New York Minute

by Melinda Dozier

  Diego shoved his phone back into his pocket and viewed his enormous smile in the window. Since he’d arrived home two nights ago, he couldn’t stop smiling. They were at a whole new level—perhaps a real relationship—and he had to tell her the parts of his life he’d left out. His chest constricted a little, so he tightened the strap of his guitar and turned around.

  He snuck into Cinnabon to buy two rolls, since she’d shown excitement about the dessert. Her fondness for sweets rubbed off on him, too. As he came out of the little restaurant, Veronica ran right into him.

  “Well, hello.” He grinned and eyed her tight pencil skirt that matched her dark, buttoned jacket with a crisp, white shirt underneath. A scarf circled her neck and long earrings fell from her ears. Her black hair was pulled into a bun; she looked the epitome of a sexy librarian.

  She pulled her purse up on her shoulder and cocked her head at him. “This is a surprise.”

  He held up the Cinnabon bag. “Cinnamon rolls.” Then he held up the other bag in his hand. “Lunch.”

  “You always know how to pull me in.”

  “Let’s find an empty table.” He scooted behind her so his front pressed her back, inching her forward through the throng of pedestrians.

  “What would you have done if I didn’t have a lunch break?” She glanced at him over her shoulder, her long eyelashes batting against her pink cheeks.

  “Everyone has to eat.” He motioned to an empty table, which happened to be next to a beat-street musician with six or seven containers around him to beat out his rhythm.

  She raised her eyebrows. “Lunch entertainment, too. You really know how to charm a lady.”

  “Is it okay?” When she nodded and sat, he placed the bags on the table and his guitar by his feet. He unloaded the treats.

  “So much food. I only have thirty minutes.”

  He held out his hands and shrugged. “I didn’t know what you’d like, besides cream puffs and cinnamon rolls.”

  Her delicate fingers reached for half of a roast beef sandwich. “This is perfect. Thank you.” She gnawed off a huge bite and rubbed her lips with a napkin. She blushed when she looked up and caught him staring at her. He couldn’t help it. Even when she ate, everything about her was erotic.

  “What?”

  “I love to watch you.”

  She pushed the other half of a sandwich toward him. “Well, you need to eat, too. Then I’ll watch you make a mess.”

  He snickered. “Hell, you and messes conjure up fascinating images.” He picked up the sandwich, sat back, and crossed his legs.

  Veronica reached out and touched his arm. That gentle gesture forced the breath out of him.

  “You seem nervous. Everything okay?”

  He rubbed his chin. He could tell her now, but when her small smile bounced back at him with the question in her eyes … well, it could wait until after they ate. The nearby street traffic rattled around them and the stench from the trash bin nearby didn’t add to the ideal atmosphere of telling his secret. Besides, he had to find the balls to blurt it out and, at that moment, his balls were nowhere to be found.

  Yet, he needed to say it.

  “I just wanted to tell you something. Come sit closer.” His foot circled her metal chair and he tugged her next to him.

  “What?”

  “I never got the chance to apologize for being an ass the other night, and I wanted you to be sure I was sorry for accusing you of going out with that other guy.”

  “Diego—”

  “No, really. I’m sorry.”

  “I appreciate it. We need to start trusting one another.” She squeezed his hand and just like that she forgave him. Another thing he liked about this woman. Other women he had dated would have shown animosity until he bought them a necklace or some other expensive symbol of “I’m okay, you’re okay” when really it wasn’t. He loved that he and Veronica could be normal—talk it out and move on.

  The drumming next to them continued and, like anytime he heard a rhythm, the beat immersed itself in him. He began bobbing up and down. “So, what’s the deal with you being in the accounting department? I went into merchandising and the clerk said you’re in the other building.”

  Veronica wiped her lips with a napkin and took her time to answer. “Oh, I’m in accounting sometimes seeing about the numbers and what I can purchase. Looking at the reports of different vendors to see where I can fit in more buys. Hanging out with those nerdy accountants.”

