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“Wow, that looks delicious.” She took her cup, contemplated it, and inhaled. “And it smells incredible. I can get used to this pampering,” she joked.
“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll prepare your coffee as many times as you want, and you can cook for me. I’ll even pay for the groceries.”
She laughed. “Deal. What would you like to eat?”
“Anything you decide to cook. I’ll go shopping now while you relax on your balcony. Give me a list.”
“All right. I cook vegetables prepared in a fancy way. At the other place, I bought and cooked for one day and finished my plate. I wouldn’t dare keep leftovers. It would be gone by the next day. Some neighbors used to raid various units and help themselves to whatever they liked. I hardly left anything around, only shorts and jeans, knowing my clothes were too small to fit any of my neighbors.”
He exhaled loudly and shook his head. “I can’t understand how you stayed there for ten years under those conditions.”
Her lip curled down, and he thought she was going to cry. “As if I had a choice. But then you get used to the shit around you, and I was afraid of ending up in a worse place if I moved.” She shrugged. “Anyhow since I have this fairytale kitchen, I’m ready to cook several dishes at once. Get me…” She listed the items she wanted.
He typed on his phone and grinned. “Looks like I’m going to eat well in the coming days. How did you cook in your tiny kitchen?”
“I had one pot and one pan, enough for one dish at a time. And I left them dirty in the sink all the time. No one steals smelly crappy-looking kitchenware.”
He laughed, although his heart squeezed at her survival tactics. “Before I go, I’ll get your stuff from the car.”
“Coming with you.”
“No, stay and enjoy your view and your cappuccino.”
“Okay, thank you, Rafael.” She jumped to her feet, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him on the cheek. “It’s nice to be pampered.” He kissed her hard on the lips and let her go, pledging he would do his best to make her forget her hellhole.
He hadn’t cared for or protected anyone in the last eight years, except when transporting patients, a job he performed conscientiously to prove to himself he was needed and helpful. But taking care of a pretty, struggling young woman was something he’d thoroughly avoided until last night.
Attraction was okay, but involvement and commitment were not on his agenda. He would make sure Arianna understood the philosophy that had ruled his life in the last eight years.
***
Arianna emptied the pillowcases over the bedspread and hung up her clothes, then she opened her gym bag and extracted the three envelopes with her savings and valuables, including five pictures, and Abuela’s recipe book. These would go in the safe. Remembering Greg’s advice, she changed the code and laughed at her weird combination.
Completely free for the first time in her life, she took another tour of her studio, slowly exploring every drawer and cabinet. The number of plates and glasses amazed her. All that for just one person? She’d survived with one plate, one bowl, one cup, and one glass. When her first glass had broken, she’d replaced it with a plastic one. Living in constant fear of being robbed had taught her to be content with the most basic stuff and save her earnings.
A blip alerted her to a text. She gasped at the sight of the sender, SAMF Human Resources. They were delighted she’d accepted their offer and were inviting her to attend a meeting tomorrow at nine o’clock, followed by a luncheon where she would probably meet more people.
Pleased, she typed an email to St. Jude Hospital HR presenting her resignation, effective immediately. She’d already talked to the head nurse about her desire to become a flight nurse. To burn the last bridge with her old life, she phoned her former manager and announced she was moving out.
“You can rent the apartment. I’m leaving the furniture.”
“You call this junkfurniture?”
“I’m sure someone will be happy to use it.”
“Where can I reach you?”
“I’ll call you when I get a new place. Thank you and goodbye.”
“Good luck, girl. You know where to find us if you come back this way.”
She ended the connection and muttered, “Not on your life.”
“It’s happening,” she squealed when Rafael returned with two bags of groceries and dumped them onto the counter.
“What’s happening?” His eyebrows shot up. Apparently, he’d stopped by his condo and changed into comfortable khaki shorts and a beige t-shirt, more suitable for Miami’s hot June weather.
“SAMF has hired me. I received a text from them. I’m supposed to attend a meeting tomorrow at nine.”
