Chapter Twelve
Thursday afternoon found Rosa and her Poetry Club regulars spread out at several tables in the library.
“So, you’re sayin’ we gotta have the open mic poetry slam here? In the library?”
There was no missing the skepticism in Iván’s question.
The library, with its musty books, plastic chairs, laminate-topped tables and industrial-grade carpeting didn’t necessarily scream “young and hip, listen to my words as I tell it like it is”—the underlying vibe of her students’ spoken-word pieces.
The beat of their verses, the emotion behind the words . . . they deserved the low lights and intimacy of a coffee shop. Not the harshness of institutional fluorescent lights.
While Iván bemoaned the lack of ambiance, Rosa surreptitiously gauged the reactions of the rest of the students.
On her right, Carlotta sat in silence, busily picking at her nails. Ever since Rosa had gotten sick earlier in the week, the teen had been sticking close to her.
Carlotta had eyed her with worry-tinged suspicion when Rosa had mentioned that she’d be working half days until the holiday break while she dealt with a medical issue. Thankfully, the girl hadn’t asked any questions.
At the next table over sat Ricky. With his side-fade-cut hair and peach-fuzz goatee, the senior responded to Iván’s complaint with the typical tough-guy, sí compadre approving jerk of his chin. However, she’d seen his eyes bug out when Iván had asked why they weren’t using the school’s auditorium for their open mic night.
Barbara and Marla sat at another table, their blond heads together, giggling over something one of them had written in a notebook. Their smiles had wavered, worried looks exchanged when Iván first brought up the idea of stepping out onto the auditorium’s huge stage all by himself.
Then there was Javier, the last one in the group. Javier sat at her table across from Carlotta, quiet and mellow, per his usual. The clean-shaven and baby-faced junior cut a glance at Carlotta, quickly averting his gaze when she happened to look up at him.
Rosa couldn’t help but smile. Those two had been dancing around each other since the first Poetry Club meeting back in September. No telling when one would be brave enough to make the first move.
“The thing is,” Rosa answered, carefully measuring her words. She wanted to build their confidence, not feed any insecurities about sharing their poetry. Not that she had room to talk. Oh, she was participating in the slam, but reading one of her favorite pieces written by another poet. Not one of her own. “This is the club’s first slam. The first time many of you have performed or even read your work aloud. This”—she opened her arms wide to encompass her home away from home—“has been our safe space, so to speak. It’ll always be that, even outside of Poetry Club. Hopefully you know that by now. I think it’s the perfect place for us to start.”
Carlotta and Javier nodded. The blond besties joined in with their agreement.
“Next semester, if everyone is comfortable, we’ll talk about locations where we can venture out,” Rosa offered. If she was still working at Queen of Peace.
The thought sobered her. Still, she soldiered on for the kids. “Maybe the coffee shop downtown. They’ve held open stage nights for musicians in the past. I can touch base with the owner if everyone is up for it.”
“Fiiiine,” Iván groaned the word. “Guess my big public debut will have to wait.”
Ricky barked out a laugh. Carlotta and Javier shared shy smiles.
“Iván, your debut happened the day you walked in here and shook the place up,” Rosa teased. “The world has no idea what’s in store for it when it comes to you. But I know you’ll be great!”
True to his tough-guy reputation, Iván answered with some cocky head bobbing, his lips twisted in a “you know it” smirk as he fist-bumped with Ricky. But she caught the slight shade of embarrassed flush that stained his tan cheeks.
“To recap,” Rosa said, “we’ll meet—”
The library door opened, and everyone turned to see who was walking in nearly an hour after the last school bell. Their meeting was about to end.
Jeremy stepped inside, his tall, broad-shouldered frame draped in his navy-officer-style cashmere coat, a grey scarf tied around his neck. Dark jeans and a pair of dark brown leather Chukka boots peeked out from underneath the length of his coat. His cheeks were ruddy from the cold, his hair mussed more than likely from the bitter Chicago wind.
“Oiga, Señorita Fernandez, it’s your boo,” Iván catcalled.
Now it was Rosa’s turn to feel the burn of an embarrassed flush.
Jeremy’s gaze immediately sought her out. Their eyes met, his lips splitting in his trademark confident grin.
“Don’t be so immature. He’s just her friend,” Carlotta chided Iván.
