Page 9 of Teaching Roman

“Your bags?” Aba asked him.

“Aba speaks fluent English. She was testing your Spanish,” Roman said.

“It’s not very good,” I said, biting my fingernails.

Aba took my hand gently from my mouth, and said in a low voice, “It’s good enough.”

She patted it before she started toward the now moving luggage carousel.

“She’s opinionated,” Roman said after she was out of earshot.

“She’s lovely,” I assured him. I couldn’t help but think of Jillian’s MeMa. “Her name is Aba?”

Roman pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “I should have introduced you properly. I call her Aba because I couldn’t say Abuelita when I was little.”

“Abuelita is Spanish for grandmother,” I said.

“See your Spanish isn’t that bad.” Roman knocked his shoulder into mine, but the friendly gesture sent a shock of electricity burning through me.

I tried to shake it off as we moved closer to the carousel. “I think I learned that from Dora the Explorer actually.”

Roman snorted. “Big fan?”

“I’ve got the hots for Backpack,” I said, licking my lips teasingly. “The kids I babysit during the summer would watch it all day if I let them.”

“I hope you’re well-paid,” he said. Obviously, he was familiar with the show. “Here we go!”

Roman jumped forward and pulled a duffel bag off the revolving belt, but he didn’t say goodbye.

“I’ve got this,” I promised him. Maybe he needed an out. He struck me as the type of guy that stuck around to help a girl with her suitcase or hold open a door. I didn’t want to believe he might be lingering to spend time with me.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I pack light,” I said.

“Cassie doesn’t,” Roman said, and I followed his gaze to my best friend who was pulling a third bag off the belt.

“One of the reasons I can pack light. If I forget anything, she’ll have at least two of it in her suitcase.”

“Good friend,” he said.

“The best.”

There was an awkward pause, ended only by the arrival of my bag.

“Have a good trip!” he called as he joined his grandmother.

Wheeling my bag behind me, I caught up with Cassie who was frowning at her phone.

“Something wrong?” I asked her as I grabbed for one of her bags.

“Nothing.” Her answer came out like a chirp, a mix between forced cheerfulness and anxiety.

I knew that tone. She could delete a guy from her contacts but still hope he would call. And I guessed from the violent way she shoved her phone back in her pocket, Trevor the Ass hadn’t called.

“We’re in Mexico,” I said, trying to perk her up. “Sun. Tequila. Did you get Jills’s text?”

A smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah. A no-sex edict from Tara should prove entertaining.”