by Maggie Wells
Live for the moment, querida. Don’t think too much.
She’d teased her mother about watching too much Oprah on TV when Maria started doling out dating advice, but now the words played on a loop in her head. Their server appeared with a bottle of wine Rosie didn’t know anyone had requested. Charlie asked if she liked cabernet. No expert, but certainly not picky, Rosie nodded her agreement.
She watched as the bottle was skillfully uncorked, the wine tasted, and the rich, burgundy liquid poured into glasses. “Thank you.”
Their waiter picked up the menu card and disappeared into the throng in the kitchen.
“Georgie tells me you’re getting over someone.”
Rosie coughed as the wine went down rough. She blinked back the tears stinging her eyes and waved off Charlie’s apologies. When the burning in her chest subsided enough to draw a normal breath, she forced a small, tight smile. “I hear you are, too.”
He managed to look appealing rueful. “I figured we’d throw the elephants out there and let them trample around first.”
Rosie laughed and shook her head at the unexpected audacity. “Okay, well, tell me your sad story.”
“You tell me yours,” he challenged.
She shrugged. “Nothing to tell. Unrequited love. The most pathetic of all loves. Can’t even claim tragic or ill-fated. We never even went on a date.”
Rosie wasn’t sure if she was trying to freak him out with the overly direct answer, but Charlie didn’t seem to be perturbed. In fact, he leaned in, his milk-chocolate eyes warm but not pitying. “I had one of those once. They suck.”
She laughed at his blunt assessment. “Yes, they do.”
He gestured to her with an all-encompassing wave. “And he’s obviously legally blind or something.”
“His life is…complicated.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste, hating herself for leaping to James’s defense. “But, yes, he sucks. And he’s blind. At least, visually impaired.”
The appealing dimple in his left cheek winked at her. “His loss.”
“Yes.” She punctuated her agreement with a resolute nod. “And you? What happened with you?”
“Oh, well, mine was pathetic, tragic, ill-fated, and clichéd.”
She raised both eyebrows. “Wow. You’re an overachiever.”
His smile faded. “Yes. Let’s see… She was a chef, too. We were a thing for six months. Long hours, not much time together, but I thought the relationship was going okay.” He chuckled. “I tried to get her to come work with me, but she was in love with the head chef at the restaurant where she worked.”
“Ouch.”
“I got her the job there.”
Rosie groaned sympathetically. “Double ouch.”
“The head chef also happens to be a woman,” he added with an unwavering stare.
“No!” She fell back, aghast. “Now I think you’re making this up.”
“And she’s my first cousin.” He picked up his wine glass and toasted her. “I might get to see them together at every family gathering in perpetuity. Lucky me.”
A laugh escaped her as she raised her hands to ward off any more information. “Okay. Okay. You win.” The giggles kept slipping out no matter how hard she tried to maintain some composure. Shaking her head in dismay, she tucked her hair behind her ear. “I am sorry. I don’t know why I’m laughing.”
“Because the whole thing is too ridiculous.” He pressed both hands to his chest, then gestured to her. “A nice guy like me, a beautiful, intelligent woman like you…surrounded by fools.”
“Yes, we are.”
He reached across the small table and clasped her hand. Rosie automatically looked down, surprised, but not displeased, by the bold move. His fingers were warm and rougher than she expected. His skin pale next to hers, but not the same milky shade as James’s. Charlie was more pinkish-tan. And unfreckled. She was trying to determine whether she liked his lack of speckling when he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. She looked up and met his steady gaze. This was the sort of man she needed. Forthright. Easy. Uncomplicated.
“Lucky me,” he repeated, but this time without the hefty dose of sarcasm.
Turning her hand over, Rosie threaded her fingers through his and returned the pressure. “You do not suck.”
His smile stretched into a grin. “Yeah. Neither do you, Rosie. Neither do you.”
