His waitress, a blond, glided past, steam rising from her tray, and the scent of peppers and tomatoes and melted cheese drifted in their direction. Miguel’s mouth watered. The donut he’d inhaled at six that morning had disappeared long ago.
Mr. Hernandez slapped the table with both palms and made the silverware jump. Miguel almost jumped, too. “I have it, I have it. You come for supper tonight. Rita has cooked something. There’s always enough. Like the old days.”
Miguel tried not to exhale his pent-up breath. Only a few diners glanced in their direction. The piped-in mariachi music featured a great drum solo at the moment. At first he sensed Gaby’s father was going to change his mind about hiring him. But he wasn’t expecting an invitation to supper at the Hernandez’s home. “Like the old days, the good ones.”
Mr. Hernandez nodded. “The good ones. Miguel, a man can make mistakes, bad ones that he does not think he can untangle himself from. But when the day comes and he travels a new path, he will look for the old path and see only weeds growing over what once was his favorite walkway. Do you understand?” Again, he gave the intent look, his dark brown eyes nearly black.
“Sí, Señor Hernandez. I understand that very well now. My old path is definitely overgrown.” And thorns might emerge from the weeds and try to track him down. But he didn’t say this to Gaby’s father.
“Come at six. Gaby won’t be home until seven at least.” Mr. Hernandez glanced up at an approaching waitress. “Ah, here it is now.”
“Here you are, Sir,” the waitress said as she slid the plate in front of Miguel. The beef, peppers, and onions sizzled on the hot plate. “Señor H, will you be having anything?”
“No, no.” He waved the waitress away. “Gracias, Katie.”
“I’ll be there, then.” Miguel didn’t reach for his fork. So, Mr. Hernandez wasn’t blind to the tension between him and Gaby. Who was he kidding? There was no tension. Just a yawning chasm and he had no idea what to do to close the space between them.
Chapter 2
Miguel couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so hard. Maybe it was the day he’d been baptized at the New Life Center. Sure, he’d made his peace with God and was forgiven, but something happened that day almost two years ago, when he’d come up out of the water hanging on to Brother Pete’s hand. He felt like he’d left something behind down in the tank of water, something that wasn’t a part of him anymore. Pure joy surged through him, and he’d had no choice but to release the laughter.
It also reminded him of the day he’d first played with Tommy Hernandez, when the fire department opened the fire hydrant on their San Antonio street. The rushing water drew the children like a magnet that hot June day. Everyone stayed out of trouble, for once. If only an open hydrant could have kept them that way.
Tonight’s meal with Tommy and his parents showed him a glimpse of that joy. Miguel grinned at his old friend across the table. “Tommy, I don’t know how you eat like this every day. If I did, I’d have to live at the gym. Your mama’s the best cook in San Antonio.”
“Nah, I don’t think so. My sister is.” Two years younger than Miguel, Tommy shot a glance toward the kitchen sink, where his mother stood.
“I heard that, Tomás.” Mrs. Hernandez turned and faced the two men, one hand propped on her hip. “Keep it up, and you’ll be doing these dishes.”
“But, Mami, Gaby learned it from you, of course.”
Mr. Hernandez paged through the newspaper. “She should be home soon. That girl works too hard.”
“That, mi corazón,” Mrs. Hernandez said as she wrapped the last of the tortillas, “is what she learned from you.”
He merely grunted and looked down at the newspaper. “Well, Señor Rivera, we should get the kitchen measured so you can tell me how much this will all cost me.”
Miguel groaned and patted his stomach. “Much of the cost will be cabinets, unless you’d like to keep the ones you have. That, and labor.”
Mr. Hernandez looked up and narrowed his eyes. “What if we do some of the labor ourselves to save money?”
“I think we can work something out.” Miguel eyed the painted-over wood paneling in the kitchen. “We may need to hang drywall, depending on what’s behind that paneling when we take it down. You and your family can always paint. But just remember, I might come into La Cocina and tell you how to cook,” Miguel joked. He had subcontractors that he knew did good work. Amateurs sometimes spelled disaster.
