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ee, don’t you?” she asked, walking past him. While she twisted and secured her hair into a high ponytail with the tie around her wrist, she listened for his heavy footsteps following her into the kitchen.
“I’m Dominican,” Duke said with a heavily accented, matter-of-fact yet pompous tone.
He was Dominican? As if that was an answer! Of course she knew of his Dominican heritage. Duke put the “Spang” in Spanglish, flipping from English to Spanish at the drop of a hat depending on the person he was interviewing, typically making grown women swoon. Macy groaned inwardly when she realized that it seemed as if she knew everything about him.
He was Pablo’s best friend.
He was Gia’s major crush.
Macy knew just about everything there was to know about the man, whether she wanted to or not. She knew he was born and raised in Mao, a city in the province of Valverde, played baseball well enough to earn him a scholarship to the States, played with the Yankees for a while and then used his major in broadcast journalism to become a sportscaster, landing him his major break as a serious journalist during the 9/11 attacks. Duke’s voice had brought her out of a dark time in her life.
The 2001 attacks had sent Macy into a depression. Having lost her journalist parents, who died in a car accident heading to cover the aftermath of the World Trade Center bombing, Macy stayed up night and day watching the coverage. Had her parents been alive, they’d no doubt have injected themselves into the report as well, the thought of which, crazy as it was, infuriated Macy once again. Their desire to cover the news had always overshadowed staying at home and raising their little girl. But there was something about the way Duke reported the news, the way he let his genuine emotions out, that struck a chord with her. Without having old video of her parents reporting, Macy had never felt the bond. Duke stood in front of the rubble and as he helped the people surrounding him, he helped her see the human side of a reporter and somehow forgive her parents. Sometimes she felt she owed Duke everything.
The infatuation had died when he outed Santa.
“We can grab a cup before we go out. Maybe Serena will call by then.”
Instead of sitting at the kitchen bar, waiting to be served, Duke stepped into the kitchen and lifted the carafe. The black liquid brew steamed from the top. Through the short sleeve of his T-shirt, the bulge of muscle of his biceps caught Macy’s eye. Obviously the man worked out. She never noticed how small the eight-cup maker looked until it was in his hands.
“Where do you keep your cups?” Duke asked.
“Up there.” Macy nodded toward the closed cabinet above the sink and headed to the refrigerator. “So because you’re Dominican, it’s automatic that you like coffee? My dad was half Italian. Should I automatically like pasta?”
“Well, of course, and if you’re making baccalà for the Feast of the Seven Fishes on Christmas Eve, count me in!” Duke half smiled over his shoulder.
She was shocked he knew of those traditions. When most families had a nice turkey or ham or even a pizza on Christmas Eve, Macy grew up eating various seafood dishes, from baccalà, or salted cod, all the way to lobster ravioli. Christmas Eve was a day when most Italians fasted until Midnight Mass. “It has yet to be determined if you are invited or not.”
“Well, I have a few weeks to win you over.”
She turned so he could see her roll her eyes. He just grinned even wider. “Anyway, you like coffee?”
“I just simply meant that I grew up in the Dominican Republic, where generations and generations of my family worked on coffee plantations. Besides milk, it was probably the one thing I drank all the time.”
“Well, there goes that myth,” Macy mumbled, casting a glance up and down his frame.
“What myth?”
She hadn’t realized he’d heard her. “I’m always telling my son that drinking coffee will stunt his growth.”
The left eyebrow on his handsome face lifted in a question. “Your son, the eight-year-old, drinks coffee?”
“He wants to do what his mom and dad do,” Macy explained, shaking the two cream bottles from the fridge as she chose her words wisely. Typically most men toned down the flirting mode when she mentioned a father in the picture.
“Oh?”
Did she hear a fleck of disappointment in his voice as he set the cups down on the counter? Glancing over to see if he was looking at her, which he wasn’t, she noticed his biceps again as he reached for the cups in front of him.
The infatuation she swore had died out now reignited. Her knees weakened, and she reached for the counter behind her. Muscles shouldn’t make me weak. Mario had muscles for days and she never got so gaga over them. Focus, she told herself. She watched his long fingers wrap around a mug. She liked that he chose a Santa cup and a snowman cup. There were plain old-fashioned ones up there, but given that her place of business centered around Christmas, she liked to keep the theme going for clients.
“So, where’s your husband when you’re out working?” Duke asked with his back turned. His voice had changed from disappointed to nonchalant. Perhaps he was trying to cover for hitting on a married woman. A slight tinge of guilt hit her. She turned, ready to face him, when he turned around. He had such broad shoulders that fell down into a tapered waist. It was a shame he was sculptured so beautifully.
“He’s home with his parents and the kids.” She shut the door with her hip and brought the creamers toward him. “I have Christmas Ginger and Holiday Hazelnut. And I don’t have a husband.”
“But you said...” Duke came back to the other side of the kitchen; he leaned a hip against the counter and placed his elbow on top of it to lower himself to her height. She noticed that all morning long, while she’d been sketching hard jawlines, she hadn’t realized that Duke’s cheeks slightly resembled a chipmunk’s, which made him look very boyish. He nodded his head. “You said ‘mom and dad.’”
Macy raised her eyebrow and matched his smile. “Well, in your defense, I did. So what do you want?”
He blinked during the long pause while their eyes locked. Macy’s breathing became shallow, and she prayed he did not notice. Finally he shook his head. “Oh, you mean the cream?”