“Ha, the dude’s been here to pick her up every day this week,” he shot back. “I seen his fancy wheels out front. If being her ride every day is what you call a friend, then maybe I want you to be mine so you can drive me around. I’m saving up for my own set of wheels.”
He waggled his brows at her, laughing at Carlotta’s muttered, “Dream on.”
“Don’t mind me,” Jeremy said, pulling out a chair at the table closest to the door. “I’m simply the lady’s chauffeur.”
He winked at Rosa, completely undermining his claim. Gracias a Dios her students couldn’t hear the more than friendly thoughts about him running through her mind. Or see the pulse in her throat racing simply because he’d walked into the room.
This was day three of Jeremy staying at her house. Sleeping in the room next door. Sharing her bathroom and mixing his toiletries with hers. Making breakfast and brewing her mint ginger tea. Driving all the way into Chicago to pick up a few tins of her favorite Export Soda crackers from the mercado. Sitting on the floor or the end of her bed in the evenings while they talked about the latest books they’d read, what drew him to work with computers, a foreign film they’d heard about, or the places they longed to visit.
She could almost fool herself into thinking that they’d fallen back into their old friendship. Yet, she’d be lying if she didn’t admit to sensing the ever-present undercurrent of awareness between them.
For her, at least.
Her body knew what it wanted.
Her mind kept getting caught up on what-ifs, buts, and what-abouts.
Those doubts kept her from broaching the topic of how they planned to move forward, co-parenting together. Instead, she’d focused on resting and keeping the nausea at bay.
Jeremy was no longer pressing her for answers, but it was as if a timer slowly, relentlessly ticked away the seconds, minutes, hours of her reprieve. The conversation couldn’t be held off much longer.
She still wasn’t eating much, but the half days at work, along with having someone handling things around the house, did help. Jeremy took his role as caretaker seriously. He wouldn’t even let her lift a pinky finger to do anything. She was either relegated to the couch or in her bed resting. Maybe at the kitchen table while he brewed tea, made a new pot of soup, or washed the dishes.
He’d actually suggested he carry her up the stairs to avoid overexerting herself.
She’d put her foot down over that one.
Not because she was perfectly capable of walking on her own.
More like because she didn’t trust herself to let go of him once they got to her room.
“You sure you don’t wanna be my chauffeur?” Iván teased Carlotta, drawing Rosa’s attention back to her students.
Carlotta rolled her eyes at him.
“Okay, let’s wrap things up. Does anyone have a piece they need help with, or have you all decided what you’re going to perform? Our poetry slam is two weeks from today. That’s the last day of finals so it’ll be a super way for us to close out the semester before break. Invite your family and friends. I’ll bring drinks and sweets.”
“¿De veras?” Carlotta’s surprise matched the other kids’.
“Really,” Rosa confirmed.
“Oye, tremenda fiesta in the library. We be getting the special treatment, a’right,” Iván singsonged.
Leaning over his table, he started thumping a rhythm with his hands. Ricky jumped in, adding a mix of beatbox sounds with his mouth, creating a vocal percussion imitation in sync with Iván’s rhythm.
The beat was like a contagious virus infecting them all. Barbara and Marla hopped up to dance by their table. Even normally quiet Carlotta rose and crooked a knee on her seat, her arms and torso moving to the groove.
Rosa’s foot tapped, her shoulders shimmying with the beat.
Then Javier surprised them all by chiming in with a freestyle verse. “You think you really know us. That you got us figured out. But listen to our words, and don’t you make us shout. Open your ears. Listen to our voice. Don’t miss our slam by makin’ the wrong choice. Yeah.”
He punctuated his last word with an arms-crossed, tough-guy smirk at the other two boys. A pose Rosa had never seen the reserved young man mimic before.
“Oooooh, my boy’s been holding out on us!” Iván crowed. He slid out of his chair, racing around to slap Javier on the back.
Ricky reached an arm out to fist-bump Javier, who flashed a wide grin. He glanced at Carlotta, who gazed at him with admiration.
The kids whooped and hollered over Javier’s impromptu rap, and Rosa couldn’t help but smile, pleased by their camaraderie.
It hadn’t been like this three months ago when she’d held their first meeting. Only Marla and Barbara had known each other. Carlotta had seen a flyer; Javier had heard the announcement about it over the school intercom. Iván hadn’t been an original member, joining about a month into the school year, and he’d dragged Ricky along a week later.
