Page 16 of Curious Hearts (The Healing Hearts #2)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Ali stood in the shower, letting hot water cascade over her tired muscles.

Her last appointment of the day had been physically demanding.

A home visit to a client with two large, exuberant Bernese Mountain Dogs who were still learning basic manners.

She’d spent an hour demonstrating proper leash techniques, which had involved being dragged around a backyard by two hundred and twenty pounds of enthusiastic canine.

Her phone, perched on the edge of the sink, chimed with a text notification. She ignored it, focusing on rinsing the conditioner from her hair. Another chime followed. Then another.

Ali laughed, imagining Kristi’s panic at being surrounded by Fenna’s large extended family without warning. Kristi loved them all dearly but as one huge group they could be overwhelming. She typed a quick reply: On my way. Should I bring wine?

Bring ALL the wine

Still smiling, Ali hurried to dress, picking out a pair of old, worn jeans and a soft green sweater. She had planned to spend the evening reviewing case notes and maybe catching up on Netflix, but an emergency summons from friends was a welcome interruption.

As she gathered her keys and purse, her phone chimed again. This time, it was from Jessica.

Just confirming for tomorrow. You mentioned cat shelves before… I think that would be a good idea.

Yeah? Great I could pick them up tomorrow and fit them for you. Maybe we should move our session to 6:30 then I’ll have more time?

Ali’s suggestion to give the cat’s more vertical space was a way of keeping Mr. Darcy occupied and less destructive, but she hadn’t really expected Jessica to agree. At the time she seemed more worried about the aesthetic.

Great. I’ll make dinner. I’ll text the measurements for the shelves in the morning.

Ali felt a flutter of anticipation as she typed her reply: 6:30 is perfect. Any preference on cuisine? I can pick something up on the way.

The response came quickly: I’m cooking. Hope you like vegetarian lasagna.

Ali stared at the message, surprised. Jessica cooking?

Somehow she’d pictured her as someone who lived on organic takeout and coffee, too busy with world financial domination to bother with domestic tasks.

The image of Jessica in an apron, carefully layering pasta while surrounded by cats, made her smile.

Sounds amazing. I’ll bring wine.

See you tomorrow.

Ali tucked her phone away, trying to ignore the ridiculous grin spreading across her face. It was just dinner. A professional dinner with a client who was becoming a friend. Nothing more. Certainly not anything resembling a potential relationship.

Forty-five minutes later, she pulled up to Kristi and Fenna’s house in Erie, arms laden with two bottles of wine and a box of pastries she’d picked up from the bakery near her house.

The sound of laughter and conversation spilled from the open windows, along with the mouthwatering aroma of something spicy.

If Yaya was at the stove, then there would be a feast.

Kristi answered the door, looking simultaneously relieved and frazzled. “Thank god you’re here,” she whispered, accepting the wine gratefully. “They descended en masse.”

“How many is ‘en masse’?” Ali asked as she stepped inside.

“Fenna’s mom, her two sisters, three nieces, and Yaya. They just showed up with food and started cooking. I think they’re planning to stay all night.”

“The horror,” Ali teased. “A house full of people who brought delicious food and are helping to prepare it.”

“Easy for you to say.” Kristi led the way toward the kitchen, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Fenna’s oldest sister asked me three times if we are thinking about more babies. The twins are only six months old. Then she told me I wasn’t getting any younger!”

Ali stifled a laugh. “She’s probably just making conversation.”

“Then she spent the last thirty minutes talking about the importance of poo consistency and bowel movements in infants. That’s not conversation, that’s psychological warfare.”

Before Ali could respond, they entered the kitchen, where organized chaos reigned.

Yaya stood at the stove, stirring something that smelled divine, while Fenna’s mom chopped vegetables.

Two women who bore a striking resemblance to Fenna, her sisters presumably, were assembling what appeared to be tamales at the island, while the nieces set the dining table, giggling among themselves.

“Look who I found!” Kristi announced, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. “Ali brought wine and pastries!”

All activity paused as seven pairs of eyes turned toward Ali.

“Ali, mi hija!” Yaya exclaimed, opening her arms wide. “Come give your Yaya a kiss!”

Ali hurried over to embrace the elderly woman, kissing her weathered cheek with genuine affection. Yaya had essentially adopted her the first time Fenna had brought her home for dinner, declaring that “this one needs a proper grandmother” and insisting Ali call her Yaya like everyone else.

