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“Poor angel,” Tatiana said as she straightened up the hostess stand. “I should figure out a way to get her home.”
“I can walk her home,” I told Tatiana. “We live in the same building. Can you make sure everyone finishes off their tasks for the night and can you lock up?”
“Of course, Alex, and thank you,” she said, touching my arm. “For making sure she makes it home safely.”
“Sure.”
Tatiana kept her hand on my arm and looked toward Yara. “Even though she’s a little tipsy, she’s radiant, isn’t she?”
“She is,” I said without thought. The words rolled off my tongue as if they were automatically produced from the idea that Yara was stunning. It was true, though. She didn’t have a bad angle, and for some reason, I’d taken in every single one of hers. Yara Kingsley made it hard to look away. Even when I was trying my hardest to dislike her.
When I stopped looking at Yara, I turned to find Tatiana smiling up toward me with the biggest goofy grin.
“Stop it,” I ordered, dropping my mouth into a grimace. I knew exactly what that look she was giving me meant.
“You like her!” Tatiana whispered, smacking my arm.
“You’re being annoying, Tatiana.”
“Annoyingly right,” she countered.
“Good night.”
She kept her silly smile plastered to her face before she patted my hand in hers. Just. Like. Teresa. Tatiana did that a lot—little mannerisms that reminded me of my great-aunt. She didn’t even have a clue she was doing the actions, but the comfort that raced through my body every time was remarkable. Each time she did it, I silently thanked her for the greatest memories being brought to the forefront of my mind.
Who knew a hand tap could mean so much?
“You’re a great boy, mi amor,” Teresa would say every night when she came into my room to tuck me in for bed. I felt a bit weird being tucked in by my great-aunt into my late teen years. Once, I told her I was too old to be tucked in, to which she replied, “But not too old to be loved. Love shows up in many ways. Being tucked in each night is just one form of love.” She’d then pat my hand within hers, as she did every evening, kiss my forehead, and say good night.
My chest tightened a little at the memory of Teresa. It was funny how a memory could give both comfort and cause ache all at once. The complexities of human experience.
After Tatiana wandered off, I headed to my office to get my keys. Once I gathered my items, I headed over to Yara’s table and gave her a halfway smile. “Your ride home is here.”
She looked up, glassy eyes and all, and asked, “Are you Uber?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t call for an Uber.”
“It’s your lucky day. But we’re walking home.” I held a hand out toward her and she frowned.
“Walking? I’m so going to leave you four stars.” She took my hand into hers and allowed me to pull her to her feet. “Whoa,” she mumbled, almost falling over instantly in her heels. My chest stopped her from crashing and she steadied herself. “Alex?”
“Yes?”
“You have abs.” Her hands ran up and down my chest. “I like your abs.”
I chuckled a little. “You’re drunk.”
“And sad. A drunken sad girl. But that sangria?” She moaned from pleasure. “That was the good stuff.”
“A little too good, I supposed.”
“No, just right.” She began to try to walk, but she almost broke her ankles in those high heels. It would’ve been a longer walk if the woman ended up snapping her ankles, so I had to shift the situation.
“Here,” I offered, stepping out of my dress shoes. “Switch.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You like high heels, Mr. Ramírez?”
“No, I like the idea of you not breaking your ankles.”
“For someone who doesn’t care about people, you sure seem to care about people.”
“Only when they’re drunk.”
She tossed her hands up in the air. “Well, I shall forever be drunk around you from this day forth.”
"Shoes off, Goldie."
She stepped out of them and then slipped my dress shoes on. "You know, I might’ve been the clown tonight, but you have the clown feet, Bozo."
I snickered. She was a sassy drunk. "Fair assessment." I lifted her heels off the sidewalk, and she linked her arm through mine to keep steady. "But you know what they say about men with big feet."
"They have long toes," she replied, matter-of-fact.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You like it.”
Yes.
I couldn’t tell her that, though.
I’d hardly even told myself.
“You should be careful letting me lean on you too much,” Yara expressed. “Cole is probably flying a drone overhead to watch my whereabouts. If he found out you walked me home, shoes and all, he might put you in jail.”
“I'm not scared of that man.”
“I am. Sometimes.”
“Why?”
“Because I fear he'll never let me go.”