The Poetry Club, her pet project, had brought together this mix of students who normally wouldn’t socialize with each other, helping them find common ground.
This was exactly what she had been hoping for.
An overwhelming sense of peace and rightness sprang through Rosa like a fire hydrant spouting water on a hot summer day. She turned to Jeremy, anxious to include him in this moment.
He smiled at her. A patient, understanding curve of his lips that warmed her soul. Somehow she knew he understood how happy this scene with her students made her.
Kids feeling at home in her library, bonding over spoken and written word. Sharing the experience with each other. With her.
She was delighted that Jeremy had arrived in time to witness this. See why her job was so important to her. Why it would be painful if she lost this.
Though, if it meant standing up for herself and her baby, no matter how hard it would be, she’d step away.
Overcome with the rush of pleasure-pain her thoughts brought, Rosa laid a hand on her stomach and stretched against her chair back.
“Okay, okay, people, let’s take this outside,” Carlotta called out. “Señorita Fernandez needs to get going.”
“Thank you, Carlotta,” Jeremy said as he walked over to join Rosa and the group. “Hi guys, I’m Jeremy. A close friend of Señorita Fernandez.”
He shot her a teasing wink, as he used the description of himself he’d given Carlotta on Monday when he’d first met her.
Introductions were quickly shared around the tables, Barbara and Marla doing a grand impression of a teenage girl swoon. Then the intros reached the feistiest of their group.
“Iván here.” The teen hopped off the corner of his table to stand in front of Jeremy. Shoulders back, feet anchored in a wide stance, chin tilted up, it was as close to a tough-guy impression as Iván could pull off while wearing his Queen of Peace Academy navy sweatshirt over a white polo and khaki pants. “So you’re a close friend, huh? I see how it is. You treat her right. She’s one of the good ones.”
Jeremy offered his hand to shake. “No worries with me, pal. I know what a gem she is.”
Iván gripped Jeremy’s hand, and the two engaged in a man-to-man stare-down.
“On that note—” Rosa pushed back her chair so she could rise, mortified at their mini-standoff over her.
Thankfully Iván took her cue. The teen gave Jeremy one of his signature chin jerks of approval. Then, with a “Let’s roll, people,” he grabbed his backpack and led the group toward the door.
“Make sure she gets some rest, okay, Galahad?” Carlotta told Jeremy.
Jeremy answered with a two-finger salute to his temple.
Carlotta shot him her big-sister stare before turning to Rosa. “Hasta mañana. I hope you feel better.”
“Gracias,” Rosa answered, slightly embarrassed at all the fuss over her, but amused by Carlotta’s use of her nickname for Jeremy.
The kids piled out of the library, chattering on their way out, but not before Rosa noticed that Javier was carrying Carlotta’s backpack for her.
Jeremy moved to Rosa’s side, and together they waved good-bye to her students.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Rosa let herself fall back into her seat. With her workday at an end, the fatigue she’d been battling could no longer be ignored.
“Sorry about that,” she mumbled. “I’m not sure what Iván was thinking with his warning and stare-down.”
She’d been surprised, yet sweetly touched, by the teen’s protective posturing. As well as Carlotta’s.
Jeremy shrugged out of his winter coat and pulled out the chair beside her. His blue and grey plaid crew-neck sweater brightened the color of his eyes and stretched snugly across his broad chest. With his jeans and boots, he looked casual and comfortable. Devastatingly handsome.
Then again, she’d found him equally as handsome in gym shorts and a T-shirt, sweaty after hours of playing basketball at the university gym.
“They’re good kids,” he answered. “It’s clear you have a positive effect on them.”
“I try.”
“You do,” he stressed. “Don’t brush off the compliment. You deserve it. Rosa, you care. About your job, about your role as a mentor. About them.”
Not one to accept praise easily, she ducked her head, pretending to pick at a piece of nonexistent lint from her black skirt.
Jeremy nudged her knee with his own. “Hey, it’s not every day I have to defend myself to a scruffy-faced hip-hop poet with a fade cut and a mile-wide attitude.”
Rosa smiled, slanting Jeremy a look from under her lashes. “That mile-wide attitude is what brought him to the Poetry Club in the first place.”