* * * *
“My younger sister has a learning disability. I spend at least one night each week working with kids who need extra help,” Devin, the attorney from Hello Eros!, said as the waitress placed a glass of chardonnay in front of Rosie. “Thanks for agreeing to meet on a Wednesday.” He flashed a toothpaste ad grin and swiveled his stool to look directly at her. “I didn’t want to wait until next week.”
Rosie blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the bar’s dim interior. She had the feeling she needed to look sharp around this guy. He was too smooth to be real.
“Not a problem.” She wriggled to make herself more comfortable on the tall wooden bar stool. “And…you’re an attorney?”
Yes, she’d fallen back on lame opening gambits, but she was still trying to get her bearings. When he asked if she wanted to meet for a drink at a place called The Watering Hole, she’d confirmed the bar’s trendy West Loop address and agreed, thinking the place would be, well, trendier.
The Watering Hole turned out to be more of a hole. A hold out against gentrification, the bar was dark and fairly seedy, in spite of the clearly upscale clientele. Guys in designer suits filled the low Formica tables and stood jammed shoulder-to-shoulder at the bar. Their expertly tailored silhouettes looked out of place amid the ancient beer signs and the antique cigarette machine in the corner.
She tuned in to what Devin was saying in time to catch the words ‘family court,’ and caught the pause signaling her first conversational cue. “Your work must be fulfilling.”
“Yes.” Devin bobbed his head with enthusiasm. “I watched my mom struggle to get help for Mandy for a lot of years.”
He ducked his head, then glanced up at her from under his lashes. The move was effective, even if a bit practiced. Devin the Attorney was every bit as attractive as his photographs.
“Was your mother a single parent, too?”
The question jolted her from her assessment. “What? No. I mean, yes, she is now, but no. My father was around when we were growing up.” She cocked her head, her mind racing as she tried to formulate a more coherent explanation. “He passed away six years ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
His response was a reflex, she knew. She also knew instinctively there was no way this man could understand how devastating the loss had been.
“I deal with mostly single mothers in my practice. A good percentage of my clients are Hispanic.” He flashed impossibly straight white teeth.
She blinked, making her gaze deliberate enough for him to get the message. He’d stuck his foot in his mouth. Big time. “You must eat well, then.”
“Yes.” Confusion rippled across his even features, then he gave his head a sharp shake. “I mean, yes, sometimes they try to feed me, but I wasn’t—”
She’d say one thing for Devin the Attorney and Dentist’s Dream, he had smarts enough to know when he’d strayed into quicksand. He huffed a short, mirthless laugh, then held up a hand as if to pause the proceedings.
“Okay, wow, that was…stupid, huh? Presumptuous and…wrong.”
The crust of permafrost in her attitude cracking under the heat of his embarrassment. “A bit.”
He glanced up at her again, but this time his shyness didn’t seem the least bit feigned. “I apologize. I was trying to impress you.” One corner of his mouth kicked up. “Trying and failing miserably. I’m not good at the getting-to-know-you stuff,” he said dryly. “Which is a problem when I meet someone I really want t
o get to know.”
Rosie held her breath for a moment, savoring the confession and the compliment all the more coming from this handsome man. She shifted on her stool, this time turning toward him like a flower searching for sun. “Shall we start again?”
He smiled and extended his hand for her to shake. “I’m Devin. I’m a family law attorney specializing in cases involving children with extraordinary needs, and I am really bad a first dates.”
“I’m Rosalina Herrera. I run the office for a full service security company, and you are the first man I have met through an Internet dating site.”
He upped the wattage as they shook. “If I get better at this by the end of the evening, I could also turn out to be the last man you meet through an Internet dating site.”
She laughed, flattered and flustered by his infectious audacity. “I have to confess, I like your ambition.”
* * * *
“My abuela tells me I have a good singing voice.” Manuel from Mate.com gestured to the small stage and audio equipment set up next to the bar at La Canta. “If you’re up for some fun, we can do some karaoke.”
Rosie wasn’t up for karaoke, or much of anything. It was Friday night, and she was exhausted from a whirlwind of dating. Worse, her mother had gotten wind of the push to find a new man to fixate on and was text spamming her with the names of eligible men whose mothers were also members of her Altar and Rosary Society. She’d finally had to mute the thread so her phone would stop blowing up.
