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“What is all that call business about?” David asks me a moment later when we are all composed and in the kitchen while he unpacks the groceries he brought to make us dinner.
Myundiplomaticson was right. David cooks way better than me.
He roasts chilis and green tomatoes, then throws them in my food processor. Four of the six burners are flaming. I don’t think my kitchen has ever been this busy. Like never.
Davi is on cloud nine. “Daddy, can I help you to pick the funny tomatoes?”
“Daddy, how can you tell when they are burned enough?”
Daddy this. Daddy that. It’s kind of sweet. Ok, ok, it’s totally sweet. My son has been waiting all his life to call a man his father. Now, by some turn of fate, he’s here with him.
Right now, he’s holding his son on his hip while making Mexican rice. It feels so nice having him here. Should I feel like my space is being invaded? Like I’m being bulldozed in my own place? Well, I don’t.
It feels natural sharing my kitchen, my home. My entire life.
Even if my mind is pulling in a different direction than my heart. My feelings are clear as a new day. I want him. I don’t want another man touching me, kissing me, looking for my body at night, then the world is silent. Last night the realization came stronger than ever. Derik was a true gentleman.
I felt nothing, though. There was no emotion when he touched my hand while driving to the winery where we had dinner. My heartbeat didn’t go faster when his fingers were on the small of my back while we walked behind the hostess to our designated table.
There was nothing there.
Nothing.
Derik is a nice guy. Just not the guy for me. Seems like my skin only comes alive around a Latino bad boy with a cocky attitude and a body to die for.
My fingers itch to discover what he is hiding behind his clothing. Well, one night, I became acquainted with every muscled line. But a lot has changed in four years, not only for me. For him too. He’s not a boy anymore. He is a man. More mysterious. More dangerous.
Play with fire, and you will get burned, they said, right? Well, at this point, I don’t care.
Confession time. I was listening behind the door to the conversation between Davi and him on the porch a while ago. My cheeks were so wet I had to run to the bathroom and compose myself before announcing my presence. I loved the rawness of his response. That moment is imprinted in my memory, and I’ll cherish it forever. He brilliantly told Davi he is his father without traumatizing the poor boy. Even if, at some point in the future, when Davi is older, we will have to have the talk again. David is his real father, not just a random guy who accepted the position in an emotional moment.
“Are you gonna tell me?” David turns at me, bringing me back to the present, my son’s head on his shoulder and a wooden spoon in the other hand.
“What?” I was too busy ogling his ass to pay attention to the conversation.
“About the call,” he says, but from the way his lips are curving in a lopsided smile, he knows where my mind is running to.
“Oh, the call.”
“Yeah, the call,” he repeats. “What was it about?”
“Tell us, Mommy.” My son is always eager to give his five cents.
“I got another call yesterday,” I begin to explain. “There is this camp I’ve trying to become part of….”
I give them the bare bones of the project while he listens without missing a single bit of information and asking smart questions. We talk about my lesson plan, an adaptation of the program I follow at the middle school where I work. “Yesterday, they called me to set up an interview for today. But the camp’s director had to go to Los Angeles for an emergency meeting with a major donor, so she asked me if we could do something online in the afternoon.”
The pride in his dark gaze hits me right in the heart like an arrow. This man is amazing. “Are you getting the job? Did they say something about it?”
A sigh comes out of my chest. “I don’t know yet. The hiring process could be long and exhausting. I’ve heard about some companies asking for six interviews. The thing here is that the camp starts in a week and a half.”
“They are fucking idiots if they don’t offer you the position.”
That makes me smile, even if I should warn him about small ears. Kids are little parrots. I’m sure Davi will call someone a fucking idiot tomorrow at daycare. “You know nothing about my job or my work philosophy.”
“I know enough,” he says before turning to the stove and adds peas to the rice. Something in that statement tells me he has been asking around. Small town. There are no secrets around here.
“Even if I got the offer, there is too much for me to consider.”
