How Much I Feel

by Force, Marie

  “This is excellent, Carmen. Very well done.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “I’ve had some promising conversations with various board members who’d expressed concerns, and I’ll be sure to make them aware of the Instagram account as well as Dr. Northrup’s work at the clinic.”

  “That would be excellent.”

  “Keep up the good work.”

  “Yes, sir, and I’ll be sure to get the written report for today to you tonight.”

  “I’ll look forward to hearing how it goes. Have a good day.”

  “You too.”

  I end the call feeling optimistic after hearing Mr. Augustino has had some positive conversations with board members. The tide seems to be turning in Jason’s favor, and I can only hope that his day at the clinic will help to seal the deal.

  I seem to have a vested interest in keeping him in Miami.

  When I pull into the parking lot, he’s leaning against Priscilla, scrolling through his phone. He’s wearing the Wayfarer sunglasses, a pressed button-down shirt that covers that sinfully sexy chest I got a look at last night and khaki pants. It’s quite possible I’m drooling as I stare at him before he realizes I’ve arrived.

  A horn sounds behind me, snapping me out of my stare-fest and catching his attention.

  He smiles at me, and I die. I’m done. I can’t think or function.

  Until that damned driver in the car behind me lays on the horn again.

  Jason cracks up laughing as I inch forward into a parking space. Well, that was rather mortifying. I’m flustered as I gather my things, and then my door opens and he’s there, squatting next to me, still smiling.

  “I’d hate to have to bail you out, again.”

  “But you would, wouldn’t you?”

  Nodding, he leans in, clearly intending to kiss me. “Every time.”

  I meet him halfway, our lips connecting with urgency that takes us right back to where we left off yesterday.

  His hand encircles my neck, I grasp his shirt, and his tongue brushes against mine, making me moan from the power of the desire that touches every part of me. He smells so good. So, so good. Like soap and sporty cologne and heaven.

  “Christ have mercy,” he mutters when we come up for air. “I want to take you inside and spend the whole day feasting on you.”

  I try to say something, but what comes out sounds like “ungwh.”

  “Yes, my thoughts exactly.”

  “You’ve scrambled my brain.”

  “Back atcha, babe.”

  I use my thumb to wipe my lipstick off his mouth. “Maria says there’s a line out the door at the clinic.”

  His tongue touches my thumb, and I gasp from the need that makes me want to forget all about the clinic, my job, his job, the hospital board. All of it. I just want to say eff it and follow him inside to his room to start a whole new scandal.

  “There’s good news and bad news,” I tell him.

  He pushes my hair aside and kisses my neck. “Hmm?”

  I melt. I’m a puddle of want and need so sharp it clouds my better judgment and nearly makes me forget everything that isn’t his lips on my neck. “The good news is I worried if it would be weird or awkward between us today.”

  “Not even kinda weird or awkward. So what’s the bad news?”

  “We need to be somewhere.”

  “That’s very bad news, indeed. Might be the worst news I’ve ever heard.”

  “You already knew this.”

  “True, but I hadn’t kissed you yet today, and now that I have . . .”

  “What?” Have I ever been as breathless as I get around him? No, never.

  “I’m going to need some time to settle down before we go anywhere.”

  I tell myself not to look, but I’m not listening to myself when it comes to him. I look. I stare. I want.

  “Stop. That’s not helping.”

  My phone rings, and I take the call from a local number I don’t recognize. “Carmen Giordino.”

  “Hey, this is Desiree Rivera with NBC 6.”

  I give Jason, who’s still in a crouch next to my car, a big-eyed look and put the phone on speaker so he can hear, too. “Hi, Desiree. Thanks so much for calling.”

  “Maria told me about your colleague, the pediatric neurosurgeon who’s offering pro bono work at her clinic in Little Havana. My bosses love the idea of a feature story, if he’s game.”

  Jason nods, but I can see the reluctance all over his face.

  “He is, but there’s a catch.”

  “What kind of catch?”

  “The reason he’s courting publicity is he was part of a scandal at his former hospital in New York. He met a woman, began a relationship with her and the whole time she was setting him up to help her out of a bad marriage—with the chairman of the board of his hospital.”

  “Whoa.”

  “He had no idea she was married, let alone to the chairman of the board. They transferred him to Miami-Dade without mentioning the scandal. Apparently, the board in Miami heard about it and isn’t sure they want to extend privileges. Our goal is to show that he’s someone we want and need in our community.”

  “So that’s why he’s doing the pro bono work?”

  “Yes, but he’s really looking forward to it. He would tell you he doesn’t get to do a lot of routine medical stuff anymore since his regular patients come to him when they’re in some sort of crisis. He welcomes the opportunity to make a contribution to his new community.”

  He smiles and gives me a thumbs-up, which is a relief, because I’m totally winging this.

  “If we do the interview, I’d have to ask him about what happened in New York.”

  He grimaces.

  I meet his gaze. “Understood.”

  “Let me test the waters here and get back to you in an hour or so. Maria said he’d be there all day today?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Okay, I’m on it. Talk soon.”

  She’s gone before I can reply. “This is an amazing opportunity,” I tell him.