“I’m not much of a performer, but you’re welcome to go ahead.”
He waved her offer away with his longneck bottle of beer. “No worries. I can catch a few tunes in the second set.”
Manuel was a handsome man, she’d give him full marks for looks. He was of medium height and compact build, like her father had been. His eyes were dark and heavily lashed, but his skin glowed the palest gold in the bar’s dim light. She’d tried to engage him by asking questions about his work as a construction foreman, but his answers had been perfunctory at best. Manuel didn’t ask about her work. As a matter of fact, he didn’t seem as interested in her as he did in checking out the after-work crowd trickling through the front door.
His inattention didn’t bother her. Frankly, she was tired and wanted to go home. She’d finish her margarita and slip out the door before the happy hour appetizers disappeared. She wasn’t crazy about meeting men in bars, but when dates were relegated to after work hours, a drink seemed far less a commitment than dinner. She made a mental note to start arranging more lunchtime coffee meets if possible.
“Have you done this a lot?” Manuel asked, his gaze focused about six inches above her head.
The impulse to give a snarky reply was strong—incredibly strong—but she refrained. After all, she’d initiated the online conversation with Manuel, not the other way around. She didn’t know why he’d agreed to meet if he wasn’t going to give her a chance.
“I assume you mean the dating services?”
Something in her tone must have pierced the haze of his distraction, because he stiffened, his fingers squeezing the bottle so tightly his knuckles shone white in the reflected neon. She barely had time to blink before he zoomed in on her with laser-intense focus. Suddenly, he was leaning in close, too close, and gazing at her as if she were the only woman in the room. Hell, she’d go as far as to say the only woman in the world. The scrutiny was disorienting. Confused, she glanced over her shoulder, but his hand came down on hers hard. She nearly leaped off her stool.
“No, don’t,” he whispered with an urgency indicating either an armed robbery in progress or some serious control issues.
She met his eyes and held. “Take your hand off me,” she enunciated with deliberate care.
“Please.” A desperate creak in his voice erased small traces of his earlier cockiness. “Just…please go along,” he implored, his eyes boring into hers.
She squinted at him through the gloom. “What’s going on here?”
“Please,” he hissed one more time. And then he looked up, his expression of rapt enchantment melting into a mask of bland indifference as a slender woman with streaky blond highlights approached their table. “Oh. Hey. How’s it going?”
The woman’s steps slowed. “Who is this?” she demanded, shooting Rosie a scornful glance.
“This is Rosalina,” Manuel answered, adding enough rolling emphasis to imply something akin to pop-star status to the bare bones introduction.
“Rosalina.” Blondie’s tone simmered with indignation.
Alarm bells clanged in Rosie’s head. Her hand slid to her lap, and she clutched the handle of the leather tote she’d looped over her knee. She wanted no part of whatever was about to unfold. Sliding from her stool, she plastered a bright, friendly smile on her face. “Yes, Rosalina. Manuel’s abuela is in the Our Lady of Perpetual Suffering Altar and Rosary Society with my mother.” She shrugged into her long wool coat and flipped her hair from the collar. “Mama asked me to meet with Manuel regarding him and his crew donating some time to the church remodeling project.” She wrinkled her nose and gave a conspiratorial wink. “Her English isn’t good.”
A stunned Manuel accepted the handshake she offered.
“Thank you again for volunteering your skills. I’m sure you won’t have to cook a meal for months.” She looped the bag over her shoulder and pivoted for the door. “Have a lovely evening, and enjoy the karaoke.”
Before she could walk away, she saw the blond shove Manuel hard. “Karaoke? Did you sing with her?” The woman’s voice rose high enough to carry over the hum of more civilized conversations. “You’d better not have sung ‘Leather and Lace’ with her—”
Whatever was going to play out between Manuel and his Stevie Nicks–wannabe was lost in the hubbub as Rosie ducked past a waitress carrying a drink-laden tray.
