Chapter Ten
Rosa forced herself to take another bite of the pureed soup while Jeremy answered the door. She didn’t know why Yazmine had called Dolores. As if sending Jeremy to pick her up wasn’t enough. Her sister knew she despised being the center of all this attention.
She stirred her soup absently, relieved that she and Jeremy had at least reached some level of understanding. Though things were far from settled, and now with Dolores here there’d be no chance for a private conversation with him, at least the two of them might be able to show a united front.
Because once her madrina found out about the pregnancy, all hell was going to break loose. Telling Dolores would be like confessing to her own mother.
Ave Maria purísima. Rosa made a quick sign of the cross, asking for the confidence and strength to get through the inevitable confrontation.
“¿Ay, nena, qué pasa?¿No te sientes bien?” Dolores hurried into the living room, her black low-heeled boots tap-tapping on the hardwood floor.
She dropped her shoulder bag on the coffee table and pushed up a sleeve on her black sweater, her gold bangles jangling.
“I’m feeling fine, tía,” Rosa answered. “I don’t know why Yaz called you.”
“Pero, nena, you’ve had this flu for several weeks now, have you gone to the doctor?” Dolores pressed the inside of her wrist to Rosa’s forehead, checking for a fever.
Over her madrina’s shoulder, Rosa caught Jeremy’s questioning look from the foyer where he still stood, holding on to Dolores’s winter coat. She knew what he was asking: Does Dolores know?
Rosa gave the tiniest of head shakes.
He frowned back at her, but thankfully turned to hang up the coat without complaint.
Dolores cupped Rosa’s cheeks with cool hands, still checking her temperature. “You’re not warm. What are you feeling?”
Rosa eased back from her tía’s motherly touch. “Some nausea, but I’ll be okay. I’m sorry Yazmine bothered you.”
“Your sister said you needed someone to take care of you. ¿Por qué?”
Dolores sat down next to Rosa on the couch. She eyed the dinner tray, her eyes narrowing as they moved from the barely touched soup, to the crackers, finally landing on the apple juice.
Dios mío, was her shrewd madrina putting the pieces together?
Rosa’s stomach clenched, which of course made the few bites of food she’d managed to swallow decide they wanted to make a reappearance. Immediately.
Pushing herself off the couch, Rosa made a beeline for the hall bathroom.
She raced by Jeremy, shoving the dinner tray at him on her way.
“¿Ay, nena, what’s going on?”
Her madrina’s cry of surprise didn’t stop Rosa as she shoved open the bathroom door.
“Here, take this please, Dolores.”
Rosa heard Jeremy, but his words didn’t really register until he knelt beside her, his hip bumping up against hers as his large body took up most of the space in the tiny half bath.
He scooped her hair out of the way, clutching it in his fist as her whole body clenched and her stomach convulsed.
“Remember what Dr. Jiménez advised. Don’t fight it. Relax as much as you can and go with it,” he said softly.
Warmth from his hand on her back seeped through her sweater, like a heating pad soothing her tired muscles. Despite avoiding him for the past week, she was relieved to have him here with her. His touch and deep yet gentle voice soothing.
Eventually, the body-racking spasms slowed to a stop. But they had taken a toll and when she tried to stand, her shaky legs threatened to give out.
“Here, lean on me.” Jeremy slid his left arm around her waist to pull her snug against his side.
One-handed, he managed to turn on the faucet, wet part of the hand towel hanging on the rack, then gently press it to her forehead. The cool moisture revived her.
“Thanks,” she murmured after he finished wiping her cheeks. Feeling a little less wobbly, she eased a step away. “I’m—I’m good now.”
“You sure?” Jeremy gazed down at her, one arm loosely draped along her lower back. His long fingers curved around her hip, causing little pinpricks of awareness to fan out. He tucked her hair behind her ear, his touch lingering to brush her neck.
Part of her wanted to burrow against him. Give in to his Sir Gawain tendencies. Let him be her Knight of the Roundtable, ready to fight her battles. Namely, Tía Dolores waiting in the living room.
But if they were going to be partners in all of this, she had to be equally strong.
If she couldn’t stand up to her madrina, how was she going to face the naysayers who would undoubtedly share their opinions, especially once word spread in Jeremy’s social circle? Yaz had warned her about that already.
