“Bueno, nena, the choice is yours then.” Fists on her plump hips, Dolores pierced Rosa with a challenging stare. “Am I changing my ticket? Or is this young man staying to help you?”
* * *
Jeremy was more than a little surprised by Dolores’s ultimatum.
Frankly, he had a hard time believing the older woman would actually agree to him staying overnight with Rosa. They weren’t a married couple, so no way would many of the elder members in their community think it proper.
Still, Dolores had to know that Rosa would balk at the idea of changing holiday flight plans.
All three of them knew Rosa would bend over backwards before inconveniencing someone else.
He’d watched her do so countless times.
Whether she was letting Lilí get out of some boring chore around the house. Or canceling her own weekend plans to cover for a bookstore coworker with a lame excuse. Or picking up the slack for a classmate who bailed on a group project in one of her graduate classes.
Rosa was the consummate people pleaser. Well, except for recently when she’d had no problem putting her foot down with him.
His arm still around Rosa’s shoulders, he felt their rise and fall as she released a deep sigh.
“So, what will it be, nena?” Dolores pressed. “I have three days to help your young man learn what he needs so that I can leave in peace. Or, I can send Pablo to Puerto Rico ahead of me.”
Like a little kid in the back of the classroom, jumping up and down in his seat, hand raised high, a voice inside him screamed, “Pick me! Pick me!”
Rosa didn’t answer. Instead, she got busy worrying her bottom lip.
Interesting.
A thrill of excitement wormed its way through Jeremy’s chest. Maybe he actually had a shot here.
Dolores crossed the living room to one of the bongo drums that flanked either side of the dark cherry entertainment center. She picked up a framed Fernandez family photo that had been taken when Rosa was in early high school, before her mom had died.
Jeremy had eyed the picture many times, captivated by their smiling faces. Reynaldo and Marta stooped down, arms wrapped around all three of their daughters, who stood in front of the couple. Love, pride, and joy shone in the parents’ eyes. Hints of the girls’ personalities were evident in Lilí’s mischievous grin, Yazmine’s sultry look, and Rosa’s shy expression.
It was that shyness that continuously drew him to reach for the picture when he visited.
Before, he’d wondered what lay behind her gentle smile.
He didn’t have to wonder anymore. Not since he’d had the privilege of experiencing the fire and passion Rosa kept hidden from most. That experience had been like a gift he wanted to unwrap again and again.
“I made a promise to Marta that I would care for you and your sisters like you were my own,” Dolores said, drawing Jeremy’s attention back to the decision at hand. “We are familia.”
“I know, Tía. And I’m grateful for the guidance you’ve given me. Especially in the years since we lost Mami.”
The tremor in Rosa’s voice had Jeremy tightening his arm around her to offer comfort.
“Familia es importante,” Dolores continued, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “We protect one another in difficult times, especialmente when someone comes along who might hurt us.”
Jeremy cringed at the underlying subtext.
He was not family. He was an interloper. A gringo.
Even worse, he’d come into their circle and taken advantage of the most delicate, most fragile of the sisters.
He already felt blame for getting Rosa into this situation. Hearing the censure in Dolores’s voice was sea salt poured over an open wound.
“Señora Torres, if I may . . .”
He broke off when Rosa bent her elbow to link the fingers of her right hand with his where they lay on her shoulder.
“With all due respect, Tía,” Rosa said, her fingers tightening around his. “Jeremy is familia. You and Tío Pablo go to Puerto Rico, please. Enjoy the Christmas and Three Kings holidays. I’ll be fine here. With Jeremy.”
Another knuckle-snapping squeeze from Rosa punctuated his name. He didn’t know what secret message she might be trying to send him, but her words were a thrill to hear.
“Yazmine will be over to help eventually,” Rosa steamrolled on. “And Lilí’s winter break begins soon. I will have plenty of nursemaids.”
Her wry tone made it difficult to tell if Rosa was trying to convince herself or Dolores that everything would be fine.
