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“What is this wizardry?” I say, astonished. I saw how much sugar he used. One package of Sugar in the Raw. I mean, who likes that stuff? But this is scrummy.
“It’s just an example of how good it can be when cultures mix.”
“Like a Mexican and a Jew,” I say cheekily.
His beautiful lips part, and for a second, I think I feel a real connection. Then he cracks a joke.
“If this is your way to get me to set you up with one of my brothers, it’s not gonna happen.”
I slide my plate over so I can reach across the table and take both his hands in mine.
“Come on.”
His hands swallow mine, thumbs tracing circles over my knuckles.
“Part of the ruse?” he questions.
“No. You said a prayer over your food earlier. This is mine. A mixture of cultures.”
I close my eyes and feel his fingers press into my palm as I whisper the prayer.
“Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech haolam, hamotzi lechem min ha-aretz.”
When I open my eyes again, he’s watching me curiously.
“Amen,” I conclude.
He smiles softly, just watching me.
“What? Do I have something on my face?”
He does not confirm or deny messiness on my person.
He just says, “Aaron’s a real schmuck.”
“Look at you, learning some Yiddish.”
“I’m serious. You’re… a nice person. I don’t understand how a guy can do what he did.”
I sigh, because Aaron is just a lot. It’s not a new thing. I feel like I’ve been making excuses for him for a long time.
“Aaron’s the type of guy who’s always been a big dreamer. Always reaching for the next thing. The better thing.”
“Overcompensating, if you ask me.”
“When he landed a job at that big marketing firm in Hollywood, I stupidly followed him here.”
“I’m not on board with you putting yourself down, Olive. It wasn’t stupid.”
“Well, I didn’t think so at the time, obviously. I got a menial job at the same firm, coffee runs, making copies, that sort of thing. Then Pamela caught his eye. She’s a ‘project coordinator’—such a big shot.”
“Pamela?”
“Eyebrows.”
“Ooooh. Got it.”
I cringe at the memory—how she was always super sweet, yet condescending to me. Passive aggressive. I just thought it was an LA thing, but I guess it’s more of a claws-in-your-boyfriend thing.
“Anyway, Aaron moved on to something new but forgot to send me the memo. And that’s when I walked in on them—ruining my favorite quilt.”
I realize we’re still holding hands. Ignacio lowers his head and kisses my knuckles, then turns my hands over and kisses my palms. It’s strangely the most intimate thing anyone has ever done to me.
Then he looks up at me and blinks, tenderness in those ashy eyes.
“You’re a human being. Not a career, or an object. There’s no… better thing. That woman isn’t better than you. And Aaron is certainly not better than you. As a matter of fact, he traded down, if you want my opinion.”
A grateful smile forms on my face. “I value your opinion very much.”
“Good. Now I’d like to hear how you managed to sell three shots of 1942 on a Monday afternoon.”