“Yeah, I’m better.” She leaned on the wall behind her, locking her knees to steady herself. “Let me freshen up a bit and I’ll be right out.”
Jeremy eyed her for a few seconds before he backed out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him to give her some privacy.
Resting her forearms on the sink’s cool ceramic edge, Rosa cupped some water in her hand and rinsed her mouth. She pushed herself to a shaky stand, then finger-combed her hair out of her face to peer at her reflection in the oval-shaped mirror.
Great. She looked like hell. Dark circles casting a raccoon-ish appeal, skin a pukey shade of tan, lips chapped. For a second, she had the crazy idea to hang out in the bathroom longer, see if Dolores would tire of waiting and leave.
Ha, right.
And maybe Rosa would find the courage to spit one of her own poems at the Poetry Club’s open mic night. Fat chance.
No, hiding out was not an option. Time for her to own up to her choices.
Minutes later, Rosa skulked back to the living room. Jeremy sat on the ottoman, his handsome face marred by an uncomfortable frown.
Her madrina perched on the edge of the sofa, fingers tapping a silent but impatient rhythm on her knees. Dolores stood up when she saw Rosa, her expression grim.
“I take it you have been to visit Dr. Jiménez already, ha, nena?”
Busted.
Rosa paused at the edge of the floral area rug. She met her madrina’s stern gaze, reminding herself that her tía’s concern came from a loving place. “Sí, I had an appointment last week.”
“And this gring—young man—has something to do with the situation.”
It was more a statement than a question, punctuated by a head tilt and an arched brow in Jeremy’s direction. Never mind Dolores’s near slip of the tongue.
Gringo. Aka Anglo. Spoken in a derogatory tone that implied he wasn’t worthy of her.
The negative connotation of the familiar term, used in conjunction with Jeremy, who’d been a close family friend for several years now, caught Rosa by surprise.
Based on the blue fire lighting his eyes, his rudimentary Spanish was enough for him to catch the dig, too.
Dios mío, Rosa prayed Dolores hadn’t said something rude to him while she’d been cowering in the bathroom.
A spurt of protective anger ricocheted around Rosa’s chest like one of the fireflies Maria often caught in a glass jar.
When Rosa had needed someone today because Yazmine was busy taking care of her own sick family, Jeremy had stepped in. No questions asked. When she’d needed a connection to family during her last semester after Papi’s death, Jeremy had been there. A lifeline that helped her keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Her madrina had no right to treat him so rudely.
“Sí, tía, Jeremy is involved. He’s been adamant about staying by my side. And I want him here.”
Straightening her shoulders to stand taller, Rosa held a hand out to Jeremy, counting on him to understand the importance of them presenting a united front.
In hindsight, she should have expected this reaction from Dolores. But with her thoughts on her job and being freaked out about Jeremy’s proposal, she hadn’t even considered how, in the eyes of her community, he might be considered persona non grata. If there was any doubt about his treatment of Rosa, or his commitment to their child, the people in her Latino community would run him out of Oakton. Send him straight back to his fancy penthouse in downtown Chicago. No questions asked.
One thing you could count on, they would stand up to protect their own.
Never mind that Rosa’d been the one with doubts from the very beginning. Not him.
Thankfully, as if he’d received her telepathic unity message, Jeremy rounded the coffee table to clasp Rosa’s hand in his. He linked their fingers, a callus on his palm rubbing against her smooth one.
“We’re figuring things out. But the baby and I will be fine.” Rosa pressed a protective hand to her belly.
In that moment, standing side by side with Jeremy, facing the woman who was like a mother to her, the reality of their situation crystallized in Rosa’s mind.
They were having a baby. Together.
Questions she hadn’t allowed herself to consider suddenly bombarded her in a firestorm.
Would he or she have Jeremy’s blue eyes? Maybe her brown ones? His thick dirty-blond hair or her wavy black locks? She hoped their child possessed Jeremy’s sharp mind; math had never been her favorite subject. But without question she’d make sure their little one inherited her love of reading.
A pang of pleasure-pain pierced her heart.
So many things to consider when a child’s life was in your hands.
Dolores’s dark eyes shifted between Jeremy and Rosa. Considering. No doubt measuring Jeremy’s suitability. Questioning Rosa’s emotional state.
