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A soft ‘meow’ distracted me momentarily. That’s right. He’d mentioned a cat. “Come here, kitty, kitty.” I smacked my lips as I searched for the source of that soft sound.
“Canica,” said Hector.
“What?”
“Her name is Canica.”
“Marble? You named her Marble?”
He shook his head. “No. I didn’t name her.”
I had to assume he meant it had been his wife who named her, though why would the cat be with Hector and not her if it washercat was beyond me.None of your business, Caro.“Canica, come here, girl.”
“She’s shy with strangers,” Hector said.
I would be lying if I said it didn’t melt my heart that he knew his cat’s personality. “Right.” I searched the kitchen floor until I came upon her food and water bowls tucked away in the corner. Hector didn’t have much in the pantry, but he did have several cans of cat food.
I filled Canica’s water bowl first and emptied a can of food into the second bowl. Lingering by the food, I hoped she’d come out to my offering, but she didn’t do so until I stood a couple of feet back.
When she did reveal herself, she walked carefully to her dinner. She had a beautiful silver coat and piercing, bright yellow eyes. Once she was done, she approached me tentatively and wrapped herself around my left leg before springing away toward Hector. He picked her up to land a kiss on the top of her head before putting her down again.
“I’m sorry I had it wrong about Ramiro,” Hector said, bringing back the subject to where we’d left off our conversation. He took another bite, and I handed him the coffee, which he took black. “But I guess that leaves hope for Dr. Keach.”
I dropped the package of cheese I was stowing in the fridge.What in the hell?
“Dr. Keach? What in the world are you talking about?”
“He likes you. I never thought he had a chance—you know, thinking you were with Ramiro, but now . . .” His left eyebrow lifted as he trailed off mid-sentence.
“Dr. Keach does not like me.”
“Yes, he does.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“Does.”
“Hector.”
“Carolina.”
Oh, brother. We sounded like little kids.
“Remind me to never pick your drunk ass up again.”
“Why do you think he is always in your face?”
“Hehatesme.”
“Nope. He can’t stand to be away from you. Always finding excuses to be around you, to get a rise out of you—provoke you.”
It was that moment that I realized he’d been paying attention. He’d been watching me this entire time, not with the interest of an employer for his employee, but with interest in my personal life.
He scarfed down the sandwich and coffee in record time. Slowly, his words became more coherent, and he found his center of gravity again.
“Why do people say that?”
“What?”