Stepping out of the bar, Rosie yanked her bag higher on her shoulder and hugged herself as she headed into the wind. She scanned the street, taking in both the pedestrian and automobile traffic. A taxi cruised past, its light a beacon in the bitterly cold night.
The temptation to raise her hand was strong. More than anything she wanted to sink into a rump-sprung seat and be dropped off at her front door, but she wouldn’t. She believed cabs and car services were for tourists, suburbanites, and people too drunk to find their way home. She had a monthly pass allowing her unlimited access to the Chicago Transit Authority. With the post-work exodus still in progress, a cab would be a foolish waste of money, meter rates being what they were. Tucking her chin to her chest, she headed for the battered bus shelter at the end of the next block.
“‘Leather and Lace,’” she huffed into her collar. “Kill me now.”
Her heels clicked on the pavement. Gritting her teeth, she picked her way around the icy patches in front of a shuttered bodega, idly wondering if landing flat on her ass might not be preferable to the rock salt eating into the expensive leather of her shoes. She picked up the pace as she hit the frozen pavement again. The sooner she reached the shelter, the sooner she could step into her sneakers and tuck her precious pumps safely into her bag.
The sides of the shelter were covered in ads for a film long gone from theaters. Puffing from cold and exertion, she rounded the corner of the enclosure at full speed. Thankfully, the metal bench was unoccupied. Dropping onto the creaking aluminum, she pulled her slip-on sneakers from her bag and changed her shoes, teeth chattering in the cold.
Her phone chimed, and she plucked it from the side pocket of her bag. A message from Devin the attorney showed in the notifications.
I know this is last minute, but the case I’m working on took a turn, and my evening is freed up. If you’re available, would you like to join me for dinner? Marconi’s on Randolph?
Rosie tried to muster the energy to be offended by the assumption she might be free, but she couldn’t. Who was she kid
ding? They were both busy professionals who’d resorted to scanning abbreviated bios online for prospects.
Her stomach growled, and she stared hard at the screen. The message was only twenty minutes old, and Manuel had been a bust. If she went home, she’d end up in her pajamas eating a single-serve entrée hot from the microwave. Not an altogether unappealing option. But still…if she wanted her life to change, she was going to have to step out of her habits a bit.
Jumping up from the bench, she peeked out from around the corner of the shelter and scanned the traffic. No bus in sight. Biting her lip to keep her teeth from rattling, she jabbed at the phone with her thumb. A shiver ran down her spine as she listened to the phone ring on the other end. Devin picked up on the second ring.
“Hello? Rosie?” His voice came through warm, deep, and gratifyingly enthusiastic.
“Hi. I got your message.”
“I know I shouldn’t ask on such short notice, but I thought I’d take a shot. What do you say?”
Rosie pressed her lips together. She wanted to blame the stinging wind for the tears in her eyes, but the rush of emotion wasn’t Mother Nature’s fault. He thought she was worth risking rejection, and pathetic as she was, she was grateful for the ego boost. Clearing her throat, she leaned out to peek around the enclosure and checked the oncoming traffic for a bus. If one was coming, she’d take it as a sign to head straight home.
But, instead, a taxi drew to a halt, and the driver peered at her inquiringly.
Rosie blew out a long stream of vaporous breath. Sign received and understood. Looping the straps of her bag over her arm, she reached for the rear door. “As a matter of fact, my plans fell through, and I have a cab.”
“Awesome,” he enthused. “Tell them to drop you at Marconi’s. Randolph and Sangamon streets. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Five minutes,” she repeated as she slid into the taxi’s back seat. “See you then.”
A blast of heat hit her full in the face as she ended the call. She repeated the restaurant directions to the driver, then fell back onto the cracked vinyl seat with a huff. Her cheeks and ears burned as she began to thaw. Her fingers and toes tingled with gratitude. With a sad sigh for the loss of comfort, Rosie slipped her feet from her sneakers and wriggled them back into the killer suede pumps she’d worn for Manuel’s benefit.