Rosa made herself maintain eye contact.
This was not the time to let her shyness prevail. She was going to be a mamá. Soon joining the young mothers group at church. A rite of passage.
The silence dragged on and Jeremy squeezed her hand.
She leaned her shoulder against the side of his arm, gaining strength from his presence, hoping her touch did the same for him.
Hands clasped at her chest as if in prayer, Dolores turned toward Rosa. “Bueno, espero que los dos estén—”
“English, please, Tía,” Rosa interrupted, mindful to keep her tone respectful. “Jeremy doesn’t speak Spanish.”
“But I’m learning!” he quickly threw in.
Dolores gifted him with her famous how-you-have-disappointed-me frown. The one Rosa had avoided most of her life. Yazmine and Lilí had typically been recipients of Tía Dolores’s glass-melting glare because of their antics. Especially Lilí.
“Bueno, I hope that you both,” Dolores repeated, in English this time, “are prepared for what you are getting into. From the looks of you, Rosita, I would say you are suffering like your mamá did with all three of her pregnancies. ¿Verdad?”
Rosa nodded, tears of regret burning her throat when her madrina called her by the childhood nickname Mami had often used. Oh, how she wished her mamá were here to offer counsel and reassurance.
Jeremy let go of her hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders. “Unfortunately, Rosa hasn’t been feeling too well. But we saw Dr. Jiménez last week and she provided some guidance. She put Rosa on half days at work with bed rest at home after.”
“So, you will need someone to stay with you. It was right for Yazmine to call me,” Dolores said, still not having spoken directly to Jeremy. “Pablo and I were supposed to leave for Puerto Rico on Friday for the holidays. I will change my ticket and leave later so I can take care of you.”
“No, please don’t!” The last thing Rosa wanted was people making a big deal, throwing their own schedules out of whack because of her.
Her skin itched with the terrible thought of drawing attention to herself. If Dolores changed her flight, people would wonder why. There’d be talk, gossiping. Especially at church, and that wouldn’t help her cause with Father Yosef.
Dios mío, her heart raced with anxiety.
She needed to maintain an air of normalcy. For herself, her sanity, not to mention her job security.
“If it makes you feel any better,” Jeremy said, “I plan to pick Rosa up after work and spend the evenings with her so she’s not alone.” He looked down at Rosa. His blue eyes flashed with a question, waiting for her confirmation.
She hesitated. They’d come to a friendly agreement about him not pushing. But they hadn’t actually discussed what that meant before Dolores arrived.
“And if she is sick at night? Or in the early mornings? Who will make our special teas to ease her nausea?” Dolores folded her arms across her chest with authority.
Now that she’d finally acknowledged him, she punctuated her questions with her fiery glare. The same one she had perfected while volunteering with the often-rowdy youth group.
“I know my way around a kitchen,” Jeremy answered. “And if Rosa needs someone here overnight, or in the mornings, I have no problem staying. In Yazmine’s old room,” he added when Dolores’s glare turned glacial.
“Wait a minute. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Rosa argued. She held her hands up to stall the conversation before it became train-wrecked. “I doubt—”
“And you would do that?” her madrina interrupted.
“For Rosa and our baby, I’ll do anything.” A steely resolution wove its way through Jeremy’s words. The same implacable expression Rosa had come up against all last week tightened his jaw muscles.
“And what kind of job do you have to provide for your family that would allow you to be here playing nursemaid to my Rosita?”
“¡Tía, por favor!”
Rosa had never raised her voice to Dolores before. Respecting her elders had been drummed into her since birth, but her madrina’s questioning was beyond insulting to Jeremy, and embarrassing to her.
“I don’t see this as ‘playing nursemaid,’” Jeremy answered, admirably calm in the face of Dolores’s interrogation. “It’s helping someone I care for. Who also happens to be the mother of my child.” His arm tightened around Rosa’s shoulders again, pressing her more tightly to his side. “As for my job. I have a dam—darn good one that provides flexibility, so it’s not a problem for me to be here for Rosa. If that’s what she wants.”
Great, he’d finally gotten the message that she didn’t want to be coerced into something they weren’t ready for. Only now Dolores had stepped into the role of aggressor.