There was no need for her to worry about convincing him. If Rosa wanted him to stay with her, he’d move in tonight. His gym bag was in the car so he already had a change of clothes and toiletries.
What better way for him to show her that he was ready for this? Words hadn’t done the trick, even though she was a woman who valued them.
“If Jeremy is sure . . .” Rosa’s fingers slid from his as she turned to face him, his arm dropping from her shoulder. “I’ll take his offer.”
She gazed up at him, her expression an interesting mix of confidence and vulnerability. The first filled him with pride that she had spoken up for him. The second made him want to wrap her in his arms and promise to make everything better.
“Like I said before,” he told her. “I’m all in. One hundred percent.”
He watched Rosa’s throat move with a swallow. No doubt she was as overwhelmed as him by how fast things were changing between them. In monumental steps.
Two months ago, she wasn’t answering his phone calls. Two days ago, she was keeping him at a ten-foot-pole distance. Today she was agreeing to have him stay in her home.
Talk about a head-spinning one-eighty.
Jeremy cupped her shoulders, the simple connection to her both calming and exciting him at the same time. Reminding him of how good they could be together, if they were able to figure things out.
“Are you sure?” Rosa asked, her voice soft but her tone firm. A true reflection of the many facets that drew him to her.
“Whatever you want, I’m game.”
Her eyes flashed with . . . was that triumph?
That seemed odd, but before he could think more about it, she lifted up onto her toes to press her soft lips against his.
Her fingers grabbed on to his waist, curling into his sweater. The sweet vanilla scent he would forever associate with her filled his lungs. God, how he wanted to tug her closer. Deepen the kiss to satisfy his hunger for her.
Instead, Rosa lowered back to her stockinged feet, giving him a shy look under her lashes.
Dolores cleared her throat. Like he needed a reminder of her presence.
“Bueno, if he is staying and I am going, we have much work to do.” The older woman’s no-nonsense voice rang with a challenge.
“Let the games begin,” Rosa whispered for his ears only.
“Nena, get me a pen and some paper so I can make a grocery list,” Dolores ordered, moving to sit on the couch again. “Your young man can run to the store right now while I am here.”
Thank you, Jeremy mouthed as Rosa moved to follow her madrina’s request.
She hesitated, guilt flickering across her face before she turned away.
* * *
An hour later, Jeremy stood in aisle seven of the local Whole Foods Market, staring blindly at the unbelievable number of shelves weighed down by the insane variety of olives.
He glanced from the paper with Dolores’s scrawled list of items back to the shelves.
Holy hell.
Should he get plain green? With or without pimento? Garlic or blue-cheese stuffed? Queen-sized? Would Rosa prefer if they were pitted so she wouldn’t have to spit something out?
Damn. His first errand for Dolores and he was already stumped.
At least the list specified green olives. That eliminated some options.
Maybe if he tried thinking like a pregnant woman . . .
Jeremy shook off the silly idea a
nd refocused. No way would he call to ask for more guidance. That smacked of incompetence. Failing in Dolores’s eyes was not an option. Neither was failing in Rosa’s.
All he needed was a strategy.
Bingo!
His hand basket already mostly full with boxes of mint tea, fresh ginger and papaya, a couple of limes, a large bag of white rice, and two bags of salt and vinegar potato chips, Jeremy dashed to the front of the store for a cart.
Dolores asked for olives?
The woman was going to get olives.
Twenty minutes later, Jeremy pushed open the Fernandezes’ front door, arms draped with reusable grocery bags filled with the list of ingredients Dolores needed for her special concoctions, along with every green olive option known to man.
Rosa looked up from where she sat on the couch reading a book. Right away, he noticed her red-rimmed eyes and dark pink nose. She’d been crying.
Obviously, she and Dolores had shared a difficult conversation while he’d been out shopping. Guilt speared him with a sharp blade. He should have been here to back her up.
Then she smiled at him. A hopeful smile that ensnared his heart as easily as if she’d swung a lasso around it and pulled tight.