  She was the one who sounded nervous now. “Sounds interesting, if you want to be around numbers for a day. It’s not really like you, though, unless it’s number seven.”

  Her eyes widened for a brief moment, then she looked down, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. “Yeah, I know, numbers are boring, right?”

  He reached out. Damn, did she think he thought she was boring? “Veronica, you’re one of the most fascinating people I know.”

  She smiled and he basked in the look she gave him. Pure tenderness. This is what he wanted. An authentic woman he could believe in. It was one of the disconcerting parts of his chosen career—women who wanted to be with him to be in the spotlight. Veronica was the complete opposite. He knew that from day one when she didn’t recognize him, and it still enticed him. She was warm, affectionate, and herself. The exact mixture he needed in his life.

  His fingers tapped on the table along with the beat. Several people walked by, leaving money in the bucket in front of the musician with a tight beanie around his head and a goatee. He dipped his head at Diego, continuing to bang away.

  “Did you ever play on the street?” Veronica sipped the ice tea bottle Diego handed her.

  “Plenty of times. Especially in Argentina.”

  “How did you get started in the business?”

  He swallowed before he answered and scooted his body closer to Veronica so he could see the player better and feel her heat. “I was fresh out of high school. Most people thought I’d go straight into working with my father, but my parents demanded we all go to college. So, I studied in the States—Miami University.”

  “You and Miami go way back then.”

  Shit. He ran his hand through his hair. If ever there was an opening, now was it. “A bit. Instead of studying business administration, like Marco, I fell into music immediately. After college, I played clubs, a producer found me, and we’ve gone on from there.”

  “Were your parents angry you didn’t go into the business with them?”

  “Not at all. My father pushed me to do what I love.” He shook his head. “I wish you could meet him.”

  “Me too. I bet your parents are wonderful, seeing as you and Marco aren’t too bad.”

  Diego angled over and kissed her. He couldn’t do it. Not here. Not now. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

  The beat drummer had stopped in the middle of their conversation, and Diego got up to place five dollars in his bucket. “Thanks, man.”

  When he sat back down, Veronica reached over and squeezed his hand. “I bet it was hard to get started. I’ve heard a musician’s life can be difficult. But, to be honest, I don’t know much about it.”

  A new rhythm started, slower. “Some people just get lucky.”

  “I’d like to hear you play. Live. See you in action.”

  He grinned, looking around. There were a few people listening to the street performer. What if he joined in? He stood, wiped his hands on his jeans, and pulled his guitar case up to the chair.

  “Your wish is my command.”

  He kissed her lips, gently, enough to tell her, without words, how happy he was to be with her—even if it was only for thirty minutes. He wanted her to know that, because it was fucking true.

  He played a few chords, warming up his fingers, and the drummer bobbed his head up and down. “Come on, brother.”

  They played together as if they’d rehearsed in a studio when really Diego had never seen the guy before. Some folks stopped, some paid, others listened. It was just like wh
en he started out playing on Miami Beach or in downtown Buenos Aires. An amateur on a mission to be discovered. He missed the innocence he had then, and for a brief moment as he watched Veronica while he strummed the strings, she allowed him to feel young again. She didn’t roll her eyes or think he was stupid—he usually charged a lot for people to hear him. Instead, her eyes glowed with enjoyment as her head bopped to the music. She bit her bottom lip and rested her head on her hand, closing her eyes in pure joy. She inspired him in ways he never thought possible.

  Then a couple of women stopped in their tracks and watched, ceasing the reverie of his old life. “Is that him? Diego Diaz?”

  Veronica jerked her head toward them and tipped her head to the side.

  He turned his attention away from his mini-crowd and closed his eyes, allowing the music to well up inside, and tried to enjoy the moment again.

  When the song ended, Diego flipped off his fedora, bent down to the drummer, and thanked him. “Loved jamming with you.”

  And he had to deal with the few fans that gathered, signing his autograph and taking pictures, all while his “normal” girlfriend watched. He was afraid it would change everything. Now that she saw how others reacted to him, her attitude might change. Sometimes that happened. No matter how much he hated it, some people took advantage of situations like this, greedy for attention or their five minutes of fame.

