His Perfect Partner

by Priscilla Oliveras

  “Good morning, girls. Staying out of trouble back here?” Mrs. Morgan swept into the storage room carrying a stack of flyers. The black curtain flapped closed behind her, essentially closing Yaz’s window of opportunity to confide in her best friend.

  Her frustration simmered, but relief lowered the heat by reminding her that maybe this was for the best. Once her confession was out, she couldn’t take it back.

  “Hi, Mom, inventory’s organized,” Cheryl answered. “What do you have there?”

  “Something I’m hoping Yazmine won’t mind taking to Hanson’s for me. I’m sure she’s heading there this morning to rehearse.” She winked at Yaz. “I know you as well as I know my own daughter.”

  Yaz hoped her smile didn’t look as forced as it felt. Of course Mrs. Morgan expected her to be at the studio. There wasn’t any other place Yaz felt more comfortable with herself. Maybe more than a confessional session with Cheryl, she should get to the studio. Spend a few hours sweating and dancing away her uncertainties.

  Shrugging into her winter coat, Yaz slung her dance bag over her shoulder, then held out a hand to take the flyers. “Sure, what are they?”

  “I’ve been so focused on my baby moving home, I forgot to print these earlier to advertise my annual end-of-the-year sale. One of the moms from Hanson’s asked me about it yesterday. Oh, what was her name again?” Mrs. Morgan rubbed her forehead as she tried to remember. “I swear old age is making me forgetful. Let me see . . . Janet . . . yes, Janet Miller.”

  Ha! The irony of cosmic ironies. Like fate whispering the name in Mrs. Morgan’s ear, reminding Yaz she had no business being hurt about Tomás asking for Janet’s number this morning.

  Maybe Mrs. Morgan had interrupted them at the right time after all. The only major change Yaz needed to make involved convincing Papi to keep fighting. Then she’d head back to New York, ready to make her mark . . . for both of them.

  * * *

  Shortly after noon on Thursday Tomás dropped his keys into the dish by the kitchen door, disappointed to find he’d either missed lunch with Maria and Yazmine or they’d gone to eat with Rey.

  After his major bust of a coffee date with Janet Miller, he’d driven home hoping to catch Yaz and Maria enjoying a picnic in front of the fireplace like they’d done yesterday, when he was working in the Chicago office.

  He smiled, remembering the selfie Yaz had sent of her and Maria, heads pressed together, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in hand. Even if he hadn’t saved the picture on his phone, the image had imprinted on his brain. Maria grinning with pleasure. Yaz flashing her saucy smile.

  Unfortunately, he’d told Yaz not to hold lunch for him today, thinking things might go well with Janet.

  Ha, not even twenty minutes into the coffee date he could tell the divorcée was still hung up on her ex. It wasn’t much longer before he couldn’t help but glance at his watch, wondering what Yaz and Maria might be up to at home. Wishing he was there to join them.

  Laughter rang out from the backyard and Tomás moved to the kitchen window to peek outside.

  Bundled up in her black ski jacket, mittens, and a dark knit cap, Yaz crouched down, a pile of snowballs at her feet. Maria let out a whoop of joy as she tossed a handful of snow at Yaz.

  The wind promptly blew the white fluff away and Maria ducked for cover.

  Looked like his little girl needed some reinforcements. Joining her would be the perfect way to take his mind off his disappointing reentry into the world of dating.

  * * *

  “Think you can hit me with a snowball and get away with it, señorita?” Yazmine pitched her voice low in her best dastardly villain impersonation.

  “¡Sí! I do!” Maria scampered around the wooden swing set in the spacious backyard, her cry trailing off with laughter.

  “Think again! You are soooo mine!”

  The little minx poked her head around the slide’s edge. She shook her head no, the pompon on top of her pink cap jiggling before she disappeared behind her hiding place again.

  Adrenaline pumping, Yaz crouched down to scoop up a snowball. A giggle bubbled up in her throat and she rose, ready to attack.

  Something smacked against her back and she stumbled forward. She spun around, shocked to find Tomás standing near the back door.

  “Take that!” he challenged, bending down to grab more snow. A sexy grin spread across his face and Yaz’s pulse skipped.