“How?” Jeremy leaned his forearms on the table, like he was settling in for her story. Actually interested in hearing about her kids.
His obvious interest chipped away at her uncertainty concerning whether he might grow bored with her simple life here in Oakton, with her.
The students’ acceptance of him, his ease in venturing into her world this week made her think that their different lives could mesh. Then again, it was far easier for him to go slumming in the suburbs. Jeremy seemed comfortable anywhere.
She, on the other hand, had qualms about fitting into his life in Chicago. Despite what she’d told Yaz about getting used to the spotlight the Taylor family lived under. Rosa liked her quiet life in the suburbs. Jeremy was used to charity events, networking cocktails, and fancy dinners. Could their worlds intertwine? Doubts continued to hound her.
“What do you mean?” Jeremy prodded, reminding her of his question.
“Iván’s English teacher and I were in the teacher’s lounge about a month into the school year, and she brought up some concerns about him. He wasn’t necessarily misbehaving in class, but she knew he wasn’t working to his potential either.”
Rosa paused, remembering that first conversation. As a new employee, she’d been surprised the older woman had confided in her. “They’d started a poetry unit. Not a favorite of many students. But for three days in a row he ‘accidentally’ brought the wrong textbook.”
“Classic avoidance move,” Jeremy said.
“Exactly.” Warming to her story, Rosa swiveled in her seat to face him and her knee wound up pressed up against his under the table.
Jeremy didn’t slide away to give her more space.
Sucker that she was, she didn’t move either.
Instead, she let herself enjoy the contact, as innocent as it might be.
“He was on the brink of getting a demerit for repeated misbehavior,” she continued. “I suggested a different solution for her to consider. He could either take the demerit, and put himself in a hole before the first nine weeks had barely begun, or attend the Poetry Club meetings during the weeks they were studying the poetry unit.”
Jeremy chuckled, the laugh lines around his eyes deepening. “Oh, that’s evil. But smart.”
Rosa grinned back at him, enjoying their easy conversation. “It just so happens his first meeting we were discussing Juan Felipe Herrera.”
Jeremy’s blank expression led her to elaborate.
“Herrera’s the first Latino U.S. Poet Laureate. He was selected in 2015.”
“Got it. See, even I learn when I’m around you. It’s a given your students are going to as well.”
His teasing caused a delighted warmth to spread over her.
“Anyway,” she continued, preferring to talk about her students rather than herself, “Javier knew about Herrera so he chimed in with some info. Then I showed a video of a Herrera interview where he mentions his idea that all text, even that found in ads or greeting cards, or used by songwriters and rappers, has poetry at its core.”
Jeremy’s expression brightened as he made the connection. “Great idea to play that video. I’m sure it made an impact on the kids, just like you have.”
“Yes, well, apparently I—um—” Flustered by his compliment, Rosa stumbled with her story. “Apparently something that day really resonated with Iván. The next week, he showed up for the meeting with Ricky in tow.”
Jeremy leaned toward her, his knee pressing against hers. “It’s interesting. I read an article recently about how some schools in the Chicago area are using poetry to help students convey the jumble of thoughts and feelings they struggle with. Especially when it comes to what’s going on in their lives, in our city’s inner-city neighborhoods.”
Surprised by his knowledge on a topic so important to her, Rosa angled closer, placing a hand on his forearm. “I might have read the same one. I considered finding out more about the schools in our area, see if there’s some way my kids can connect with theirs. Would you happen to remember the article’s title or where you read it?”
“I can share it with you. My mom emailed it to me, along with several others. They were part of her wily way of trying to convince me to help with one of her charity events. Actually, she wants me to . . .”
He broke off, his gaze shifting away from her to stare at his clasped hands on the laminate tabletop. His jaw muscles clenched as if he was trying not to say something.
“What is it?” she asked, worried by the pained expression on his face.
“I have to ask you a question, a favor really, I’m not sure you’re ready for. But my mom insisted I try.”
If the dread lacing his voice hadn’t grabbed Rosa’s attention, his mention of his mother at the same time definitely did.
“You can say no, and I’ll completely understand.” He swiveled in his seat, moving to place his right hand on the edge of her backrest, his left arm still leaning on the table, his knees straddling her chair.