She’d changed from her work clothes into a pair of red fleece sleep pants with a black sweatshirt, the slogan Reading is Sexy in red cursive letters across the chest.
Jeremy grinned. Ten bucks said the sweatshirt had been a gift from Lilí.
While Rosa’s black fuzzy socks and high ponytail didn’t exactly scream sex siren, the whole ensemble encompassed everything about her that appealed to him. She was the comfortable girl next door, the one he could feel at ease and be himself with, and yet, underneath that sweatshirt was a sexy body he hoped she’d want to share with him again.
Setting her book down on the cushion beside her, Rosa pushed off the couch as he strode past her toward the kitchen.
“What did you buy?” she asked. “There were barely five items on Dolores’s list.”
Jeremy glanced over his shoulder to find Rosa bringing up the rear behind him.
“To be clear, there were six specific items, along with one more that had far too much room for interpretation,” he answered.
Rosa’s face scrunched with confusion. “Huh?”
“I wanted to make sure I didn’t—”
“¿Pero qué es esto?” Dolores’s cry brought him to a halt one step into the kitchen.
Arms raised to indicate all his purchases, the older woman gaped at him.
Undeterred, and quite pleased with his problem-solving skills, Jeremy placed two bags on the laminate-topped breakfast table. “These are the majority of the groceries you asked for. And these”—he set the other three reusable bags beside the first two with a flourish—“are the green olives.”
Both women exchanged befuddled looks. Then, in unison, they stepped closer and began rummaging through the items. Rosa pulled out a box of mint tea and sniffed it. Dolores started lining up the olive jars on the table, glass clinking against glass with each new addition.
It wasn’t long before two sets of dark eyes framed by puzzled brows turned to stare at him.
A niggling sense of worried doubt wove its way through his head, similar to the sensation he’d experienced the first time he’d read a photo caption in the Tribune identifying him as “the adopted son” of Sherman Taylor. As if that made him less than.
“You didn’t specify what type of green olive, so I bought one of every option.” Shoving his hands in his front pockets he lifted a shoulder, going for nonchalant when he’d actually started wondering if he’d been overzealous in his bid for Dolores’s acceptance. “I figured, why not cover my bases.”
Arms crossed in front of her, Dolores gave him a solid impression of a stern Mother Superior. Slowly shaking her head from side to side she mumbled, “Increíble. Este hombre está loco.”
Rosa’s lips twitched. She giggled, then quickly covered her mouth with her hand. Still, her eyes twinkled with a glee that had been missing since she’d come to his place just over a week ago.
Relief at her reaction wiped away all his doubt. Dolores might think he was crazy, but he was okay with that as long as Rosa was happy.
She giggled again and he winked at her, pleased to see the deep pink blush that crept up her cheeks.
“I thought I’d be buying pickles and ice cream.” Shrugging out of his jacket, Jeremy slung it over the back of a kitchen chair. “Or is that an old wives’ tale and pregnant women really don’t crave that combination?”
“Back home, on the Island, it is olives,” Dolores answered. She pulled out another box of mint tea along with the ginger root, then crossed to the counter. “Like your pickles here in America, the vinegar helps with the . . . ay, how do you say, Rosa, el malestar? O la mala barriga?”
“The nausea. Or bad, upset stomach,” Rosa translated. She sank down into one of the wooden breakfast table chairs. “I guess malestar really means when your whole body doesn’t feel well. That pretty much sums things up for me.”
“You sit there and relax. I will—we will take care of everything, verdad, Jeremy?” Dolores held the ginger root out to him.
It was the first time she had addressed him by name this evening. He liked the way Dolores’s heavy Spanish accent softened the syllables.
On his drive back from the store, he’d worried about what might have gone down between Rosa and her godmother while he’d been gone. Whatever had been said, Rosa’s red-rimmed eyes told him it had been difficult for her. But somehow, and for some reason he was thankful for, Dolores appeared a hair more accepting of him.
