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“He’s partially deaf too,” Sean says as my eyes sting and tears threaten. When Selma steps out of the van, the man hugs her, shame and guilt in his eyes. He pulls back from her embrace, evident worry etched all over his features as he studies her and glances back at the restaurant. It’s obvious he doesn’t want her to do it.
“She steals for her son and her grandson?”
“Son-in-law. Her daughter gave birth and then left him to raise him alone. He gets a check, but it’s not enough. Selma has severe arthritis, but every single day she pounds that dough for her boys, and it makes her happy. The saddest part is that she’s a staple at that restaurant. It wouldn’t be the same without her. And the assholes that own it haven’t given her a raise in eight years.”
I swallow. “I couldn’t wait to tell you she was stealing. I didn’t think you would believe me. I almost didn’t believe it myself until I saw it happen.” He lifts a tear from my cheek and I turn to look at him. From the look he’s giving me I gather the rest. “You knew, you knew I would see this.”
“How did that feel?”
“It stung a lot worse than the watch.” Something close to satisfaction shines in his eyes before he gazes past me as the man drives his son away. In minutes, Selma is back behind her counter, pounding out tortillas with a smile on her face. I turn back to Sean and scrutinize him.
“Who in the hell are you?”
What twenty-five-year-old man does his friends’ laundry, genuinely cares about Selma’s cash flow problem and disabled grandson, hates money, hates time, has zero regard for status, and lives without a single worry for the future?
Alfred Sean Roberts.
That’s who.
It’s then I give myself permission to trust him a little more. But it’s also then that the budding feelings give me pause. He’s made it far too easy to like him. This man who bats away rules and boundaries, he may be dangerous for me. Sensing my fear, he leans in to kiss me for endless seconds. When he pulls away, I feel myself sinking further, more drawn in, and even more conflicted about it.
“Seriously, Sean, who are you?”
“I’m a man with clean laundry, and I’m starving. In the mood for Mexican?”
All I can do is nod.
SEAN GUIDES ME INTO THE dark bar by the hand, our bellies full after feasting on fajitas, our collective pockets lighter after tipping Selma profusely. Uneasy, I fidget behind him as I take in our new surroundings—neon lights of every color line the walls, the floor littered with overused cocktail tables. The only thing that looks new is a jukebox sitting in the far corner. The bar has the shape of a shoebox and smells a lot like a soured dish rag.
“’Sup, Eddie?” Sean greets the man behind the bar. Eddie looks to be in his early thirties and rough around his every edge. His eyes are the color of midnight and his size is intimidating to say the least. I can’t help but note the presence of a familiar tattoo on Eddie’s arm as he drapes a soiled towel over his shoulder.
“Hey, man,” he replies, eyeing me over Sean’s solid frame. “I can see what you’ve been up to.”
Sean gives him a lopsided grin. “This is Cecelia.”
I give him a little wave behind Sean’s bicep. “Hi.”
“What are you drinking?”
I grip Sean’s arm, hesitant. He knows I’m not of age. He runs his thumb over the back of my hand.
He’s got this.
Of course, he does.
“I’ll take a beer.” He turns to me. “You?”
“Jack and Coke.”
I damned near giggle when Sean’s brow lifts. I lean in. “I’ve always wanted to order one. The alternative is a martini, and I don’t think Eddie would make one of those.”
He grins. “You thought right.”
Sean pays for our drinks and leads us to a table on the far side of the bar closest to the jukebox. He pulls out the leftover stash of quarters from our laundry run and hands them to me. “Choose wisely, or Eddie will throw us out on our asses.”
I take the money and make a few selections before joining Sean at the table. He lifts my drink to me, and I thank him before taking a huge sip. My eyes widen as the whiskey latches to the back of my throat and I start to choke. Sean winces and turns back to Eddie, who raises a skeptical eyebrow.
Even with the burn threatening imminent death, I know I need to play this underage drinking thing off a lot better. With watering eyes, I clear my throat as Sean chuckles.