“I already told my mom that I won’t allow you to overdo things,” he rushed on. “Not when you’re finally feeling a little better. I mean, you seem like you’re getting better rest and you look like you’re feeling healthier. It seems like you’ve had another good day—have you?”
Bueno, that might be a little optimistic. Her pureed chicken soup from lunch had made an unfortunate reappearance shortly after. But she’d munched on a couple crackers with olives, then a few bites of papaya before Poetry Club, and that had all thankfully stayed down.
But forget her health for a second, there was something else she wanted to get straight.
“First, let’s make this clear.” Rosa turned in her own seat so she could face him, meeting him eye to eye. “There’s pretty much nothing you can or can’t ‘allow’ me to do, okay?”
Jeremy had the good grace to wince at her words. “Point taken.”
The flash of chagrin in his baby blues nearly had her reaching out to hug him. Dios, he was such a good guy.
Her heart ached with that knowledge, because it also meant there was no way she could be certain whether he was here with her because he really wanted to be, or out of his sense of duty.
That doubt and her deeply rooted fear of rejection had her fisting her hands in her lap. Resisting the temptation to hug him.
“Now, about this invitation—you aren’t selling me very well. I mean, if you’re iffy, maybe I should be, too.”
“No-no-no!” Jeremy cupped her shoulder in a tight grip. “I’m not iffy. Get that idea out of your head. Please. I just—”
His eyes fluttered closed for a second and he shook his head.
Rosa stilled, growing more and more nervous to hear whatever it was he struggled with.
When Jeremy finally looked at her again, his gaze was earnest, determined. “Without a doubt, there is no ‘if’ involved here, Rosa. Let’s make that clear, okay?”
He waited for her response.
She nodded, the mix of his serious intensity and her jumbled nerves leaving her mute.
“I would love for you to join us on Sunday. I’m hoping you say yes. At least to the part about meeting my mom. The rest of it . . .” He shook his head, a befuddled frown tugging his brows together. “Mom’s the chair for next year’s Literacy Ball. On Sunday, she’s having a couple committee members over for tea and updates, not a full-blown meeting. Anyway, she’s been trying to sweet-talk me into volunteering since I moved back to Chicago. And, if I’m not mistaken, I believe she thinks you’re a surprise ace up her sleeve that could make me fold.”
“Me?” Rosa squeaked.
“Yeah, you.”
His thumb caressed her shoulder through her sweater, the lazy back-and-forth motion creating waves of desire that lapped her soul.
“She’s hoping your interest in books and reading will convince you to join the group, dragging me along with you.”
Join the Literacy Ball committee. With Jeremy’s mom. And a posse of women she didn’t know, and probably would have very little in common with. Women who would think God knows what when they learned about her pregnancy.
Rosa gulped.
Dios mío, she was already worried about what Jeremy’s mom would say about her surprise pregnancy.
Laura Taylor was a woman with class, style, and grace. Rosa’d seen her picture in the Chicago papers plenty of times. Read all the articles about her charity work. The Taylor family had connections to people Rosa had never even dreamed of meeting, much less socializing with.
Mortified by the idea that Laura might believe Rosa had intentionally trapped Jeremy with this pregnancy had her stomach flip-flopping, sending her nausea rising.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Jeremy tightened his grip on her shoulder, his other hand moving to cup the side of her face. “You feeling okay? Come on, let’s head to the restroom.”
He moved to stand, but she put a hand on his thigh to stop him. “No, I’m—I’m good. Just, give me a minute.”
“Whatever you need.”
Jeremy smoothed a hand over her hair. His tenderness drew a pang from her heart.
“Look, forget the committee. I’ll tell her to bag that idea. It’s crazy for my mom to even bring it up. But she’s been involved for so many years it’s like her baby.”
Baby.
The word had Rosa placing a hand against her belly again, where their child grew.
Jeremy followed her movement. Slowly, gently, he put his hand on top of hers.
The heat from his skin, the intimacy of the gesture brought the prick of tears to her eyes.
“This is real, Rosa. This baby connects us. As friends, as something more, who knows. But I do know that I plan to be a part of your lives. And I want you to be a part of mine. So when you’re up for it, no pressure if you’re not ready and Sunday is too soon, simply understand that I would really, really like for you to meet my mom. And the rest of my family.”
