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“We had amazing times here as kids.” I’ll cherish the memories forever.
“Even when I lived in New York, I can’t say I ventured to the Bronx very often.”
“You make it sound like it’s in another state.”
“I grew up in Long Island. When I moved to New York, I first lived in the Ukrainian Village, followed by Greenwich Village, and Soho. I was living in Chelsea until my last divorce.”
Chelsea? Nice.
Wait a minute.
“How many times have you been divorced?” I ask.
“Married three times. Divorced as many times.”
Whoa!
He purses his lips and tilts his head to the side. “I ace building successful businesses. Not relationships.”
I nod.
“Chelsea, huh?” I say, looping back to his last statement. “We’ve always lived in the Bronx. I have a few family members living in Queens, but we’re pretty much concentrated in this neighborhood.”
“Lots of Latinos live here.”
“There’s a running joke. There are more Dominicans living in the Bronx, than there are living in the Dominican Republic.”
“You’re Dominican?”
“Mom’s family is from Colombia. Dad’s is from the Dominican. My parents are first-generation Americans.”
“I see.” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his tailored pants, cocks his head to the side, and says, “I’m just a white guy.”
I explode in laughter.
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” I say, when I regain my composure.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“You surprise me.”
“In what way?”
“You have a sense of humor. Who knew?”
“You thought I was a tight ass?”
“You were when I first met you. I should say, that’s how you came across.”
“Geez. Thanks.”
“Would you rather if I lied?”
His facial expression changes. “I. Abhor. Lies.” All playfulness dissipates from his features.
Did the temperature in the kitchen drop below frigid?
“Did I say something wrong?”