At that, Mr. Hernandez tilted his head back and laughed. “You are right, you are right. Let’s get started. I want to make sure this is done right, and if I must stay out of the kitchen, I stay out.” His voice sounded gruff, but Miguel caught a glimmer in the older man’s eye.
“I’ll run out to my truck and get my tape measure and notebook. Be right back.” Miguel headed for the front of the house. He could hear Tommy talking to his parents about the new kitchen.
Miguel paused in the elegant entryway, lined with photos of the Hernandez family over the years. The caramel-colored walls made a nice contrast to the ceramic tile floor. He studied the tile more closely. Nope, that was travertine. Which meant the Hernandez family would spend money when they wanted to.
The last time he’d visited the family, things were different. They lived in a three-bedroom ranch house, a modest rental with an attached garage built in the 1960s. Then, once La Cocina took off, Juan Hernandez moved his family into something even better about eight years ago. Their own home.
Miguel swallowed hard. What he wouldn’t give to have a legacy like that. Here he was, twenty-six. All he’d earned for himself were three years in prison, followed by rehab at New Life Center trying to be free of the drugs that he’d let seduce him. Mama now lived in Phoenix with his older, much more responsible sister and her family.
Yes, things were definitely different the last time he’d visited the Hernandez family in their home, especially for Tommy.
He ought to get moving, or Mr. Hernandez would wonder if he’d chickened out and decided to drive home. Which, if given the choice a year ago, he probably would have.
Miguel flung open the front door and almost collided with something warm and solid.
Someone screamed.
“What in the world are you doing here?” Gabriela clamped her hand over her mouth. She hadn’t meant to scream while heading into her own home, and then she said the first thing that popped into her tired brain. Her feet hurt, she had a headache, and worse, somebody had parked their extended-cab pickup where she usually tucked her Mini-Cooper for the night. The older, but still shiny, red truck took up so much room in the driveway she’d been forced to park on the street.
And of course, literally coming face-to-face with Miguel Rivera had set her heart hammering in her chest. So this was the contractor Pop had mentioned? His unruly hair seemed as though he’d planned it that way. His dark-eyed gaze she didn’t quite want to meet studied her with concern.
“Gabriela, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to make you jump like that.” He shifted on his feet in the entryway and gestured, as if to signal he’d catch her if she tripped. “Uh, your dad invited me for dinner. To measure the kitchen.”
She nodded. “Okay. Yeah. I just wasn’t expecting to see you.” Which really meant she couldn’t avoid him anymore.
“You look tired. Was it a busy day?” He touched her arm. Pinpricks danced up her elbow, her shoulder, then shot down to her stomach. He was working out, and in lots better shape than the last time she’d really let herself take a good look at him. Amazing what taking care of oneself could do for a body.
“The usual.” She tried to smile. “I actually got off a little early tonight for once. Aunt Celi’s closing.” As if she needed to explain.
“Well, uh, I’ll let you go relax. I’m getting my measuring tape and notebook.” Miguel sidled to one wall of the entryway, and Gabriela caught a whiff of his cologne as she passed.
She heard the door close behind her as she placed her keys on the ent
ryway table then released her breath and leaned on the tabletop. Some things weren’t hard, until you had to do them. The Lord knew she’d forgiven Miguel plenty more than seventy times seven, but the old feelings zinged through her once again, like Fourth of July bottle rockets. Breathe in, breathe out.
For a few seconds, she bowed her head and prayed for strength. When she rounded the corner of the family room that led into the kitchen and saw Tommy, she sent up a silent prayer again. He rolled his wheelchair back from the table and smiled at her.
“Gaby, you’re home early.” The lines around his eyes made him look older than twenty-four. But the light in his eyes spoke of the fighter that he was. “Aunt Celi chase you out?”
“Only because I let her. Did you save me anything to eat?” She went to get a glass of iced tea. They always had sweet tea in the fridge, year-round.