Somehow, the downhill snowball that had become Rosa’s life had gained in speed and size, leaving her few options to stop it.
She rolled her eyes, then quickly blinked to hide the act—smart enough to remember it was one of her tía’s pet peeves. Lilí had gotten enough head thumps for the two of them because of a disrespectful eye roll over the years.
“Bueno, nena, the choice is yours then.” Fists on her plump hips, Dolores pierced Rosa with a challenging stare. “Am I changing my ticket? Or is this young man staying to help you?”
* * *
Jeremy was more than a little surprised by Dolores’s ultimatum.
Frankly, he had a hard time believing the older woman would actually agree to him staying overnight with Rosa. They weren’t a married couple, so no way would many of the elder members in their community think it proper.
Still, Dolores had to know that Rosa would balk at the idea of changing holiday flight plans.
All three of them knew Rosa would bend over backwards before inconveniencing someone else.
He’d watched her do so countless times.
Whether she was letting Lilí get out of some boring chore around the house. Or canceling her own weekend plans to cover for a bookstore coworker with a lame excuse. Or picking up the slack for a classmate who bailed on a group project in one of her graduate classes.
Rosa was the consummate people pleaser. Well, except for recently when she’d had no problem putting her foot down with him.
His arm still around Rosa’s shoulders, he felt their rise and fall as she released a deep sigh.
“So, what will it be, nena?” Dolores pressed. “I have three days to help your young man learn what he needs so that I can leave in peace. Or, I can send Pablo to Puerto Rico ahead of me.”
Like a little kid in the back of the classroom, jumping up and down in his seat, hand raised high, a voice inside him screamed, “Pick me! Pick me!”
Rosa didn’t answer. Instead, she got busy worrying her bottom lip.
Interesting.
A thrill of excitement wormed its way through Jeremy’s chest. Maybe he actually had a shot here.
Dolores crossed the living room to one of the bongo drums that flanked either side of the dark cherry entertainment center. She picked up a framed Fernandez family photo that had been taken when Rosa was in early high school, before her mom had died.
Jeremy had eyed the picture many times, captivated by their smiling faces. Reynaldo and Marta stooped down, arms wrapped around all three of their daughters, who stood in front of the couple. Love, pride, and joy shone in the parents’ eyes. Hints of the girls’ personalities were evident in Lilí’s mischievous grin, Yazmine’s sultry look, and Rosa’s shy expression.
It was that shyness that continuously drew him to reach for the picture when he visited.
Before, he’d wondered what lay behind her gentle smile.
He didn’t have to wonder anymore. Not since he’d had the privilege of experiencing the fire and passion Rosa kept hidden from most. That experience had been like a gift he wanted to unwrap again and again.
“I made a promise to Marta that I would care for you and your sisters like you were my own,” Dolores said, drawing Jeremy’s attention back to the decision at hand. “We are familia.”
“I know, Tía. And I’m grateful for the guidance you’ve given me. Especially in the years since we lost Mami.”
The tremor in Rosa’s voice had Jeremy tightening his arm around her to offer comfort.
“Familia es importante,” Dolores continued, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “We protect one another in difficult times, especialmente when someone comes along who might hurt us.”
Jeremy cringed at the underlying subtext.
He was not family. He was an interloper. A gringo.
Even worse, he’d come into their circle and taken advantage of the most delicate, most fragile of the sisters.
He already felt blame for getting Rosa into this situation. Hearing the censure in Dolores’s voice was sea salt poured over an open wound.
“Señora Torres, if I may . . .”
He broke off when Rosa bent her elbow to link the fingers of her right hand with his where they lay on her shoulder.
“With all due respect, Tía,” Rosa said, her fingers tightening around his. “Jeremy is familia. You and Tío Pablo go to Puerto Rico, please. Enjoy the Christmas and Three Kings holidays. I’ll be fine here. With Jeremy.”
Another knuckle-snapping squeeze from Rosa punctuated his name. He didn’t know what secret message she might be trying to send him, but her words were a thrill to hear.
“Yazmine will be over to help eventually,” Rosa steamrolled on. “And Lilí’s winter break begins soon. I will have plenty of nursemaids.”
Her wry tone made it difficult to tell if Rosa was trying to convince herself or Dolores that everything would be fine.