Fear of the unknown, of the surreal circumstances one simple decision had wrought, was like an evil specter crooking a bony finger and wielding a strange power to suck the breath from her body. Her head spun, but the certainty in Jeremy’s voice, the sincerity in his eyes and the secret love for him she held deep in her heart gave her courage.
He’d been so patient with her this week. While she’d been content to play house and avoid any difficult conversation.
Jeremy was doing his part to make their strange situation less awkward. He’d faced her family. All of them, including Tía Dolores.
He’d come to her school. Met her students. Showed an honest interest in what was important to her.
She owed it to him and their unborn child to do her part in making things work. Whatever “things” wound up meaning for them.
“Okay,” she whispered. “But, to only meeting your mom, not the committee.”
He blinked in surprise, or shock. Maybe both.
“Okay?” he repeated, his voice a whisper of gruff relief.
She nodded, and before she could say anything else, Jeremy leaned in to press a kiss on her lips.
Caught by surprise, she stiffened for a heartbeat. Then the desire building inside her swelled and she gave into it. Grasping his sweater in her fists, she pulled him closer.
Jeremy answered by digging his hands into her hair on either side of her head. His tongue flicked across her lips, and she opened for him, savoring the hint of coffee she tasted.
Their tongues brushed, caressed. Desire chugged through her veins, heating her body. Giving rise to an ache she knew only he could soothe.
He deepened the kiss and she moaned, wanting more from him. His arms wrapped around her to pull her onto his lap. She went willingly. Matching him kiss for kiss.
Then his lips broke from hers to run a trail along her jaw, over to her ear where he blew a warm breath before moving to press a kiss on the sensitive spot behind her ear.
“You taste so good,” he murmured.
She couldn’t answer, her senses keenly focused on the heat of his lips against her skin. On how she wanted more.
He continued his trail of kisses along her neck, returning to her jaw, coming closer and closer to her lips.
“I don’t want to stop.” His words were nothing more than a mumble, but they reminded her of their surroundings.
“But we should,” she lamented, because, darn it, she was always the one who did what she should.
Well, almost always.
His lips met her for one last deep, mind-boggling kiss. His tongue teasing hers in a sensual dance. Drunk on the taste of him, she didn’t want the moment to end, but ever the gentleman, Jeremy eventually drew back.
Rosa slid off his lap onto her chair, belatedly realizing she still held a death grip on his sweater. She uncurled her fingers, then patted down the bunched-up material. Taking full advantage of the opportunity to feel his muscular chest.
“It seems like we communicate pretty well in this area, don’t we?”
Jeremy’s words brought heat crawling up her neck, into her face.
He chuckled, brushing the back of a knuckle up and down her cheek. “You’re kind of cute when you blush.”
Rosa rolled her eyes with a groan. “Dios mío, I wish I could stop it from happening. It’s the bane of my existence. The genesis of the high school nickname I detest.”
“Rosie Rosa, huh?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I can’t believe Lilí shared that story with you.”
“How about Beautiful Rosy Rosa?”
Angling her head, she gave him one of her younger sister’s infamous are-you-kidding-me side-eye glares.
“I’ll take that as a ‘no’ then.”
“Smart man.”
He laughed, the sound deep and husky, a balm for her lonely life.
“Okay, I’ll stick with, ‘Beautiful, sweet Rosa, thank you for agreeing to meet my mom. It means a lot to me.’”
“Well, when you put it that way, how can I resist?” she teased, delighted by his words.
“I’ll tell her we can stop by for tea with her and my dad. That’s all. Sound good?”
She nodded. The intimidating thought of meeting both his parents making her too nervous to say anything else.
With a smile, he stood and extended his hand to her. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
Rosa clasped her hand with his. The rightness of his palm pressed against hers, the warmth shared between their touch wrapped around her like a force shield. It was so easy to draw courage from his confidence.
While a part of her dreaded Sunday and the idea of stepping into his world to meet Laura Taylor and any preconceived notions the woman might have about her, Rosa refused to be afraid.
Come what may, she’d be strong, holding her head up high. For herself. For Jeremy and their baby. For their future.
* * *
Fifteen minutes into their nearly hour-long drive from Oakton to his parents’ building on south Michigan Avenue, Jeremy decided it might be best to let sleeping dogs lie. Stop trying to draw Rosa out with small talk. Her one-word answers made it clear she wasn’t interested in conversation.