“Nope, of course not. You’re on a diet.” Tommy winked at her and spun from side to side in his chair. “So Mama and Papa are taking the plunge and getting a new kitchen.”
Gabriela put the tea pitcher on the counter and rummaged in the fridge for something to fill one of Mom’s tortillas. Not all chefs cooked at home. If she knew that Mom didn’t have something prepared on the stove, she’d have ordered takeout.
Her thoughts skittered back to Miguel, in their home, after all this time. Pop never talked about him, not even during the last few months when Miguel had started attending their church again after all these years.
“Did you hear what I said about the kitchen?” Tommy asked.
“Yes, about Mom and Pop taking the plunge. So where are they?” She glanced toward the kitchen entrance, then around the corner to their formal dining room.
“Mom’s in the office, getting her kitchen idea folder. I think Pop’s in the bathroom.” Tommy turned in the direction of the family room. “Hang on a second. I want to show you something. I need my big sister’s advice.”
Aha. Gabriela found some leftover carnita meat in a storage container, plus some sliced American cheese. They’d run out of queso fresco, but the American cheese would do. She piled it all on a tortilla and stuck it in the microwave.
She heard the front door open, then Tommy and Miguel chatting. They both reentered the kitchen at the same time.
“That’s amazing. You’re quick in that thing, man,” Miguel said.
“Built up lots of upper body strength.” Tommy grinned, set a catalog on the kitchen table, then flexed his biceps. “See that? One day you can grow up to be strong like me.”
The two men cracked up, and even Gabriela let herself chuckle. The power of true friendship, overcoming hurts of the past. She shook her head and watched the tortilla spinning inside the microwave.
She felt Miguel’s gaze on her. Yes, everything had changed in their lives, and was continuing to change. “So, Tommy, what did you want to show me?”
“I’m planning to visit San Antonio Junior College after Thanksgiving, just to check it out. I was thinking about taking a class.”
“Wow.” She took her plate from the microwave, grabbed her tea, and joined the men at the table. “That’s awesome. Do you know what you’d like to take?”
“I dunno.” He shrugged, looking twelve again. “I like working with computers, and fixing them. I figure with Miguel here starting his own business, you finishing school, and even starting your own restaurant—”
“Restaurant?” Miguel asked.
“It’s nothing official, really. Only an idea I’ve had.” Gabriela glanced toward the family room. “The Market Square area gets a lot of traffic, and I’ve been thinking about opening a place nearby. Mexican upscale street food, with a twist. I went to visit my Abuela Hernandez last year in Mexico City, and took a side trip to Oaxaca. The flavors I found there are awesome. The only snag is, I haven’t even mentioned the idea to Pop yet because—”
“Mentioned what to your papa?” Pop’s voice boomed as he entered the kitchen.
“Did I miss something?” Mom was on his heels, clutching her manila kitchen ideas folder to her chest.
“Um—” Gabriela began, trying not to squirm.
“I’m planning to start the spring semester at San Antonio Junior College, if I can get in,” Tommy announced. As Pop thumped Miguel on the back, Tommy looked at Gabriela and mouthed, You owe me.
“M’ijo, that’s wonderful.” Mama set her folder on the table. “When did you decide this?”
“I’ve kinda been stuck here, wanted to get out more. Dr. Vickers says I should.” Tommy’s slow grin spread across his face.
Gabriela watched them. If only time could wind its hands backward, to a time when Tommy could walk, before the teenage insanity claimed him and he tore off after Miguel, his idol.
She chewed her tortilla-wrapped goodness. Normally Mama’s cooking soothed her, as her voice often did even now, responding to Tommy’s excitement about moving forward.
She thought about her parents, moving on and finally buying their dream kitchen, their home a reflection of decades of hard work in a country of endless dreams. She watched Miguel, now a professional contractor, talking to Pop as he measured the kitchen layout and made notes, listening to Pop’s ideas.
“You see how we’ve had to cook around here?” Pop exclaimed, his voice echoing off the cabinets. “The refrigerator is all the way over—here. And the sink here. And the stove there. Makes no sense to walk all the way across the kitchen.”
