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“Yes, Spanish and Italian,” she responds. I remember being at the courthouse a few years back and saw the interpreters working. It’s difficult to listen and interpret simultaneously. I’m impressed.
“¡Impresionante!” I exclaim. “That’s a great job.”
“Thank you.”
“I let you get back to what you are doing then. I wish Thursday to come soon.”
“Me too. And Amaury?”
“¿Sí?”
“Thank you.”
“Thank youpor qué?”
“For knowing I wanted you to call without me actually saying it.” My heart thunders at her confession.
“Good night,muñeca,” I say, with a smile spread across my face.
“Buenas noches.”
Hoy el tiempo no pasa. I spent the entire day looking at my watch and the minutes seemed like hours. Now outside the restaurant, I feel anxious and excited about seeing Sol. When I texted her yesterday, she asked if we could meet at the restaurant. I’m guessing it’s her way of keeping her privacy until she feels safe with me. Understandable and smart.
I’m leaning against the wall, searching the area for Sol to make an appearance. A few minutes pass and I see her emerge from between two parked cars in the public lot across the street. I watch as she strolls to the corner and presses the button to wait for the light. She’s such a rule follower. I would’ve crossed without waiting for the light. As she waits for the walk light, she’s fidgeting, twirling her hair with her fingers. She hasn’t noticed me watching her.
Sol is tall, not much shorter than me, and I’m six feet four. She’s curvy with hips and an ass that drive me crazy, and legs for days. I hope I get the chance to wrap those legs around me.Behave Amaury, I can’t be having a hard-on on my first date. She’s already reserved, no need to give her a reason to run.
As she approaches me, her hand raises, waving. “Hi. Have you been waiting long?”
I shake my head. “No, just got here,” I respond, and lean in to place a kiss on her cheeks. Her olive skin is warm and soft, the cinnamon scent invading my senses.
“Good. I hate making people wait.”
“You could park your scooter here,” I say, pointing to the motorcycle parking off to our right.
“I drove. I’m not comfortable enough to ride at night.”
“Soon you will be a pro.” I reach for her hand, but she wraps both hands around her purse straps.
We turn and walk to the entrance and the hostess seats us at a table by the window.
“Why’d you choose this place for dinner?” she asks me.
“I remember you said your momes de Argentina.”
“Funny, growing up we’d go to Argentina for two months in December to spend the summer with my mother’s family inMar del Plata. We’d always eat at the Manolo restaurant. I loved having meals there. When you suggested this place, I was surprised because I didn’t know there was a Manolo’s here and it brought back some good memories.”
“Acerté,” I say, and she graces me with a smile that reaches her eyes. A lucky guess on my part that she’d been to one of these in Argentina.
“Have you eaten here before?” she asks.
“Only the churros and the coffee. Not dinner,” I respond, dropping my eyes to the menu. “There’s a lot to choose from,no sewhat I want. You?”
“From what I remember there’s a lot of similar menu items. I think I’m gonna get the Milanesa Full. It’s what I used to get inMar del Plata, and somethingque mi mamámade for dinner a lot.” I peruse the menu in search of what she said she’s ordering and find it. Breaded chicken or steak topped with two fried eggs and a side. Not something I would choose but sounds interesting.
“Funny,nosotros los cubanoscall a milanesa—” I bring my eyes down and point at the menu “—abistec empanizado. A breaded steak.”
“That’s one of the things I love about languages. We all speak Spanish, yet each country has different ways of identifying or saying things. Sometimes even within the same country there are varying dialects. I loved studying and learning about the linguistics of language.” As she’s talking about her studies, her lips curl up and her golden-brown eyes are bright.