  “Papá!” Maria cried. “¡Sálvame!”

  “Stay where you are, m’ija. I’m coming to save you!”

  Before Yaz could react, Tomás sprinted across the yard, the ends of his navy scarf flapping in the wind.

  “Two against one?” she called out. “No problem. Lilí and I are reigning snowball champs on our street. I can take both of you. Easy!”

  She scurried behind the bushes under the kitchen window and quickly began assembling an arsenal.

  “Hey, where’d you go?” Tomás yelled.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” His laughter answered her taunt and she found herself grinning like a fool.

  “So it’s gonna be like that, huh?”

  “We Midwesterners take our snow battles seriously.”

  “Well, coming from south Texas, I may not have much experience, but I know how to win. ¡Mujer, eres mía!”

  Woman, you are mine?

  His battle cry sent a thrill of excitement down her spine. “Bring it on!”

  Through the bushes she spied Tomás belly crawling from the slide to the nearby picnic bench in search of protection. Snow dusted his dark hair. Determination clenched his jaw muscles.

  Carefully, Yaz took aim, crying out in triumph when her snowball splattered against his hip. He paused, sending a narrow-eyed glare in her direction. She launched another, missing slightly high of his shoulder.

  “She’s hiding in the bushes, Maria!” Tomás called, rolling behind the picnic table. “I’ll draw her out and you get her.”

  “Okay!” Maria answered.

  Yaz snickered at his simple plan. Silly man. How little he knew about winter war tactics.

  Suddenly Tomás jumped out from behind his lame hiding place—please, a wooden picnic table?—to stride directly toward her. He made an easy target and she wasted no time in shellacking him with snow.

  She aimed for his broad chest, bombarding him with pinpoint accuracy again and again. Yet he kept coming, completely undeterred. Darn his tenacity.

  Then she realized. Ay no! If she didn’t change position ASAP, he’d have her cornered between the bushes and the house in seconds.

  Scooping up as many balls as she could, Yaz slid out from her hiding spot, intent on running to the side yard for better protection.

  “Get her, Papá! Get her!”

  A snowball smacked against her butt, the force pushing her forward. She let out something between a laugh and a scream and tried to pick up her pace. Unfortunately, in six inches of snow, she wasn’t as fast as Tomás.

  Peeking over her shoulder, she saw him gaining on her, looking all Abominable Snowman-ish with his navy wool coat covered in the white powder. He gave her a devilish grin that sent heat pulsing through her.

  Time for Plan B. Forget about retreat!

  She swiveled around to face him, arm cocked back to let her ammunition fly. Instead, she found herself body-slammed to the ground.

  The thick blanket of snow cushioned her fall, but Tomás’s heavyweight landing on top of her knocked the breath from her lungs.

  “Holy sh—. Ay, Yazmine, estás bien?” Tomás struggled to get off her, but his arms sank up to his elbows when he tried to brace himself.

  Her knit cap had been knocked askew and she peered up at him with one eye. The slack-jawed, wide-eyed look of utter shock on his face was absolutely priceless. Obviously she wasn’t the only one floored by his tackle.

  She started to laugh, then winced at an ache in her back.

  “O-owwww,” she groaned.

  “Are you okay?” Tomás repe
ated, his voice gruff with concern.

  She closed her eyes, gingerly shifting her body, taking inventory of any pain points. Hyperaware of his full length on top of her.

  “I’ll get the Band-Aid box from the bathroom!” Maria cried.

  “Estoy bien.” Yazmine’s voice came out a scratchy whisper.

  “Huh?” Tomás bent his head closer to hers.

  “I said—” She cleared her throat, tugging her cap back in place. When she opened her eyes Tomás’s handsome face filled her view, the cloudless sky above framing him. “I’m fine. I think.”

  “Damn, that’s good.”

  He heaved a sigh, his body sinking more heavily onto hers. Desire furled through her, curling her toes in her boots.

  Yaz held her breath, allowing herself to enjoy—at least for a few precious moments—the sensual feel of him pressed so intimately against her.

  “Why the heck did you stop like that?” he asked.

  “Hey, you’re the one who tackled me.”