There was no need for her to worry about convincing him. If Rosa wanted him to stay with her, he’d move in tonight. His gym bag was in the car so he already had a change of clothes and toiletries.
What better way for him to show her that he was ready for this? Words hadn’t done the trick, even though she was a woman who valued them.
“If Jeremy is sure . . .” Rosa’s fingers slid from his as she turned to face him, his arm dropping from her shoulder. “I’ll take his offer.”
She gazed up at him, her expression an interesting mix of confidence and vulnerability. The first filled him with pride that she had spoken up for him. The second made him want to wrap her in his arms and promise to make everything better.
“Like I said before,” he told her. “I’m all in. One hundred percent.”
He watched Rosa’s throat move with a swallow. No doubt she was as overwhelmed as him by how fast things were changing between them. In monumental steps.
Two months ago, she wasn’t answering his phone calls. Two days ago, she was keeping him at a ten-foot-pole distance. Today she was agreeing to have him stay in her home.
Talk about a head-spinning one-eighty.
Jeremy cupped her shoulders, the simple connection to her both calming and exciting him at the same time. Reminding him of how good they could be together, if they were able to figure things out.
“Are you sure?” Rosa asked, her voice soft but her tone firm. A true reflection of the many facets that drew him to her.
“Whatever you want, I’m game.”
Her eyes flashed with . . . was that triumph?
That seemed odd, but before he could think more about it, she lifted up onto her toes to press her soft lips against his.
Her fingers grabbed on to his waist, curling into his sweater. The sweet vanilla scent he would forever associate with her filled his lungs. God, how he wanted to tug her closer. Deepen the kiss to satisfy his hunger for her.
Instead, Rosa lowered back to her stockinged feet, giving him a shy look under her lashes.
Dolores cleared her throat. Like he needed a reminder of her presence.
“Bueno, if he is staying and I am going, we have much work to do.” The older woman’s no-nonsense voice rang with a challenge.
“Let the games begin,” Rosa whispered for his ears only.
“Nena, get me a pen and some paper so I can make a grocery list,” Dolores ordered, moving to sit on the couch again. “Your young man can run to the store right now while I am here.”
Thank you, Jeremy mouthed as Rosa moved to follow her madrina’s request.
She hesitated, guilt flickering across her face before she turned away.
* * *
An hour later, Jeremy stood in aisle seven of the local Whole Foods Market, staring blindly at the unbelievable number of shelves weighed down by the insane variety of olives.
He glanced from the paper with Dolores’s scrawled list of items back to the shelves.
Holy hell.
Should he get plain green? With or without pimento? Garlic or blue-cheese stuffed? Queen-sized? Would Rosa prefer if they were pitted so she wouldn’t have to spit something out?
Damn. His first errand for Dolores and he was already stumped.
At least the list specified green olives. That eliminated some options.
Maybe if he tried thinking like a pregnant woman . . .
Jeremy shook off the silly idea and refocused. No way would he call to ask for more guidance. That smacked of incompetence. Failing in Dolores’s eyes was not an option. Neither was failing in Rosa’s.
All he needed was a strategy.
Bingo!
His hand basket already mostly full with boxes of mint tea, fresh ginger and papaya, a couple of limes, a large bag of white rice, and two bags of salt and vinegar potato chips, Jeremy dashed to the front of the store for a cart.
Dolores asked for olives?
The woman was going to get olives.
Twenty minutes later, Jeremy pushed open the Fernandezes’ front door, arms draped with reusable grocery bags filled with the list of ingredients Dolores needed for her special concoctions, along with every green olive option known to man.
Rosa looked up from where she sat on the couch reading a book. Right away, he noticed her red-rimmed eyes and dark pink nose. She’d been crying.
Obviously, she and Dolores had shared a difficult conversation while he’d been out shopping. Guilt speared him with a sharp blade. He should have been here to back her up.
Then she smiled at him. A hopeful smile that ensnared his heart as easily as if she’d swung a lasso around it and pulled tight.
She’d changed from her work clothes into a pair of red fleece sleep pants with a black sweatshirt, the slogan Reading is Sexy in red cursive letters across the chest.
Jeremy grinned. Ten bucks said the sweatshirt had been a gift from Lilí.