“You’re too skinny,” Yaya declared, patting Ali’s cheek. “Working too hard with those animals and not eating enough. Sit, sit! Elena is making her famous tamales.” The old woman handed the wooden spoon to Fenna, giving exact instructions.

“It’s so good to see you, Yaya,” Ali said, squeezing the older woman’s hand before greeting the others. Fenna’s mother Elena embraced her warmly, while her sisters Sophia and Marina included her in their dinner preparations as if she’d always been part of the family.

“So,” Yaya said once Ali had been settled at the kitchen island with a glass of wine and a small plate of appetizers, “tell me about this cat lady Fenna has mentioned. Is she as difficult as she sounds?”

Ali nearly choked on her wine. “Jessica? She’s not difficult, exactly. Just... precise.” She chose her words carefully. “She likes order and predictability, which cats tend to disrupt. But she’s adapting well.”

“Ah, Jessica.” Yaya nodded thoughtfully. “And is she pretty, this precise woman?”

“Mother,” Elena admonished gently. “Don’t interrogate Ali about her clients.”

“It is not interrogation, it is conversation,” Yaya insisted, waving a dismissive hand. “In my day, we called it ‘taking an interest in my surrogate granddaughter’s love life.’”

“It’s not a love life, Yaya,” Ali protested, feeling her cheeks warm. “She’s a client.”

“Mmm.” Yaya’s smile declared she wasn’t convinced. “A client you’ve mentioned to Fenna several times. When are you seeing her again?”

Ali was acutely aware of the heat emanating from her cheeks. “I’m going over tomorrow to install some cat shelves for her,” she paused and then added, “and she’s making me dinner.” All eyes in the room turned towards her, then Kristi let out a long, low whistle.

“Finally!” said Fenna with a laugh.

“It’s a professional dinner,” Ali insisted. “A thank you for installing the shelves. Vegetarian lasagna.”

“At six-thirty in the evening? With homemade lasagna?” Yaya’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Very professional.”

“She’s elegant,” Ali said, hoping to redirect the conversation. “And very… composed.”

“Just like you then,” teased Kristi.

This drew laughter from the room, momentarily breaking Yaya’s interrogation. But Ali knew from experience that the elderly woman was merely regrouping.

Sure enough, as they all sat down to dinner, Yaya maneuvered the conversation back to Jessica between bites of Elena’s delicious tamales.

“So, this elegant cat lady,” she began innocently. “She is single?”

“Mother!” Elena and Sophia exclaimed in unison.

Yaya shrugged, unrepentant. “It is a simple question.”

Ali felt heat creep into her cheeks. “She is, as far as I know. But I don’t even know if she likes,” she shrugged awkwardly, “well, women.” The heat in her cheeks seemed to be rising off the Scoville charts, and she scrambled to find safer ground. “Plus, our relationship is strictly professional.”

“For now,” Yaya murmured into her wine glass, just loudly enough for Ali to hear.

Fenna came to her rescue, asking her nieces about their school activities, but Ali couldn’t shake the awareness of Yaya’s perceptive gaze upon her.

The woman saw right through her professional detachment, straight to the confusing tangle of emotions she’d been trying to ignore since that first meeting with Jessica.

Later, as they cleared the table, Fenna cornered Ali by the sink.

“I’m so sorry about Yaya,” she said quietly. “You know how she gets when she thinks she’s sniffed out a potential romance.”

“It’s fine,” Ali assured her. “It’s kind of nice actually. Having someone who cares that much about my love life, even if it’s mostly to meddle in it.”

“So there is a love life to meddle in?” Fenna raised an eyebrow.

“No! It’s just...” Ali sighed, scrubbing a plate with unnecessary vigor.

“I don’t know what it is. She’s a client.

A friend, maybe. But she’s so different from anyone I know.

She’s structured and controlled and probably has a five-year plan for her dental floss usage.

I’m...” She gestured vaguely at herself with soapy hands.

“Spontaneous? Compassionate? Brilliant at what you do?” Fenna suggested.

“I was going to say ‘a disaster who once wore mismatched shoes to a professional conference and didn’t even realize until she got back to her hotel room, twelve hours later.’”

“That was one time!” Fenna laughed. “And in your defense, they were very similar boots.”