  “I know.” He stands to his full height and stretches, all signs of arousal killed by the reminder of what we’re doing today and why we’re doing it. “You promised me Cuban coffee.”

  “So I did.”

  Extending his hand, he helps me out of the car.

  “Jason.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m good.”

  “You’re upset about the interview?”

  “I’m upset that I need the interview.”

  “It’ll help for people to hear the story from your point of view. I think you can talk in high-level terms about what happened without naming names.”

  He nods, but the tight clench of his jaw is indicative of his true feelings. The last thing in the world he wants to talk about is the scandal he left behind, but the coverage of his work at the clinic will be a major “get” for our project.

  Our drive to my favorite ventanita in Priscilla is filled with uneasy silence. Tension comes from him in waves that I can feel in the deepest part of me. I hate this for him, as much as I would if it’d happened to me. I’ve dived headfirst into whatever this is with him, and I don’t care about any of the possible consequences. And that’s so not me.

  New Carmen wants this with every fiber of her being, and far be it from Boring Old Carmen to stand in her way. I direct him to the Citgo gas station that’s out of our way, but a necessary detour.

  “I don’t need gas.”

  “I know, but you do need a cortadito. Trust me. Juanita makes the best in town.” I get out of the car and meet him with a smile, hoping to cheer him up before we get to the clinic. About five people are ahead of us in the line that forms outside a nondescript window.

  “They really sell coffee here?” Jason asks, seeming skeptical.

  “Calling it ‘coffee’ doesn’t do it justice. You’ll be ruined for anything else after this.”

 
“You’re the boss.”

  I explain to him the four types of Cuban coffee—cafecito, colada, café con leche and my favorite, cortadito. “Around here, if you visit someone’s home, the first thing you’re offered is coffee. It’s a major part of our culture.”

  “I’m a big fan of coffee. Can’t wait to try it.”

  “Hola, mi vida. ¿Quién es el guapo?” Juanita is in her early forties and has dark hair and eyes as well as a contagious personality that keeps people lined up outside her shop all day. She flirts shamelessly with her male customers but is hopelessly in love with her husband. He owns the car service company that took me and my friends to prom. Of course she wants to know about the handsome man I’ve brought with me today.

  “This is Jason.” I hold up two fingers, and she gets busy making two of my usual.

  “Is he single and looking to mingle?”

  “No, he isn’t.” Jason gives me that panty-melting look he ought to trademark because it’s that effective.

  “So it’s like that, is it?” Juanita smiles at me over her shoulder as she works her levers and valves. Like everyone around here, she knows my story and takes an interest in anything I do. Such is my lot in life. In our community, when a young widow starts dating again, it’s big news. Hell, everything is big news in our community. My mother jokes that we’re outstanding at minding each other’s business.

  Juanita brings two steaming cups to the counter and goes back for two of the buttery pieces of heaven that’ve contributed to my curves. I give her a ten and two ones.

  In Spanish, she says, “Bring him back again soon. He’s easy on the eyes.”

  “Is he? I haven’t noticed.”

  She snorts with laughter. “Sure, you haven’t. You go, girl. It’s time.”

  I offer her a small smile and a nod and then join Jason back at the car. We get in to drink the coffee.

  He takes a bite of the pastelito. “Oh my God. What is this pastry?”

  “First, you never call it ‘pastry.’ It’s pastelito.”

  “It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my entire life.”

  “Try the cortadito.”

  He takes a sip and moans.

  I flash a smug smile. “Told ya.”

  We eat and drink in companionable silence.

  “I can’t believe we bought this at a gas station window. Starbucks has nothing on this place.”

  “I know, right?”

  “You’re going to have to teach me how to make this coffee so I can have it every day for the rest of my life.”

  “I can show you, but mine is nowhere near as good as Juanita’s. I don’t know what the hell she does inside that little shack of hers, but it’s magical.”

  “I’m a convert.”

  “Her grandparents fled Cuba in fifty-nine, too. My grandmother knew her grandmother in Havana. They were in school together.”

  “Does everyone know everyone else around here?”

  “The long-established families in Little Havana tend to know each other, at least the grandparents do, but the rest of us don’t know everyone. Although my family knows almost everyone because of the restaurant.” I glance at the clock, which is edging closer to eight thirty. “We should get to the clinic. You’re due to start in half an hour.”

  He turns the key, and Priscilla roars to life. Before he puts the car in reverse, he looks over at me. “In case I forget to tell you, I appreciate all of this. Even if it doesn’t work—”

  “It’ll work. They’d be crazy not to want you on our staff. We’ve still got twelve days to show them that. Try not to worry. We’re going to make this happen.”

  “You make me believe it.”

  “You can believe it. We’re doing everything we can and then some.”

  He shifts the car into gear and follows my directions. “I’d be losing my shit without you helping me. Thank you. I truly mean it.”

  “I’m enjoying it. All of it.”

  “Don’t talk about ‘all of it’ until later when we can do something about it.”

  “Do something about what?” I ask with pretend nonchalance.

