AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Yes, I assumed it was a joke.” Mateo’s dark eyes were filled with humor, but he was polite enough to let me off the hook. “Are you ready to order food?”
I placed our orders, which Mateo punched into a tablet. “Ten, perhaps fifteen minutes,” he said. “I will bring them to you. Another round of drinks?”
“Might as well,” I said. I hesitated before returning to my table. “I’m surprised you have a second job. Do they not pay firefighters enough here in Clearwater?”
“I am paid fairly,” he said while adding ingredients to a blender. That accent was a cocktail of erotic appeal. “I do this for fun. This was my uncle’s restaurant.”
“Oh really?”
Mateo nodded, pausing while the blender drowned out all other noise. “He was the first person in our family to come to America. The rest of us were stuck in Cuba, waiting for our chance to escape Castro. I was twelve when we finally came over. By then, he had saved up enough money to open this restaurant—with the help of some investors. All of us worked here—my mother, my two sisters, and my two brothers. I washed dishes until I was old enough to make drinks.”
“But you still work here, even though you’re older? And a full-time firefighter?”
He shrugged and poured the frozen contents of the blender into two glasses. “I enjoy serving people.”
“I can respect that.” I picked up both glasses and started to turn away. “Do me a favor? If my sister talks to you again, tell her I gave you my number?”
He smiled warmly again. “She reminds me of my sister. If she asks, I will create an elaborate story to shield you from her meddling.”
“I owe you one. Or two, I guess, if you count the fire at my house.”
I returned to the table with the drinks.
“You two looked like you were flirting!” Brandi said.
“A little bit, yeah.”
“I told you he was eyeing you! You really need to trust me more often, Alyssa.”
“You’re very wise, despite being ten minutes younger than I am,” I replied.
She clinked her glass against mine. “I’m glad you’re finally seeing reason.”
We giggled, but I couldn’t help but glance over at the bar as the night went on, wondering what Mateo’s story was.
14
Mateo
I never felt as free as I did when I was in the water. Laying flat on my board, swimming out to where the waves broke at the sand bar. Standing on my board and catching the wave at precisely the right time, surfing diagonally toward the shore. Propelled forward by the eternal movements of the ocean, like the gift from an ancient sea god.
Today, the god was generous. The surf was not terribly impressive here on the gulf coast of Florida, but occasionally there were days such as this one where conditions were ideal. The sun crawled above the palm trees to the east while I surfed, and swam, and surfed again.
Like all men, my life was filled with chaos and stress. But those stresses disappeared when I was soaring on the waves. My job, my business, and my love life became insignificant problems when I was out here. For a little while, I even stopped worrying about my cousin’s asylum application that was still in limbo.
There was only me, and the sea, and the gift of the waves.
By the time I was finished, I was not alone on the beach. Several joggers had gone by, and one couple was taking photographs by a sand dune. As I returned to shore and carried my board over to where I had left my clothes, I realized they had turned and were taking photographs in my direction. I was in the background, photo-bombing them.
“Sorry!” I called, waving a hand and trying to run up the sandy beach. “Soon I will be out of your way.”
The couple taking photographs waved back—the woman was pregnant, I noticed—but the photographer lowered her camera and stared me down. A few seconds later she called out: “Mateo?”
I slowed in the sand. “Alyssa?”
She let out a laugh that carried across the beach. I laughed too at how coincidental the meeting was, then hurried along to my bundle of clothes. I leaned my surfboard against the railing and used my towel to dry off. Then I put my towel down and laid on it, allowing the rising sun to warm my body.
Alyssa Ford—Alyssa fucking Ford, as Jack called her—had been in my dreams last night. My thoughts were not impure; we were simply at my uncle’s restaurant, speaking and laughing. The dream, innocent as it was, left me thinking about Alyssa when I woke. Only while I was out on the waves did my mind become clear again.
