I wasn’t wearing head-to-toe designer. I was wearing faded jeans and one of Buddy’s hooded sweatshirts and it was huge on me. I didn’t have on my Manolos or Jimmy Choos, giving me four inch heels and a little height. I was barefoot, French pedicured toes on full display. My hair wasn’t arranged perfectly, it was pulled up in a messy knot at the crown of my head.
At least I still had on my makeup from working at the gallery all day, thank God.
“Sadie,” Hector called, breaking into my frenzied thoughts about my appearance and further what he’d think about my appearance.
My eyes travelled up his shirt, the column of his brown throat, past his strong chin and his full lips to his black eyes. My heart skipped when I saw what was in his dark eyes.
Oh darn.
“How you doin’?” he asked softly.
“I’m fine,” I answered immediately.
His eyes flared with annoyance and without hesitation he got in my space.
And then (no kidding), his hand came to my jaw and his thumb trailed across the cut on my cheek (it was fading, very, very slowly, but it was still there and would be there until I made an appointment with the plastic surgeon).
I held my breath while he watched his thumb trace the scar then his palm moved along my cheek, his fingers slid into the hair at the side of my head and his hand cupped me behind my ear.
His eyes came back to mine.
“Mamita, I asked, how are you doing?” Hector repeated, his voice was calm but he was enunciating his words clearly, indicating he cared about my response and further, I better not try to blow him off again because he wasn’t going to like it.
I hesitated then, do not ask me why, I whispered, “Better.”
It was then, close up, I saw his eyes get warm and my stomach pitched at the sight.
Right after that, still standing frozen, Hector close, totally in my space, hand still in my hair, I watched his head start to tilt down.
“I’ve got the best idea!” Ralphie shouted from the door. Then he said, “Oh no. Sorry.”
Hector’s eyes closed with what appeared to be frustration (I swear to God). He dropped his hand and stepped to my side again.
“Do you, um… want me to come back?” Ralphie asked.
“No!” I cried instantly, sharply and maybe a little loudly.
Ralphie looked at me, eyes narrowed. After a second though, they cleared and he smiled like he was really happy about something.
“Well, Buddy’s in the kitchen, grating cheese like a grating fool. We’ve decided to do nachos.” Ralphie’s gaze moved to Hector and he informed him, “It’s the food of your people.”
I closed my eyes.
Someone, please tell me that Ralphie did not just tell Hector that nachos were the food of his people.
While I was devising the lecture on cultural awareness I was going to deliver to Ralphie the minute Hector left, I heard Hector’s soft laughter.
My eyes opened again and I saw Ralphie forge into the room.
“I have to go get sour cream. You,” Ralphie pointed to me, “need to go smush up avocado for the guacamole. And you,” Ralphie’s pointed finger moved to Hector, “need to get yourself a beer. It’s stressful doing stakeouts. I should know, I’ve stalked my fair share of lying, cheating, no-good boyfriends. The bastards.”
Then, after sharing this morsel, Ralphie hurried out in search of sour cream.
We heard the door slam behind Ralphie and I stood there, unsure of what to do and wondering how rude it would seem if I ran upstairs, locked my bedroom door and barricaded myself in the closet.
“Sadie –” Hector started.
“Am I going to get help with this guac or what?” Buddy shouted from the kitchen.
I took a deep breath and looked up at Hector. “I need to go smush avocado,” I told him, feeling like an idiot.
At my words he smiled at me, slow, amused and glamorous and I didn’t feel like an idiot anymore.
*
It happened after nachos and beer. After Veronica got roughed up by the evil Fitzpatrick clan at the pool hall. After I took the nacho platter and plates back to the kitchen and came back with more beer for everyone. After, when I came back, I saw that Ralphie had affected a seating jumble which meant Buddy was in the armchair where I’d been sitting and the only place for me to settle was between Ralphie and Hector on the couch. After Buddy gave me an “I’m sorry but life will be hell if Ralphie doesn’t get his way” look. It was in the middle of Veronica instigating an ingenious plan to foil new baddies when Ralphie leaned forward, shoved his arm under my knees and yanked up my calves, pulling my feet into my lap.
This meant my body twisted and my shoulder collided with Hector’s side. Hector had, for the sake of comfort on the smallish couch (this was what I told myself for my peace of mind) put his arm along the back of the couch (an arm I felt there like it was a snake coiled to strike).
I put my still casted wrist into the cushion by Hector’s hip and turned to glare at Ralphie.
“What are you doing?” I snapped.
“Foot massage,” Ralphie replied, eyes on the TV screen, his hands on my feet starting to massage.
I pulled my feet away. “I don’t want a foot massage.”
Ralphie grabbed my ankles in a firm hold and tugged them back into his lap, a move that made me collide with Hector’s side again.