understanding.”

  “When are you going to tell them?”

  “When I’m sure we can really make this happen.”

  “And you don’t think they’ll be supportive? Maybe even want to help?”

  “I don’t think so. They barely tolerate my being gay. That’s enough of a difference for them. Anything more would be unheard of. And the plan has always been for me to take over the family practice.”

  “Whose plan? Yours or theirs?”

  “You know how it is with them. They are the all-knowing, all-powerful parents and I’m—well, I’ve always been the good girl. The ever-obedient daughter. My coming out was the one and only time I’ve ever risked disappointing them. And that was years ago.”

  She drank her cocoa before continuing.

  “I love being a doctor and working at the practice, so I haven’t been miserable or anything. But after volunteering, I realized that I want more. I want to do more. And I want to do it here, where I can hopefully make a really big difference. Whether they understand that or not, I can’t let that stop me.”

  Sloane squeezed her forearm. “I’m so freaking proud of you.” Her eyes teared. “You can do this. We can do this. And you know, no matter what, you’ve got Kenna and me standing right by your side.”

  Blake felt her own tears threatening. “Thanks.”

  The door to the café opened and three men entered. One was Javier, and one was a man Blake had never met before, and the other…the other was Tomas.

  She was so shocked to see him again she nearly swallowed her food wrong. She immediately stood, dumbfounded.

  “Tomas.” She blinked. “Hello.”

  “Hola, miss.”

  The man Blake didn’t know offered his hand. “Hi, I’m Alejandro. You’re the ones interested in Javier’s building?”

  “Yes. I’m Blake and this is my good friend, Sloane.”

  He shook Sloane’s hand. “Javier is my tio. Uncle. And Tomas is my cousin.”

  “Oh.”

  “You and Tomas know each other?” he asked.

  “Yes, we do. We’ve—met before.”

  “He fixed my electricity,” Sloane said. “I live next to his friend Cam.”

  Alejandro looked puzzled, but Tomas said something and he laughed, nodded, and looked at Blake with what she perceived to be some sort of secret, knowing smile. She dismissed it, though, when he focused on Sloane.

  “Ah, Santi, okay. So, you moved into that house next to her?”

  “A few weeks ago.”

  “That’s going to be quite a little gem once you chip away the rough edges.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping.”

  “I’m sure Santi will be a big help. And Tomas, well, there’s no one better. And I’ve worked with a lot of contractors in my day so I know what I’m talking about.”

  “I’m sorry, Santi? Who is that?” Blake asked, the name sounding vaguely familiar. She knew she’d heard it before but couldn’t place it.

  “Santi is Cam. Her last name is Santiago, so everyone calls her Santi.”

  “Oh.”

  “She hasn’t told you that?”

  Blake shook her head. “She—no, she hasn’t.” But now that she thought about it, she had heard Alberto call her that.

  “Give her time. She’ll come out of her shell once she gets to know you.”

  “I’m not sure that’s ever going to happen,” Blake said with sadness. “She—seems very private.” And she seems to hate my guts.

  “She can be at first. It took her a while to open up to people here when she first moved down after her accident. She didn’t hardly speak to anyone for months.”

  “Accident?” Sloane asked. “Like a car accident?”

  He nodded solemnly.

  “The scars,” Blake whispered. “She was injured.”

  “Yes,” he said. “She was lucky she survived. But she has, and probably still, would argue that.”

  “Why?” Sloane asked.

  Alejandro looked at both of them. “Because she doesn’t feel lucky at all. She feels guilty for surviving when her wife didn’t.”

  The café seemed to tunnel in around Blake. “Her wife?”

  Alejandro nodded, and when he spoke again he seemed regretful.

  “I probably shouldn’t have said anything.” He scratched his temple. “Santi…she means a great deal to a lot of people around here and…we hate to see her so alone. She holes up in that house, sometimes behind that laptop with her work and…it would be nice if she could meet other women. Women like her.”

  “You mean lesbians?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “We’ve been trying,” Sloane said. She looked at Blake.

  Blake’s mind was racing and she struggled to speak, her brain and mouth disconnected. “Work? I thought—doesn’t she work on houses?”

  He pressed his lips together and suddenly appeared very uneasy. “She does. But let’s talk about Javier’s building. Will you be in the area for a while? We could do another walk-through and I could work you up an estimate and answer any questions you have about repairs and renovation.”

  She just blinked, unable to process quickly enough. The words “wife” and “didn’t survive” just kept echoing in her head.

  “She’s not planning on staying for very much longer,” Sloane said for her. “But we are interested.”

  “Great.” He dug his wallet from his jeans and pinched out two business cards. He handed them over. “Here’s my number. I’m here for another week, then I’ll be back in Tucson. But feel free to call me anytime. I’m happy to translate for Javier. And if you need to reach Tomas for any reason, such as further renovation questions from someone local, your best bet is to ask Santi. She knows where he is more often than we do.”

  He shook their hands, and after they said their good-byes, they left.

  Blake was staring at her cocoa mug so hard it blurred. When she felt Sloane’s hand on her arm again, she looked up and tried to focus on her through pooling tears.

  “Would you like to talk about it now?” she asked gently.

  Blake swallowed and stifled back more tears. She nodded. “Y
es.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  It was just before noon and the sunlight was weak and pale, mostly hiding behind the thin wisps of drifting clouds. Cam felt a kinship to it, knowing she too, looked weak and pale from days of hiding away and eating very little. It was why she was debating whether or not to remove her sunglasses. Normally, she would under cloudy conditions like these, but today her physical appearance took precedence over the shyness of the sun. Maybe her aunt and uncle wouldn’t notice her wearing them despite the lack of sunshine.

  She checked her phone for the time. It was ten past noon and her aunt and uncle were fashionably late like always. If they ever did show up to anything on time, she’d wonder if it was really them or if it was some sort of alien being disguised as them.

  They’d agreed to meet at Juanita’s, a popular restaurant in town they’d been frequenting since Cam’s move to Mexico. The crowd on the outdoor patio was thin today, and she was grateful. She had an oceanside view from her table, and if it weren’t for the overzealousness of the seagulls and the occasional shriek from the diners at the table next to her every time a bird came near them, she’d be enjoying a pretty peaceful afternoon.

  One of the waitresses hurried to the shriekers table and chased the birds away. It made Cam laugh because she and the waitress both knew her success would be short-lived. The gulls were always a problem on the patio. Most people just accepted them as part of the experience, part of the decor.

  Cam watched the gulls return, this time landing closer to her, where they seemed to feel safer. She looked back to the neighboring table to see if they’d start to freak out again, but instead saw Aunt Ginger and Uncle Tony weaving through tables. They were smiling broadly, walking hand in hand in their typical beachwear, most of which consisted of airy, light cotton or linen clothing. Today, however, was significantly cooler, especially when the breeze kicked up, and it was the first real indication that summer had indeed finally bid them farewell. Which, from what Cam could see, still meant shorts for the two of them, but they did have on sweatshirts instead of short sleeves. They still wore their sandals, however, which didn’t surprise her. They would, after all, only pay so much credence to the change in season.