  He snuck a glance and she offered him a tentative smile, waiting for him to finish his work. The same sweet Veronica stared back at him. If they were to move on, she needed to learn this part of his life, just like his trips to Miami. So now was as good a time as any.

  As soon as everyone walked away, he held out his hand. “Sorry about that. You ready?”

  He pulled her to him, her supple breasts against his chest. They stared at each other for a few seconds, a silent message. He had no clue what she was saying, but he wanted her to know he liked her. A lot. Hell, maybe even … no, damnit, not yet. It was too soon, wasn’t it? He didn’t want to feel that deeply anyway. But he did want a steady woman in his life, and it looked like they were headed in that direction.

  “Do you realize the impact you have on everyone around you?” She woke him from his thoughts.

  “You can only impact those who want to be.”

  When she tapped her chin with her long finger as an answer, studying him, Diego got antsy. He packed up his guitar and the uneaten food. Could she tell her impact on him? Did he want her to? What would she think if he told her the full truth about him? Shit. Too many questions running through his head. His fingers itched to play it out—again.

  Once they had their belongings together, Veronica faced him again, her bright blue eyes beaming, but her eyebrows drawn together. “What did you mean you can only impact those who want to be?”

  He leaned on the table, crossing his feet at the ankles, and pointed out to the sea of passersby. “People everywhere are blind to what’s around them. Look.” He pointed to random men and women walking on the sidewalk. Crossing the intersection. Talking on phones. Texting. He shook his head and squinted in the sunlight. “They’re blind to life. Blind to beauty.”

  Veronica’s lips puckered in thought. Every little mannerism, every damn shrug of her shoulders or blink of an eye sent words tumbling in his head. She was his muse—a living and breathing inspiration.

  He squeezed her hand, and he was already half-cocked and ready at just a touch. Madre de Dios. Since when did holding a woman’s hand make him hard? It was like he was back in high school. Shit.

  “What do you find beauty in, Vero?”

  “Numbers.” She didn’t hesitate then laughed. A soft rose color drifted up her neck to her cheeks. “How they add up, how they’re formed. The logic behind them and how black and white it is. Numbers are easily spelled out. No guessing.” She eyed him sideways, not quite looking at him full-on. “Crazy, right?”

  He loved this about her. Her honesty and the two sides of her. “Not surprising. Number seven, right? And now I see why you got nervous about me commenting on hanging with the accountants all day. See, you’re not boring. And what you said is exactly what I’m talking about. Here.” He pointed to a bench away from the noise and led her there by the elbow. He didn’t want the afternoon to end yet, and they probably had only a few more minutes. Usually when they were together, talking led to much more, and yet out here, where that couldn’t happen, he still enjoyed talking with her. Getting to know her more was dangerous, but he wanted it. No doubt about it.

  He opened the dessert bag, pulled out a chunk of cinnamon roll, and fed it to her. With her moan, he smiled. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “You’re right. Blind to the simple pleasures.”

  “Did you ever hear the story of that famous violinist, Joshua Bell? I think it was in the Washington Post. Anyway, he played in the subway during rush hour and only a handful dropped money in his hat or stopped to listen. He chose one of the hardest pieces known to violinists, and he was ignored. If only they knew most people would pay thousands to hear him in a concert hall.” Diego intertwined their hands and pulled hers to his mouth to kiss it. “Blind.”

  Veronica’s eyes lowered and she bit her lip. “I’ve been blind or invisible for so many years.”

  Diego pulled her face to his. “Believe me. You’re far from invisible. You’re more noticeable than you think.” He inclined his head at the man who walked by, eyeing her briefly and stumbling on the sidewalk crack.

  She giggled and he held her chin.

  “You’re a beauty to me.”

  “You help me become visible.”

  He shook his head. “It’s all you. I don’t do a damn thing except admire you—on the inside and out.”

  “We barely know each other. How do you know how I am on the inside?”

