A Million Little Things (Mischief Bay, #3)

“Go have fun,” she said. Lulu barked once and went running toward Mariposa, then the two dogs took off.

“They look good together,” Miguel said. “I like her sweater.”

Pam had dressed Lulu in a lightweight knit top that wouldn’t get in the way of romping, but would still keep her warm and protect her from the sun.

“The color looks good with her eyes,” Pam joked.

Miguel smiled. “You look lovely, as well.”

A simple compliment, but when delivered in that chocolate-velvet voice, she found it difficult not to swoon.

“The weather is warm enough for us to eat on the patio,” he said. “It’s this way.”

She followed him through a large, open living room to a huge kitchen. The Spanish influence was everywhere—from the high beamed ceilings to the tile throughout. She would guess the house had been built in the 1920s. The window casings were deep and several of the doorways were arched.

The kitchen itself blended modern touches—upscale stainless steel appliances and quartz countertops—with old-world elegance. The cabinets were heavy dark wood, roughly finished. There were open shelves and the backsplash was a blend of colorful tiles she would guess were hand painted.

What was it Laura had complained about? That older men were only interested in nurses and purses? From what Pam could tell, Miguel wasn’t hurting financially and he seemed healthy enough.

He led her to a covered patio with glassed-in walls and a glass roof. The space was part sunroom, part gazebo. A round table had been set for lunch. She smiled when she saw two dog beds by the door. One looked well used while the other was obviously new. It was, she had to admit, an incredibly thoughtful touch that got past her defenses far more easily than any smooth compliment.

He held out her chair. She sat down and looked past him to the huge garden beyond. He had to have at least a half acre, maybe a little more, all landscaped. The back wall was stone and covered in bougainvillea.

“Beautiful,” she breathed. “Your house is lovely.”

He sat across from her and poured them each a drink from a glass pitcher filled with what she assumed was juice, sliced limes and ice.

“I like to think that while an ocean view is wonderful, my small garden has its own kind of charm.”

“It’s hardly small and it does.” She took a sip and nearly choked. “This is a margarita!”

He raised one shoulder. “Did you expect less?”

“A lot less. It’s barely noon.”

“Tequila can be enjoyed any time of the day.” One corner of his mouth turned up. “If you aren’t comfortable driving home, we’ll call an Uber. I’ll get your car back to you later today.”

Which was the correct response, she thought. Offering her safe transportation rather than inviting her to stay until she sobered up. She was torn between wondering if she’d misjudged him and the fact that he was far more experienced at this than she was. While she’d wanted to dismiss every ridiculous thing Steven had told her, she’d been unable to forget his horrifying statistics on STDs in people her age.

Not that she ever planned on having sex with Miguel, but still. The news had been off-putting.

Lulu and Mariposa came tearing through the patio and raced out onto the lawn.

“They’re getting along well,” she said.

“I’d hoped they would.” He rose. “Let me get the first course. I’ll be right back.”

First course? So there was more than one?

Miguel walked into the kitchen. Seconds later he was back with a beautiful salad of spring greens and tropical fruit. The dressing was both sweet and spicy and she had to admit the margarita only made everything taste more delicious.

“This is wonderful,” she said. “So you cook?” He hesitated just long enough for her to start laughing. “Never mind. I have my answer.”

“I never learned to cook,” he admitted. “I have neither the interest nor the talent. Someone comes in a few days a week to care for the house. She cooks for me, as well.”

“Of course she does,” Pam said with a laugh. “You have quite the life here.”

“I try to be comfortable.”

“I know you divorced a long time ago. No remarriages?”

“I was busy with work and travel.”

She speared a piece of papaya. “And young women.”

“One or two.”

“That’s not what I heard. My son is very concerned about your worldly ways. I wasn’t sure I should listen to him, but I’m beginning to wonder if he’s right about you.”

She was partially teasing and partially testing the waters, so to speak.

Miguel put down his fork and leaned toward her. “What would you like to know?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure.”

“Then I will tell you things and you can decide if there is more you need to know.”

That seemed fair.

“Constance and I were not well suited. I enjoyed my work and the travel and she was more content to stay home. At first she went with me, but she was shy and it was torture for her. When Zoe came along, she said she couldn’t travel anymore—not with a baby. I told her we would hire a nanny, but she didn’t want that, so our lives went in separate ways. By the time we divorced, we were already single, if that makes sense.”

“It does.”

“She was a good woman. A wonderful woman and a kind friend. I think I loved her more after we divorced than I did before. We were able to raise our daughter together, to stay in touch, all without the fights or expectations.” He reached across the table and touched her hand. “What are you thinking?”

“That I hear the words and I can’t begin to relate to them.” She smiled. “But it’s nice that you and Constance stayed friends.”

“It was. She was an anchor in a way. Her and my daughter. I always knew when it was time to come home and see my girls.”

The affection in his voice made her like him more. She was glad that he and his ex-wife hadn’t hated each other. It spoke well of them as people. She understood that marriages failed, but it bothered her when there was so much anger between couples. It spilled over into everything else in their lives and hurt the children.