  “I was aiming for your feet, trying to trip you up a little. I didn’t expect you to stop and come at me like some crazy commando.”

  “You should know by now to expect the unexpected with me.” She grinned, her smile wavering when he pressed his forehead against hers.

  “You are unbelievable.”

  His minty breath warmed her face. Sent prickling heat to all parts of her body.

  Suddenly the snow beneath her didn’t feel quite so cold. The crisp winter breeze lifting the white fluff in tiny whirls around them could have been a summer gust for all she knew.

  “Most people would have kept running for cover. ¿Tu?” He nudged her nose with his. Awareness tightened her belly. “You come right at me like a crazy woman. You’re really something, you know that?”

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t enough for him, and she couldn’t let herself want to be.

  Guilt and despair sluiced in to fill her chest.

  “I’m one of a kind,” she answered, longing for him to agree. Then get to work devising a plan for how they could be together.

  He’d called her crazy. Maybe she was.

  Tomás pulled back a fraction. Far enough for her to watch his gaze slide down to her lips, then back up to meet hers again. Heat flared in his dark mahogany eyes.

  Her lips begged to taste his. Her fingers were desperate to run through his hair, pull his head down to hers.

  “This wouldn’t be wise, would it?”

  No, it wouldn’t. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to speak. Didn’t trust herself to make the smart choice.

  He must have read her indecision, or sensed the desire she held on an insanely short leash.

  With a muffled curse, he swooped down to cover her mouth with his. She welcomed him, wrapping her arms around his strong back.

  His tongue coaxed her to open for him. Willingly, she did. He tasted like coffee and mint, and she laved it up, their tongues twisting and dancing together. He nipped at her lower lip before sucking it between his. Desire crested, crashing over her. Making her want more. Need more.

  She moaned with pleasure.

  All of a sudden he pulled back, rolling to his left to land in the snow next to her. The cold wind hit her, jarring her back to the reality of her situation.

  She gasped for breath, her only consolation the sound of Tomás doing the same beside her.

  “I shouldn’t have—”

  “That shouldn’t have—”

  They spoke at the same time, each breaking off to let the other finish. Yaz slapped her gloved hand over her face, mortified by her inability to control her impulses. Dios mío, had she ruined things between them? Please don’t let them slip into some awkward, uncomfortable place now.

  “I’m sorry,” Tomás said. “I wasn’t—”

  “Stop,” Yaz ordered. His apology would only make her feel worse. “This was a joint venture. So, equal blame. Equal pretending it never happened. Deal?”

  There was a beat of tense silence. Her heart raced with fear. Would they not be able to go back to the easy camaraderie they’d shared before?

  “Deal.”

  Her body sagged with relief when he finally answered.

  Tomás sat up, brushing off the snow as he stood. “You know, I came home hoping for a little consolation after my catastrophe of a coffee date. Instead, I wind up covered in snow, worried I might have injured everyone’s favorite dance instructor two days before the Christmas show. You definitely know how to make life interesting.”

  “Hey, you’re the one doing the Chicago Bears linebacker imitation. Not me.”

  “Whatever. I like my version of the story better. Commando Yazmine, that’s what I’m going to start calling you. Come on, let’s get inside.” Reaching for both her hands, Tomás carefully pulled her to her feet.

  She couldn’t help but notice how quickly he let go of her once she was steady.

  “I’ve got work to do,” he said. “And no telling how many Band-Aids Maria’s already ripped open.”

  Yaz chuckled, gingerly moving through the snow. Her back felt a little achy, but she’d shake it off.

  “You okay?” he asked again, his concern touching her in ways it might not have moments before.

  “Yeah, but . . .” She stopped, waiting for him to turn and look at her. “Back there?” She nudged her head toward the ground behind them, at the deep impression their bodies had left in the snow. “We’re, we’re good, right? Friends?”

  He shook some snow out of his hair, his dark gaze unreadable.

  “Sure, friends.” One corner of his mouth curved up in the barest hint of his sexy little half smile. Sadly, Yaz couldn’t help but notice that his dimple didn’t wink at her this time.

  As she started walking toward the back door again, disappointment weighed down her steps. Then she remembered something he’d mentioned earlier. “Hold on a minute, did you say catastrophe date?”