“Juan,” Mama chided. “Your voice, it carries. Miguel is right here with us.”
“I see your problem, Señor Hernandez.” Miguel made some notes. “We can move the refrigerator over here, where it should be.”
“The walk-in pantry, too. My Rita wants a walk-in pantry. We don’t have any room to store things. We misplace things and buy more than we need because we can’t find what we look for.” Pop waved his arms.
Miguel studied the rows of shelving near the door that led to the garage. “I think we can build something up here, not too large, and still leave room for you to access the garage.”
“I don’t know who designed this kitchen years ago, but it makes no sense.” Pop shook his head. “We need to bring it to the present.”
“Yes, I see.”
But Gabriela didn’t think he even saw her pop gesturing at the travesty of a poorly planned kitchen. Because Miguel’s gaze held hers now, his eyes tender and a little sad. Somehow, a few of the bricks that she’d built up in the past years around her heart crumbled. She shivered in the warm kitchen. Lord, everyone’s moving forward. Everyone except me.
Chapter 3
Gabriela cruised along South Saint Mary’s Street with the top of her Mini-Cooper down on a surprisingly warm first of December day. What a beautiful day to have off, and she intended to use it for herself. A little dreaming and maybe a surprise for her family just in time for the Christmas season. With Thanksgiving behind them now, her surprise would be perfect timing.
She still hadn’t fessed up to Mama and Pop about the whole restaurant idea after Tommy had to rescue her the other night. He probably didn’t need to do much to save the situation, since Mama had been giddy about the idea of a new kitchen, and Pop enjoyed making her happy and telling Miguel how to go about demolition.
At last, here was Alamo City Restaurant Supply. The other night she’d stayed up way too late, writing out plans for La Cocina del Mercado menus, decor, and a list of connections in the industry she knew through Pop. She wrote down the names of young people from church who might make good servers. Ideas for local marketing. She’d said more than she’d intended the night Miguel had come to measure the kitchen.
Maybe she stayed up late working on a business plan to keep her mind off him. Those eyes of his, for one thing—and that beautiful hair. She couldn’t help but stare when he walked into a room, which is why at church she’d taken to sitting more toward the front.
She pulled off the street and slipped into a narrow parking space that fit the Cooper just fine. Window-shopping,
then maybe lunch, and then home again to start hanging the new Christmas lights she’d bought for the front of the house.
Once inside the store, the rows of stoves and stainless-steel countertops beckoned her like puppies in a pet store.
“May I help you, ma’am? Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” asked the salesman.
“I want to look at stoves, six-burner. Plus grill tops.” She knew what they’d cost, but it didn’t hurt to look and dream.
“Right this way.” He led her to the new stoves. “If you need a quote, let me know.”
“Of course, thanks.” The clerk had brought her to the top-of-the-line equipment. Pop bought La Cocina with its old and borrowed equipment years ago. She wasn’t above doing the same. Something about stainless steel drew her, the way a designer handbag drew a clothes diva over to a sales display.
She stood admiring a mid-grade stove with a center removable grill—a little too small for a restaurant stove, but something that would look nice in a home kitchen.
“Don’t drool on the stainless steel,” a voice said at her elbow.
Gabriela clutched the oven handle on the stove and laughed. “Miguel—hi.” She smiled. “I’m doing some window-shopping. And this is a great stove.”
He nodded. “That’s a nice one. Your papa sent me here. Told me to look at the stoves.” He held up his measuring tape. “I’m measuring to see what’ll fit your parents’ kitchen and stay within budget.”
“If you buy something used or a floor model, Pop won’t care.” Her smile wouldn’t go away. Pushing the past aside, part of her realized that seeing him here had turned her day from good to great. Not that she was falling in love or anything.
“I didn’t think he would. If I find a model that fits, maybe they have a floor model he can get for a discount.”
“It’s—it’s very sweet of you. I know Pop can be difficult, but he does like you.” She looked down to see her hand on his jacket sleeve.
A Riverwalk Christmas: Four-in-One Collection Page 14