While Rosa’s black fuzzy socks and high ponytail didn’t exactly scream sex siren, the whole ensemble encompassed everything about her that appealed to him. She was the comfortable girl next door, the one he could feel at ease and be himself with, and yet, underneath that sweatshirt was a sexy body he hoped she’d want to share with him again.
Setting her book down on the cushion beside her, Rosa pushed off the couch as he strode past her toward the kitchen.
“What did you buy?” she asked. “There were barely five items on Dolores’s list.”
Jeremy glanced over his shoulder to find Rosa bringing up the rear behind him.
“To be clear, there were six specific items, along with one more that had far too much room for interpretation,” he answered.
Rosa’s face scrunched with confusion. “Huh?”
“I wanted to make sure I didn’t—”
“¿Pero qué es esto?” Dolores’s cry brought him to a halt one step into the kitchen.
Arms raised to indicate all his purchases, the older woman gaped at him.
Undeterred, and quite pleased with his problem-solving skills, Jeremy placed two bags on the laminate-topped breakfast table. “These are the majority of the groceries you asked for. And these”—he set the other three reusable bags beside the first two with a flourish—“are the green olives.”
Both women exchanged befuddled looks. Then, in unison, they stepped closer and began rummaging through the items. Rosa pulled out a box of mint tea and sniffed it. Dolores started lining up the olive jars on the table, glass clinking against glass with each new addition.
It wasn’t long before two sets of dark eyes framed by puzzled brows turned to stare at him.
A niggling sense of worried doubt wove its way through his head, similar to the sensation he’d experienced the first time he’d read a photo caption in the Tribune identifying him as “the adopted son” of Sherman Taylor. As if that made him less than.
“You didn’t specify what type of green olive, so I bought one of every option.” Shoving his hands in his front pockets he lifted a shoulder, going for nonchalant when he’d actually started wondering if he’d been overzealous in his bid for Dolores’s acceptance. “I figured, why not cover my bases.”
Arms crossed in front of her, Dolores gave him a solid impression of a stern Mother Superior. Slowly shaking her head from side to side she mumbled, “Increíble. Este hombre está loco.”
Rosa’s lips twitched. She giggled, then quickly covered her mouth with her hand. Still, her eyes twinkled with a glee that had been missing since she’d come to his place just over a week ago.
Relief at her reaction wiped away all his doubt. Dolores might think he was crazy, but he was okay with that as long as Rosa was happy.
She giggled again and he winked at her, pleased to see the deep pink blush that crept up her cheeks.
“I thought I’d be buying pickles and ice cream.” Shrugging out of his jacket, Jeremy slung it over the back of a kitchen chair. “Or is that an old wives’ tale and pregnant women really don’t crave that combination?”
“Back home, on the Island, it is olives,” Dolores answered. She pulled out another box of mint tea along with the ginger root, then crossed to the counter. “Like your pickles here in America, the vinegar helps with the . . . ay, how do you say, Rosa, el malestar? O la mala barriga?”
“The nausea. Or bad, upset stomach,” Rosa translated. She sank down into one of the wooden breakfast table chairs. “I guess malestar really means when your whole body doesn’t feel well. That pretty much sums things up for me.”
“You sit there and relax. I will—we will take care of everything, verdad, Jeremy?” Dolores held the ginger root out to him.
It was the first time she had addressed him by name this evening. He liked the way Dolores’s heavy Spanish accent softened the syllables.
On his drive back from the store, he’d worried about what might have gone down between Rosa and her godmother while he’d been gone. Whatever had been said, Rosa’s red-rimmed eyes told him it had been difficult for her. But somehow, and for some reason he was thankful for, Dolores appeared a hair more accepting of him.
At least she had stopped shooting poison-laced daggers at him with her eyes.
Encouraged, he took the ginger from her with gusto. “Right! No, verdad.”
Dolores’s lips curved, the faint wrinkles along the edges of her mouth deepening, before she nodded in approval.
And thus began his first Puerto Rican cooking lesson.
While Rosa sat at the kitchen table, Dolores showed him how to peel the ginger, then chop it up to boil in water that was then used to steep the mint tea.
If that didn’t do the trick with Rosa’s nausea, he was to boil half a cup of rice in a full cup of water for ten minutes. Then he poured the rice water in a coffee mug for Rosa to sip. Not something he’d been excited to sample, but he did.