“With different heel heights,” Ali reminded her. “I looked like I had a leg length discrepancy.”

“My point is,” Fenna continued, “maybe those differences are exactly what makes it interesting. You balance each other.”

Ali considered this. There was something compelling about Jessica’s attention to detail, her structured approach to life.

Just as there seemed to be something about Ali’s spontaneity that intrigued Jessica, maybe, or perhaps she was just imagining that.

But those same differences had been what tore her and Amy apart when the pressure mounted.

Her ex had found Ali’s chaos charming until it became overwhelming, until it contributed to the breakdown which left her unable to function.

And Amy was far less methodical than Jessica.

“She is cooking dinner for me tomorrow,” Ali admitted quietly. “But it’s not a date. I’m taking my toolbelt.”

“Well, if that isn’t lesbian foreplay, then I don’t know what is.” Fenna laughed.

Ali’s blush could have melted ten feet of Colorado snow.

“And ordering takeout wouldn’t suffice as a thank you?” Fenna’s knowing expression made Ali want to hide her face in the dish towel. “Just be open to the possibility, that’s all I’m saying.”

“She’s probably straight,” murmured Ali, more to herself than anyone else.

“And even if she isn’t, I’m not sure I can handle.

..” She trailed off, unable to articulate her fears about what another emotional collapse might do to her hard-earned stability.

Fenna didn’t say anything. She simply gave her friend a hug.

As the evening wound down, Ali found herself seated in the living room beside Yaya, who had claimed the most comfortable armchair while the sisters helped clean up in the kitchen.

“You know,” Yaya said, her accent becoming more pronounced with fatigue or wine or both, “my Fernando, may he rest in peace, was nothing like me. I was wild, always dancing, always talking. He was quiet, serious, always thinking before speaking. Like your Jessica.”

“She’s not my Jessica,” Ali protested, but her words held no heat.

“Not yet,” Yaya agreed. “But you see something in her, yes? Behind that serious face.”

Ali hesitated, then nodded. “She’s different. She’s warm, I mean, underneath it all, and she wants to do the right thing.”

“Ahh.” Yaya’s eyes twinkled. “You see past the la armadura… the shell. This is a gift.” She tapped Ali’s chest. “From the heart.”

“I don’t know about that,” Ali said. “It’s what I do with animals, look past the surface behaviors to what’s underneath.”

“Because they are honest, yes? They do not pretend to be what they are not.” Yaya nodded sagely. “But people are not so different, if you know how to see past the shell they wear.”

Ali thought of Jessica, the composed investment director who color-coded feeding charts for her inherited cats, who spoke passionately about sustainable investment despite her father’s dismissal, who had shown unexpected gentleness with shy Mozart.

“Some shells are thicker than others,” Ali observed.

Yaya patted her hand. “The ones with the thickest shells often have the most to protect.”

“Or the most to lose if they let someone in,” Ali added softly, thinking of Jessica’s parents, their scrutiny, their expectations. The same kind of expectations that had made her own failure so much more devastating.

“Yes. But also the most to gain.” Yaya’s expression turned serious.

“You understand this because you know animals. Sometimes, the most frightened ones need the most patience. Am I right?” Yaya didn’t wait for an answer.

“But when they finally trust you...” She made a gesture of opening her hands. “This is worth the wait.”

Before Ali could respond to this astute wisdom, Kristi appeared, carrying Yaya’s coat. “Your chariot awaits, Yaya. Elena says it’s time to get you home before you start dispensing more unsolicited relationship advice.”

Yaya huffed but allowed Kristi to help her into her coat. As Ali stood to say goodbye, the elderly woman clasped her hands once more.

“Remember what I said about shells, yes? And come to Sunday dinner next week. I will make my special flan for my favorite almost-granddaughter.”

“I’d love that,” Ali said, embracing the tiny woman who had somehow claimed a grandmother’s place in her heart.

As the Vargas family prepared to depart in a flurry of hugs and promises to call, Ali found herself reflecting on Yaya’s words.

She’d always prided herself on her ability to see past surface behaviors, to understand underlying motivations.

It was, after all, the basis upon which she’d built her charitable foundation.

Yet with Jessica, she found herself continually reassessing, discovering new layers.

What lay under Jessica’s shell? Ali had no idea but the fact she was so determined to find out sent a shiver of excitement down her spine. This could be disastrous.