  The look he gives me is nothing short of incendiary. It scorches every inch of me and leaves me with no doubt whatsoever of what’ll happen the next time we’re alone together.

  A twinge of apprehension works its way through me. What if I’ve forgotten how? What if I panic at the last minute or—

  His hand covers mine, infusing me with his warmth. “Stop fretting. Nothing will happen between us unless or until you want it to. You’re the boss in every way.”

  I melt into the leather seat, moved nearly to tears by his insightful comment. He gets it. He really gets it. Other men I’ve dated didn’t have the first inkling of what it’s like to suffer a loss like mine. They tried to be sensitive, but most of them were ham-handed clods when it came to navigating the emotional minefield that comes with dating a widow.

  In the online support group of widows I belong to, people post stories about their dating disasters and some of the hilarity that ensues. Every so often, someone will post about their first significant relationship after the big loss.

  Will Jason be that for me? Or will this be a passing fling, something to do until we both move on to more permanent relationships? I honestly have no idea, and that’s okay. Either way, it’s what I want right now. He’s what I want, and wanting him feels pretty damned good. In fact, it’s safe to say I feel better than I have in years.

  We pull onto the street where the clinic is located, and the first thing I see is the crowd gathered outside. “Holy shit.” I glance at Jason, who’s taking it all in but doesn’t seem rattled by the size of the line. “If it’s too much . . .”

  “It’s fine. I like being busy.”

  We park behind the clinic and go in through the back door. Inside, we meet up with Maria.

  “This is like when One Direction came to town,” she says with a teasing smile for Jason.

  “I don’t know about that,” he replies, seeming embarrassed.

  “Well, to us, you’re One Direction, Biebs and TaySwift all wrapped into one very welcome package. We haven’t had a doctor here in two very long weeks.”

  “I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

  “We’ve set you up in here.” She leads the way to a cramped exam room where a crisp white coat has been placed on the exam table. Maria shows him where everything is and hands him a prescription pad. “Can you think of anything else you might need?”

  “Not at the moment, but I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay, we’re going to open the doors, then.”

  “I have release forms for anyone who wouldn’t mind being photographed with Dr. Northrup.” I hand the stack I printed at home to Maria. “If anyone is interested in sharing a story about their visit with me, I’d love to talk to them.”

  “I’ll mention that as they come in. Here we go!”

  CHAPTER 15

  CARMEN

  The day becomes a flurry of insane activity from then on. Jason sees fifteen patients in two hours. Most of them pose for photos with him, and three share their stories with me. Jason diagnoses one child with a severe case of strep throat, another with scarlet fever and a third with conjunctivitis.

  The stressed-out mother of the three children told me how much it meant to her to be able to see such a highly qualified doctor for free and to receive much-needed medication. Another patient, a diabetic seventy-five-year-old man, received a referral to a wound clinic for an ulcer on his foot that refuses to heal.

  Maria and two of the other women who work as admins translate for patients who don’t speak English.

  At one o’clock, my parents arrive with trays of sandwiches and bottles of cold water for the staff and the patients who’re still lined up in the midday heat.

  Dad comes over to kiss my forehead.

  I lean into him. “You’re the best, Daddy.”

  “Anything for you, honey. The whole neighborhood is buzz
ing about your doctor and what he’s doing here.”

  “It’s been a crazy morning. The people just keep coming.”

  “They’re so thankful for the opportunity. Mrs. Lopez has had the worst time with gout, and the first appointment she could get with her doctor is in three months. Do you know how painful gout is?”

  “I’ve heard.”

  “She came into the restaurant earlier singing his praises—and yours. We need more doctors like your Jason willing to give their time to help those with less access. It’s a very good thing he’s doing here.”

  I don’t bother to correct him. He’s not my Jason. But I agree it’s a very good thing he’s doing. Everyone who leaves the exam room comes out smiling, many of them clutching prescription slips.

  After my parents leave to go back to the restaurant, I down a few bites of sandwich between taking photos, interviewing patients and posting stories to Instagram. The reaction to the stories is all positive, but I take the time to make sure there aren’t any trolls weighing in on the posts.

  So far, so good.

  At two, my phone rings with a call from Desiree. “We’re on for a feature story on tonight’s eleven o’clock news. I’m on my way with a crew.”

  “Thank you so much, Desiree. I appreciate this.”

  “It’s a great story. I’m happy to get the chance to tell it. See you soon.”

  I wave Maria over. “Desiree is coming with a film crew. How do we manage the line and consent?”

  “Let’s go outside, tell them what’s happening and get the forms signed before Desiree arrives.”

  We spend thirty minutes in the broiling sun, explaining the form in English and Spanish and asking for permission for the prospective patients to be filmed by the TV crew. Most of them are excited by the idea of being on TV. A few volunteer to be interviewed, and I make note of who they are.

  I’m giddy with excitement about what a great opportunity it is for Jason to have this interview. I can only hope it doesn’t blow up in our faces. If they focus more on the scandal in New York than they do on what he’s doing here in Miami . . . That can’t happen. With all the people at the clinic prepared to attest to how thankful they are for the time he’s giving them, that should be the point of the story.