He’d made himself a promise. Whatever she tried, he tried. It was only fair.
Rosa had balked when he’d poured himself some of the ginger mint tea. She flat-out objected when they got to the rice water. Saying there was no need for both of them to taste the gross stuff.
He’d stood firm.
They were in this together.
After they’d shared a few sips of the water, Rosa declaring a preference for the tea, Dolores moved on with her lesson.
Next up, a quiz on his egg-cooking prowess. Apparently they’d provide sustenance while not aggravating Rosa’s stomach.
Did he know how to boil an egg? Dolores had asked.
He’d actually done a double take at that question.
Uh, yes.
Could he fry an egg over easy?
Check. Along with a mental note that it was Rosa’s favorite.
Basic scramble?
No problemo.
Dolores gave him another eagle-eyed assessment at his wise crack.
He tried not to laugh, seeing as how she didn’t seem to appreciate his humor.
Eventually they moved on to the papaya. It wasn’t as difficult as he’d thought when first holding the smooth-skinned fruit. Cut, scoop out the seeds and membrane, peel, slice, enjoy.
Once he’d mastered that task, Jeremy sat down next to Rosa at the table, setting the plastic container of fruit in front of her.
Odds were good that Dolores didn’t intend the papaya tasting to be a sensual affair. However, with Rosa’s first bite, the sweet juice dripped down her chin and all he could think about was licking the trail of nectar off her skin.
He settled for reaching out to swipe the juice with his thumb, then bringing it to his mouth to sample.
Heat flared in the depths of her eyes.
Her tongue slipped out to lick her lips, the delicate pink tip teasing him. Desire and hunger slammed into him, surging through his body with an electric jolt.
Rosa’s gaze moved to his mouth, paused, then slid away. A dull pink blush climbed up her face.
Any doubt that she had wanted him as much as he had craved her that night was erased as deftly as a message written on the shore before a rising tide.
His fear that he’d somehow misread her signals dissipated.
“The bag of papitas can stay closed for now, but give them a try later, okay, nena?”
Her back to them, Dolores put the bag of salt and vinegar potato chips in the pantry next to the basement door. Clueless as to the inappropriate thoughts swarming around Jeremy’s head. The same ones sending his blood south in an even more inappropriate response, considering he and Rosa were currently chaperoned.
Dolores moved toward them, pointing at Rosa as she spoke. “Take them to school tomorrow, with one of Jeremy’s olive jars?”
The older woman’s cackle of laughter, coupled with the at least fifth or sixth olive reference she’d made at his expense, deepened his sense of belonging, especially after the good-natured ribbing she’d given him throughout the impromptu remedy-making lesson.
Dolores had teased him mercilessly for his overindulgent shopping trip. At the same time, she’d patiently taught him the Spanish to English translations for the various ingredients they’d used.
Rosa’s good-natured chuckles over his mispronunciations took the sting out of his embarrassment.
He imagined this was what most evenings had been like for her when she was growing up—hanging out in the kitchen with her mom, laughing together. The other two sisters running in and out with their busy schedules, Reynaldo practicing music with his trío, Los Paisanos, in the basement.
Since Dolores’s husband, Pablo, had been a Los Paisanos bandmate, she’d probably been a regular here as well.
The music, the revolving welcome door for family and friends, the food and sense of community and belonging . . . this environment was far different from his. He’d grown up in a mix of fancy dinners with Sherman’s law firm partners and clients, nights at the orchestra or ballet, and formal charity galas that were more about appearances and networking than relationships and bonding.
Here, life was more laid-back. Comfortably appealing.
In large part due to the enchanting woman beside him.
“I’m guessing Rosa will thank me for my inventive shopping skills when those olives come in handy at the library,” he teased back.
Dolores muttered under her breath as she looked toward the heavens, but he caught her smirk before she spun away to wash the few remaining dishes.
Rosa snickered, rubbing at her chin with the back of her hand to wipe the juice.
Jeremy slid a napkin across the table closer to her.
“Finished?” he asked. At her nod, he placed the plastic lid on the papaya container.
He pushed his chair away from the table, moving to put the fruit in the refrigerator. The action was less about helping tidy the kitchen and more about stepping away from temptation. The cool air when he tugged open the door provided a welcome balm to his heated face.
