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“Yes. She likes you a lot. She just won’t tell you.

” She opened the refrigerator and grabbed the items she needed to feed this man.

Ten minutes prior she would’ve never guessed that she’d be serving lunch to the tall man with sky and cloud eyes.

His eyes were so light, the irises almost disappeared against the whites.

He had long brown eyelashes, but the tips were lighter, making them appear shorter than they actually were.

She placed the white rice on a blue plate, then topped it with the Filipino Chicken Adobo and put it in the microwave.

“What is that you’re warmin’ up?” he asked, looking hopeful and intrigued.

“Filipino Adobo. Chicken.”

“What is Filipino Adobo?”

“It’s my national dish. Braised meat, usually pork, or chicken, sometimes beef. The sauce makes it special.” She held up her finger. “Peppercorns, vinegar, soy sauce and garlic. Very good! I add a lil’ cane sugar to mine, green onion, and just a kiss of chili paste.”

“It sounds mighty fine.”

She brought over a napkin and silverware, and placed it in front of him.

They stared at one another as the plate went around and around in the microwave.

“I must play matchmaker, but you’re like uh animal!” She tsked, shaking her fist.

“An animal? I’m deeply offended,” he said, though he was laughing as the words poured from his mouth. “What makes you say that?”

The microwave beeped, and she removed the plate of hot food. Steam rose from it, tossing the delectable aroma around the kitchen.

“Bad social skills.” She scoffed as she set the plate before him.

“And showin’ me your tatas, then talkin’ about the size of my Johnson is considered good social skills, Ms. Aunt Huni?”

“Yes.” She nodded, barely able to keep her composure.

“Well then, Ms. Aunt Huni, may God bless your twisted little heart.”

They both laughed as if they were old friends.

“I don’t need you to play matchmaker, sweetheart.” He shoved the napkin into his shirt. “I can take care of it myself. I just need a lil’ information is all.”

She sat across from him, watching him slip his fork into the food, bring it to his mouth, and take a bite.

The man’s eyes fluttered then rolled as he moaned deep and rich. His voice traveled to her chest cavity and made it shake like an earthquake.

“This is so, so good. Delicious. You cook this?” he asked around a mouthful of food.

“Yes. Big hands.” She pointed at his fingers.

“Thumb to little finger… inches of eggplant. That’s how you figure it out.

The span ’tween the two.” And then she giggled.

He paused to check out what she was talking about, then smiled.

“Yeah, that might be accurate. Might just be an old wives’ tale.

Never measured it.” He shrugged. “I can tell you what I can count though? The many ways this conversation is makin’ me uncomfortable, and goin’ south.

” He winked at her, then heaped more food into his mouth.

“She’s independent. Many friends from college and work.

Loves her job. But she’s lonely. I know it.

I know my child. My baby. You have a good job.

She say you have a nice home. You’re handsome and very strong.

She says to me, ‘He’s not married and has no children.

’ You’re too old to not have a wife. Why you not have a wife? What’s wrong with you?”

He snatched his napkin from his shirt and dabbed at the sides of his mouth, then tossed it onto the table.

“I’m divorced.”

“Hmph. My Poet would make a good wife for the right man. What you gonna do about it?” She crossed her legs and arms, feeling a flood of irritation coming.

“Well, I made a move. She shot me down, but like I said: don’t worry about being a matchmaker because I ain’t done with her. Not by a long shot.” He paused, took a sip of his drink, then continued. “I’ve got some ideas.”

“Good. Poet is a good girl, a good catch, but she’s headstrong and stubborn.” She shook her head.

The tall man slowed his chewing, and leaned in.

“I’ve been accused on occasion of bein’ stubborn, too. I ’spose she and I may have that in common. So, tell me more about Poet.”

She got up and poured herself a small glass of soda, then sat back down across from him.

“Poet’s mother passed away.”

He nodded like he knew that already. Perhaps Poet had clued him in?

Not something she usually did. She tucked that thought into her back pocket and saved it for later.

“Her mama was my best friend. Dominique died when Poet was four and a half. Her father across the world, in the navy. She tried to call him, but the old number he’d given her was out of service.

She had no idea where he was. He not know she was pregnant.

She found out after he’d left for active duty.

Short relationship, but my friend wanted a baby.

She got pregnant on purpose.” She looked down into her lap.

“Wanted Poet. She was a nurse in the NICU ward. We met in nursing school.

“Had gotten divorced for the second time, felt like life wasn’t fair.

Wanted a baby, badly.” She smiled sadly, recalling it all.

“Neither ex-husband wanted children. First husband had a bunch of children from other women. Second husband could not have any. She was such a good mommy. Then, Dom got sick. Pass away.” Her heart fluttered and her voice clogged her throat.

Tight and uncomfortable. The grief never got easier.

She’d just learned to cope with it. “Me and my husband raised Poet. I told Poet her father’s name.

Help her look. No luck.” She tossed up her hands.

“Then, when Poet do DNA test thing, online stuff, find him, but he died long ago.” Her heart beat a little faster as she recalled the disappointment in Poet’s eyes that time.

“Does Poet have any siblings? I’m an only child, myself. She said she was, too, but maybe she has half siblings somewhere, yet no relationship with them?”