  “I sure did. And FYI, your services as a matchmaker are terminated.”

  The world dropped out from under her, leaving her wobbly-kneed and shell-shocked. “You and Janet hit it off?”

  “Uh, no. A catastrophe isn’t usually a positive thing.” Tomás grimaced, stomping his feet on the cement porch to clean his shoes. “And I don’t want to go through another painful experience like that again.”

  “So you’re giving up on your Perfect Partner Plan?”

  The excited butterflies in her belly were not a good sign. Still, they took flight.

  “No, but I’ll find my own dates from now on.”

  That easily he hit the stop button on the happy dance music playing in her head. Of course he wouldn’t give up so easily. Maybe Janet Miller wasn’t the right person for Tomás, but neither was she.

  His Perfect Partner was out there, and sooner or later he’d find her.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I’m sorry, girls. There’s nothing more I can do.”

  Yazmine heard Dr. Lopez’s words, but her mind couldn’t seem to make sense of them.

  “That’s—that’s not—not acceptable!” Lilí cried, voicing the words they were no doubt all thinking.

  Yazmine’s gaze darted to Lilí, standing behind Papi’s cushioned chair in front of the doctor’s desk. Her younger sister’s pixie hair framed an angry, belligerent face, hazel eyes flashing at Dr. Lopez.

  A tsunami-sized wave of nausea slammed through Yaz as the magnitude of Papi’s diagnosis hit her. Beads of sweat popped up on her brow. She swiped at the moisture and pressed her lips together, desperate to hold back the cry of pain building in her throat.

  Dr. Lopez had to be wrong. This couldn’t be happening.

  Papi’s slumped shoulders told Yaz much more than the doctor’s prognosis. His face was lined with fatigue and sorrow, giving him a worn, haggard look. She stared closely at him and saw something in his eyes that scared her even more. Acceptance.

  Everything else in the room faded from her vision except for Papi. Seated in the chair next to him,
Yaz put her hand over his, feeling his death grip on the armrest. “How long have you been struggling with this truth on your own, Papi?”

  He closed his eyes, took a deep, shuddering breath. Somehow it felt like he’d sucked the breath out of her, too.

  Her heart cracked, in danger of shattering into a million jagged pieces right here on the floor in Dr. Lopez’s office. “Two weeks ago at Thanksgiving you said the cancer might have returned, and if so, you didn’t want to fight it. Did you already know then?”

  “No, this is wrong,” Lilí cried, desperation in her voice. “All wrong. Call the lab. Maybe they gave you someone else’s results. Not Papi’s. It’s a mistake. It has to be. Damn it, this is a mista—”

  “Shhhh, shhhh.” Rosa wrapped her arms around their younger sister. “Está bien, you hear me? It’s going to be okay.”

  Yaz glanced over her shoulder, making eye contact with Rosa who, until now, had stood silently behind her.

  “Why don’t you take Lilí out in the lobby to get a drink of water?”

  Rosa shook her head. “She’ll be fine. I think we need to hear this together.”

  Yaz caught the flash of fear in Rosa’s eyes, but it was quickly tempered by her middle sister’s habitual calm. Rosa was always their port in a storm. Yaz gave her sister a slight nod, fighting back tears of her own, then turned to face Dr. Lopez.

  “When you say ‘nothing more,’ what do you mean?” Yaz asked the doctor. “We give up? Stop fighting? The girls and I aren’t ready for that.”

  Dr. Lopez looked from her to Papi. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Papi incline his head at the doctor’s unspoken question.

  His expression grave, Dr. Lopez continued. “About six weeks ago we found—”

  “Six weeks!” All three girls cried in unison.

  Papi winced at their outburst.

  Yaz willed herself to find some sense of control. Freaking out wouldn’t help their situation. She gave Papi’s hand a love squeeze, like they’d always done during the “Our Father” at mass and after their meal blessing. “Perdón. I’m sorry, continue.”

  “About six weeks ago I noticed something that seemed a little off, but Rey wanted to wait until we had more definitive results to share with you.” Dr. Lopez’s voice remained calm, his eyes gentle. “Unfortunately, we found traces of cancer in several places. His left lung, his pancreas, and his left hip.”