Page 45

FORTY-FOUR

SARAH MORGAN

Alejandro sits across from me at the dining room table, a seat previously reserved for Bob, but he occupies it better. He’s dressed in a white button-down shirt and a pair of dark jeans. I know they’re the nicest clothes he owns, so I appreciate the effort. He didn’t show up empty-handed either. The bouquet of wildflowers set in the vase on the counter is from him. They’re unusual, clusters of tiny blue petals with yellow centers, but they’re pretty. The deep-crimson wine, poured heavily into two Chateau Baccarat glasses, is also from him. I almost canceled on Alejandro, given everything that’s been going on, but I decided a distraction would be nice. Plus, I figured it was in my best interest not to stand him up again—and my best interest is the thing I’m most interested in.

“This is incredible,” he says as he lifts a fork of seared salmon and mashed potatoes to his mouth. The potatoes alone take hours, if you want to do them correctly in the French tradition, so I’m pleased they are getting the praise they deserve.

“I’m glad you like it.” My hand cradles the wineglass, and I sip slowly, peering over the rim at him.

Unlike the breakfast he consumed the other day, he eats tonight’s dinner at a much more relaxed pace. I’m not sure if it’s deliberate.

“Where’s your daughter?” he asks.

I softly smile and place the wineglass on the table. “She’s staying at a friend’s house.”

At the mention of us being alone, I notice a flicker in his eye—it’s brief, but I still catch it. I have no real intentions for tonight, but I think he might. Pressing the side of my fork against the seared salmon, I lop off a flaky piece. It has the perfect balance of flavor: rich and oily with notes of citrus and a touch of sweetness.

“I was relieved you answered the door tonight,” Alejandro says. His face is serious, and his stare is intense. This isn’t banter, not yet anyway. He’s all business right now, but banter is what I want. I’d like a fun distraction, not another heavy conversation mired with expectations.

“I’m sure you were.” I tuck my chin in and bite my bottom lip, wetting it with my tongue. His gaze falls a few inches to my mouth as his fingers clutch the stem of the oversized wineglass set in front of him.

“How’s the job search going?” I ask, flicking my eyes up at him, letting my lashes bat once more than is necessary.

“Good.” He nods. “I actually just got some work today.” He lifts the glass, bringing it to his mouth, and sips, never taking his eyes off me.

“That’s great. What’s the job?”

Alejandro sets the glass down and picks up his fork, the metal tines scraping against the porcelain plate.

“Waste management,” he says. “It’s just temporary, but it pays well.” He looks down as though he’s embarrassed.

“Nothing wrong with that. That’s a good job,” I say, smiling wide enough to hopefully convince him to feel the same way.

He lifts his head and smirks back at me. I’m not sure if it means he agrees or if he’s playing off something unspoken.

We eat in silence for a few minutes, exchanging glances and polite smiles. We don’t have to speak to know at least one of the thoughts running through our heads. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he wants to tear into me—and I think I might let him.

“I almost didn’t take the job,” he says, shoving the last forkful of food into his mouth. He chews slowly, watching me.

“And why’s that?”

Alejandro wipes his mouth with the cloth napkin, then folds it and places it on top of his cleared plate, signaling that he’s finished.

“I wasn’t sure if it was the right job for me.” He brings the rim of the glass to his lips and tips it back, making all the red liquid disappear. The last legs dance down the side of the crystal.

I stand and pluck the decanter from the center of the table, walking to him slowly. My hip brushes against his arm as I lean over him, refilling his glass.

“What changed your mind?” I ask.

He looks up at me, his gaze skimming over my bust, my neck, my lips, and then locking onto my eyes. I notice the corner of his mouth twitches. “In a way... you did.”

I set the decanter down and turn my body, leaning against the table to partially sit on it. My leg presses against his arm, but he doesn’t move it.

“How so?”

Alejandro takes a moment to respond. His eyes search mine as though he’s looking for something. Maybe he’s already found it, and he’s unsatisfied with his discovery.

“Your foundation’s program doesn’t work unless I do.”

“That’s true.” I tilt my head. “But if the job’s not right, the job’s not right.”

“I’m the only one that can do it,” he says, mirroring my movement.

“You’re quite sure of yourself, Alejandro.”

“Is that a question?”

I give him a teasing smile. “It’s whatever you want it to be.”

His large hand reaches up, grazing my cheek before it moves into my hair, pulling me into him. Our mouths crash together, and he nearly steals my breath. It’s fluid and happens so fast, as though he was envisioning it ever since he took a seat at this table. I wonder what other scenarios he’s played out in his mind.