When he turned back around, he caught Rosa covering a wide yawn with both hands.
“Ay, excuse me,” she mumbled.
He checked his watch. Just after eight. Not too late, but she’d had a full day, with little of the rest Dr. Jiménez had ordered. “It’s a school night, señorita. We should be getting you to bed.”
He winced. Damn if the words didn’t sound more lecherous than he intended.
If Dolores noticed, she cut him some slack and kept it to herself. “Walk me to the door, Jeremy. Rosita, abrazos.”
Rosa stood to give her madrina the requested hug. “Gracias, Tía. I appreciate you coming over.”
“Nonsense. Where else would I be?” Dolores cupped Rosa’s face in her hands. “And I can stay behind if that makes you feel better. Not only because I promised your parents, but because I would do anything for you and your sisters.”
Dolores pressed a kiss to Rosa’s forehead.
Out of respect for both women, Jeremy remained silent, allowing them to share their special moment.
Then Dolores glanced at him over her shoulder, her expression now more accepting than assessing. “Though I must admit that I think he might do okay. Not as good as me, but the boy is a fast learner.”
He gave her a wink, chuckling at the resigned sigh she answered with.
After another tight hug with Rosa, Dolores motioned for him to follow her to the front of the house. The older woman made quick work of slipping on her winter coat and scarf, then motioned with her head for him to step out on the front porch with her.
“Rosita needs a lot of rest,” Dolores said the moment Jeremy closed the door behind him. Worry clouded her eyes and puckered the lines across her forehead. “She has lost much weight. I had noticed at church the past few weeks, but never expected . . . bueno”—she waved off the obvious—“I doubt the two of you did either.”
Dolores was the closest Rosa had to a parent. A fact that compelled Jeremy to reassure her of his commitment.
“I’m going to do whatever it takes to help her through this,” he asserted. “Whatever Dr. Jiménez recommends. I promise.”
“I am trusting you, Jeremy Taylor.” Dolores pointed a finger at him, her no-nonsense stare back in place. “No hanky spanky tonight. Rosita needs her sleep.”
Hanky spanky?
He gulped at the inadvertent image her idiom mix-up brought to mind.
God help him. The absolute last subject he wanted to discuss with Dolores was whether he and Rosa should have sex tonight—or any night, for that matter.
As it was, if anything could put the kibosh on his libido, it was picturing Dolores’s Mother Superior expression as she waggled her finger at him in warning.
“I will be by tomorrow, after Rosa is home from school,” Dolores said.
“And I’ll be here, making sure she at least eats a little, has plenty of fluids, and gets her rest. I’m not going anywhere,” he promised.
The cold wind picked up, making him shiver since he’d left his coat on the kitchen chair.
“You go inside,” Dolores ordered. “I do not want you getting sick. But Jeremy—” She grabbed his arm, her fingers tight around his biceps, her face still drawn with worry. “Protéjela.”
His rudimentary Spanish didn’t fail him this time.
He placed his hand over Dolores’s, willing her to feel his sincerity.
“Don’t you worry. I will protect Rosa, and our unborn child, with my life. They’re my familia now, too.”
Dolores may have stood a good half foot shorter than he did, but the shadows cast by the front porch light intensified the fierce expression on her lined face. It would have made many grown men cower.
Jeremy didn’t even blink. He meant every single word and it was imperative that she understand that.
“Hmmm,” Dolores finally said. “Perhaps you will do after all.”
After giving his cheek a quick pat, she hurried down the walk to a silver Camry parked in front of the house.
Shivering against the bitter wind, Jeremy returned her wave good-bye, then stood and watched until she rounded the corner.
Despite the cold, he gazed up at the stars winking at him from the dark blanket of the cloudless midnight sky.
Yesterday, after dinner, he’d told his mom he would slow down with Rosa. Let her make the calls. And quit with the knee-jerk reactions.
Little had he imagined that twenty-four hours later her play-calling would involve him moving in with her for the next two weeks.
Anticipation pumping his heart faster, Jeremy moved to go back inside the Fernandez home.
Earlier tonight, he’d realized words hadn’t been enough to convince Rosa that he was worthy.
Well then, the time had come to take some action.