At least she had stopped shooting poison-laced daggers at him with her eyes.
Encouraged, he took the ginger from her with gusto. “Right! No, verdad.”
Dolores’s lips curved, the faint wrinkles along the edges of her mouth deepening, before she nodded in approval.
And thus began his first Puerto Rican cooking lesson.
While Rosa sat at the kitchen table, Dolores showed him how to peel the ginger, then chop it up to boil in water that was then used to steep the mint tea.
If that didn’t do the trick with Rosa’s nausea, he was to boil half a cup of rice in a full cup of water for ten minutes. Then he poured the rice water in a coffee mug for Rosa to sip. Not something he’d been excited to sample, but he did.
He’d made himself a promise. Whatever she tried, he tried. It was only fair.
Rosa had balked when he’d poured himself some of the ginger mint tea. She flat-out objected when they got to the rice water. Saying there was no need for both of them to taste the gross stuff.
He’d stood firm.
They were in this together.
After they’d shared a few sips of the water, Rosa declaring a preference for the tea, Dolores moved on with her lesson.
Next up, a quiz on his egg-cooking prowess. Apparently they’d provide sustenance while not aggravating Rosa’s stomach.
Did he know how to boil an egg? Dolores had asked.
He’d actually done a double take at that question.
Uh, yes.
Could he fry an egg over easy?
Check. Along with a mental note that it was Rosa’s favorite.
Basic scramble?
No problemo.
Dolores gave him another eagle-eyed assessment at his wise crack.
He tried not to laugh, seeing as how she didn’t seem to appreciate his humor.
Eventually they moved on to the papaya. It wasn’t as difficult as he’d thought when first holding the smooth-skinned fruit. Cut, scoop out the seeds and membrane, peel, slice, enjoy.
Once he’d mastered that task, Jeremy sat down next to Rosa at the table, setting the plastic container of fruit in front of her.
Odds were good that Dolores didn’t intend the papaya tasting to be a sensual affair. However, with Rosa’s first bite, the sweet juice dripped down her chin and all he could think about was licking the trail
of nectar off her skin.
He settled for reaching out to swipe the juice with his thumb, then bringing it to his mouth to sample.
Heat flared in the depths of her eyes.
Her tongue slipped out to lick her lips, the delicate pink tip teasing him. Desire and hunger slammed into him, surging through his body with an electric jolt.
Rosa’s gaze moved to his mouth, paused, then slid away. A dull pink blush climbed up her face.
Any doubt that she had wanted him as much as he had craved her that night was erased as deftly as a message written on the shore before a rising tide.
His fear that he’d somehow misread her signals dissipated.
“The bag of papitas can stay closed for now, but give them a try later, okay, nena?”
Her back to them, Dolores put the bag of salt and vinegar potato chips in the pantry next to the basement door. Clueless as to the inappropriate thoughts swarming around Jeremy’s head. The same ones sending his blood south in an even more inappropriate response, considering he and Rosa were currently chaperoned.
Dolores moved toward them, pointing at Rosa as she spoke. “Take them to school tomorrow, with one of Jeremy’s olive jars?”
The older woman’s cackle of laughter, coupled with the at least fifth or sixth olive reference she’d made at his expense, deepened his sense of belonging, especially after the good-natured ribbing she’d given him throughout the impromptu remedy-making lesson.
Dolores had teased him mercilessly for his overindulgent shopping trip. At the same time, she’d patiently taught him the Spanish to English translations for the various ingredients they’d used.
Rosa’s good-natured chuckles over his mispronunciations took the sting out of his embarrassment.
He imagined this was what most evenings had been like for her when she was growing up—hanging out in the kitchen with her mom, laughing together. The other two sisters running in and out with their busy schedules, Reynaldo practicing music with his trío, Los Paisanos, in the basement.
Since Dolores’s husband, Pablo, had been a Los Paisanos bandmate, she’d probably been a regular here as well.
Her Perfect Affair Page 15