“She have no brothers and sisters on that online stuff, but lookin’ into cousins. She’s frustrated.” She sighed. “Sometimes family is more disappointing than the fantasy we have of them.” She scoffed, feeling her baby’s pain.

“Ohhh, don’t I know it.” He laughed miserably. “All too well.”

“You ever married?”

“Yes, ma’am. A long time ago. Told you I was divorced.”

She didn’t remember him saying that. She ran hot with embarrassment. It was happening again. Seemingly sensing her discomfort, he ran his hand over her fingers.

“It’s alright. I’ll repeat things no matter how many times you need to hear them. It don’t bother me none.” His lips curled in a soft smile. She thanked him, on the inside. “What about Poet? Has she ever been married?”

“She was engaged a few years ago. I didn’t like him.”

“Why not?”

“Not good enough for her. No confidence. Just pretend confidence. I saw through him. No hard work. Lazy.” She waved her hand.

“Opposite of you… He make her try and choose her job or him. He was jealous. She chose job, cut off engagement. She’s busy.

All the time. Work work work. Distracts herself.

The farm. Me. Her job is important to her, but she never spend time with herself.

Not long enough, anyway. She needs love.

She tells me havin’ a boyfriend is not a priority, but she’d like one.

I don’t believe her. I think it is a priority.

Good love is what she needs. Like food for the heart. She need someone to—”

“—make her feel safe. Make her feel it’s okay to be who she is, just as she is. Help her relax and unwind, without even havin’ to try.”

“…Yes. That’s right.”

“Ms. Aunt Huni, I—”

“Why you keep saying, ‘Ms. Aunt Huni’, instead of Aunt Huni?”

“Because you’re not my aunt, and to be someone’s aunt is an honor. I say ‘Ms.’ as respect to you. You ain’t kin to me, but I know that’s what Poet calls you.”

“No, no. Just say Aunt Huni. That’s it. I don’t like that.” She waved her hands about. “Makes me feel old.”

“Well, we all are gettin’ older. That’s an honor, too. Nothin’ wrong with aging.”

There’s plenty wrong with it, but I can’t stop it from happening.

“I mean this when I say it, Aunt Huni…She’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, and I ain’t just talkin’ about her face and body. Somethin’ about her has me curious.”

“Like what?”

“It’s a combination of things I reckon… her sense of humor, the way she carries herself, the way…

. the way she smells…” He smiled down at his plate.

“It sounds not politically correct, I ’spose, but I’ve enjoyed chasin’ her.

I call ’er sometimes, and I’ll say something fresh.

She’ll ignore me and change the subject, but I can tell she liked it.

I’ve done lil’ things for her. Like, uh, I sent a pink toolbox to her job as a present. Paid her lunch tab, too, and whatnot.”

“Pink toolbox? She got that from you ?” She chuckled.

“Yeah… I guess I’m not very romantic. I’m—”

“Practical.”

“Yeah… so, like I said, I enjoy chasin’ her… game of cat and mouse, but I want to catch her though, Ms. Aunt Huni… and when I do, she ain’t gonna want to run away. That way, I don’t have to ever worry about turnin’ her loose.”

A warm sensation crept through her. She grabbed her necklace and gave it a gentle tug.

When he finished the last few crumbs of his food, he thanked her.

She liked how he looked at her when she spoke, paying attention, or at least pretending to.

She felt safe with him, despite how intimidating he looked.

He was such a hulking man sitting there at that tiny table.

Or at least it looked tiny compared to the sheer height of him.

He didn’t have much fat on him at all, but wasn’t paper thin—more of a basketball player type of build.

Broad shoulders and lean. She looked at his fingers once more.

Veins ran all along the top of his hands, fleshy ropes underneath a veil of ink.

“Did you teach Poet Filipino?”

“Yes, she knows some. I grew up learning English, too. I picked up a Southern accent, I’ve been told, so it throws people off.”

They both laughed at that.

“Yeah, that’s cool. So, Filipino is like the official language of the Philippines?”

“Filipino is the standardized form of what we call Tagalog. Filipino and English are both official languages of my country. We use both. I lived in the Philippines until I was nineteen, then moved away and came here.”

“How do you say, ‘you are beautiful’ in Filipino?”

She smiled at his question. “You want to tell Poet that?”

“I sure do.”

“It’s, Ang ganda mo .”

He said it a few times with her, practicing until he had it perfect.

“Well, thank you kindly for the lunch, and the language lesson.” He stood from the table.

“It was real tasty, and somethin’ I won’t soon forget.

I best be gettin’ back to work.” Grabbing his phone from the table, he started to head back outside.

She walked close behind him, a sense of isolation washing over her.

“You’re going to work so soon? You should let your food digest first, tall man!”

“I’ll be fine, Aunt Huni.”

“I’m a nurse! This is a bad idea to eat and run. Too much work in the hot sun after heavy meal.”

“I’m good. I promise!”

It had been a mighty long time since she’d spoken to a man whose company she enjoyed.

Not in a romantic way, but just shared dialogue.

He was easy to talk to—she liked his mannerisms, and especially his eyes.

Slow blinks. The front door swung open, and then he paused to turn and face her. He looked briefly at his watch.

“What’s your favorite card game, Aunt Huni?”

“Gin Rummy and Cribbage! I’ll get the cards; you pour the cola!”