  “We all start out as strangers. The beginning of a relationship has to start somewhere. I know you more than I’ve known any other woman.”

  She placed her hand on his thigh and rubbed, almost making him stutter his words. “There’s still so much I want to learn.”

  Shit. If that wasn’t a sign, he didn’t know what else was.

  He had to tell her. She wanted to know him, and there was a huge part of him that she didn’t know. She’d never even guess.

  His heart beat faster and his palms got sweaty. He took a deep breath … but she continued talking, asking questions and … and he couldn’t. He couldn’t freakin’ tell her. He couldn’t be sure of her reaction, and it scared the shit out of him.

  “I know you’re passionate about music. What else makes you tick?” The question rang in the air.

  He scratched his jaw. “Um …” The sincerity in her eyes nearly undid him. Damn beauty. Gaining his composure, he licked his lips and smirked. “Twenty questions again?” He pulled her scarf closer to him. “Can I see some skin?”

  “No stripping in public.”

  Diego chuckled. “Public hasn’t stopped us before.”

  She snatched her scarf away from him and lifted her chin in defiance. “What else do you love?”

  “Family.” He didn’t hesitate. His mom and dad embracing beside the fireplace. His farm. Little Isa riding her horse and his brothers herding cattle, branding them. A damn bull chasing Marco and Rodrigo, Diego laughing his head off. The streets of Buenos Aires. Miami. Sofia.

  “That’s an easy out. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family, but doesn’t everyone?”

  “No, I mean it. I have—” He stopped and her eyes lit up, encouraging him to continue. “When you have your own, it’s different … I imagine.” Crap, his heart beat fast again. He was probably going to have a heart attack. “Do you ever want your own family?”

  “You mean a husband? Kids?” Her eyes widened, her lashes blinking against her pink cheeks. “I’m only twenty-six. I still have time to figure that out. I guess when the time is right.”

  “Life is like music, Vero. Timing can be off sometimes. What you think is in the composition boo
k might be different once you play it.” He touched her cheek and kissed her, if anything, to calm his nerves. “Sometimes you think your life is played in C-flat. It sounds right, all is smooth, jazzy and mournful, but then you’re given something life-changing. A whole new song in a different key. Your song is played in C-sharp instead, and it opens your eyes, ears, and heart to find beauty in ways you never imagined.”

  “Like becoming noticeable and beginning to feel it to your core.” She twirled a dark strand of stray hair around her pointer finger.

  He wanted to squash the space between them and nip her finger.

  “Hell, yeah.” And because he wanted to, he did it. Pulled her finger to his mouth and kissed the tip. When she closed her eyes, he brought her hand down and joined his forehead to hers.

  “I want to hear your song, Diego,” she whispered. “I know you have a hidden song in there. Sing it to me.”

  He sighed, pausing for a brief moment, wanting to feel her breath on him once more before he pulled back. All the way back, from the inside out. It wasn’t time yet. “It’s all about timing. When I’m ready, I’ll play it.”

  Sitting on a park bench in the middle of a busy New York street wasn’t the right moment to spill his guts … or his heart.

  Holy hell, since when did he fall for a woman? He ran his hand down his face and shook his head. Never.

  “When you’re ready, will you sing it to me?”

  “Yeah.” He managed to shrug. “When we’re both ready.”

  She gave him that sweet smile that showed the cute side of Vero, and she crossed her legs, accidentally kicking his guitar case to the ground.

  She bowed down and stroked the guitar case under his feet, pulling it up with a grimace. “Sorry.” She cocked her head so her dark hair in a bun shone under the sunlight. “Do you always carry a guitar around with you?”

  “No. I have practice for a gig tonight. You should come.” He placed his hand on the case and swayed it back and forth like a balancing weight, as if it were a grandfather clock, ticking back and forth. Shit, he’d blurted out the invite before he had time to think about it. Not that he didn’t want her there. He did. It was just that she hadn’t seen him in his element, his true element, not the substandard strumming on the street. What would she think?