He tuned his satellite radio to a smooth jazz station and drove in silence, hoping music would calm her nerves.
Unfortunately, as he maneuvered from I-90 to West Congress, then onto West Jackson Boulevard, her face remained pale, her lower lip raw and red from her constant gnawing on it.
A winter storm had blown in overnight, turning the day a bitter and frigid barely twenty degrees. Despite the cold, since there hadn’t been any snow or ice, the streets were busy with holiday shoppers and traffic.
Pulling up in front of his parents’ building, Jeremy handed his BMW keys to the valet and hurried around to Rosa’s side of the car. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, offering his warmth as he ushered her inside.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Taylor. It’s good to see you.”
“Hi, Charles!” Jeremy returned the greeting, noting the doorman’s wind-burned cheeks. “It’s pretty bitter out today. Need any of those heated hand warmers? Say the word, I’ll go pick some up for you.”
The older man shook his head. “You’re too kind, but don’t worry. This old battle axe can take anything Mother Nature and Chi-town want to throw at me.”
Jeremy shook his head at the old line Charles had been giving him since Jeremy was a kid.
A robust, red-haired Irish Catholic with wizened green eyes and a quick smile, Charles had been as much a fixture of Jeremy’s youth as summer days on the shore of Lake Michigan with his brother and their friends.
“Rosa, I’d like you to meet Charles O’Riley. Charles, this is Rosa Fernandez.” Jeremy glanced down at her, still pressed against his side, shivering with cold. “Charles is a legend here. This man has contacts with contacts with contacts. There’s nothing about Chicago history he doesn’t know. But don’t get him started on his beloved Cubs baseball team or we’ll be here all afternoon.”
Charles’s belly laugh tugged a tiny smile from Rosa’s until-now frowning lips.
“Welcome, Ms. Fernandez. Don’t let this young scamp get away with anything, you hear me? And if you wanna talk Cubs ball, go right ahead.”
Rosa pulled her leather glove off her right hand to offer a shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Charles. Please, call me Rosa.”
“The pleasure’s all mine,” Charles responded, sidestepping her name request.
She could ask all she wanted. Jeremy had been trying to get Charles to call him by his first name for ages. The older man refused to budge.
“Unfortunately, I’m not the sports fan in our family,” Rosa said. “That moniker belongs to my younger sister. But Chicago history”—Rosa leaned toward Charles like she was about to divulge a secret—“now there’s a topic I can dive into.”
“Ooh, I like her.” Charles wagged his finger at Jeremy, a sly grin adding more wrinkles to the older man’s ruddy face.
“Me too,” Jeremy said. “And I want to keep it that way, so no sharing of adolescent misdeeds, okay?”
Charles laughed in response.
A hand on the small of Rosa’s back, Jeremy ushered her through the entry foyer with its brocade-covered settees, gold wall sconces, and Tiffany lamps, toward the burnished metal elevator doors.
“Nice meeting you, Charles.” Rosa waved good-bye as Jeremy hit the button to call the elevator.
“He’s friendly,” she said, pitching her voice so only he could hear.
“Yeah, he’s a good guy,” Jeremy answered. “Charles helped my brother and me through a few scrapes over the years.” The doors opened, and Jeremy waited for Rosa to move in ahead of him. “Who am I kidding, he’s still bailing Michael out every now and then.”
Jeremy inserted his private keycard into the panel slot and pressed the penthouse button, then moved to stand next to Rosa.
“So, your parents live in the, uh, the penthouse?” Her voice hitched on the last word as the doors closed.
“We moved in here when I was in seventh grade. There’s a great view of the city from the patio.”
The elevator began its smooth ascent, and it was almost like the ease Rosa had shown with Charles seeped out of her, remaining back on the building’s ground level with the doorman.
Her entire body stiffened. Hands clenched, she gripped her leather gloves like a lifeline.
Jeremy playfully bumped her shoulder with his, trying to lighten her mood.
Rosa jumped like he’d poked her with a live electrical wire.
His spirits dipped.
Damn, he’d been so hopeful about today. Looking forward to his mom and Rosa getting a chance to know each other.
Now he wasn’t so sure. Other than those few moments in the lobby with Charles, Rosa had been closed off, growing more withdrawn every mile they’d driven farther from her house.
“Hey, if you’re not up for this, we can get off on the next floor and take the elevator back down,” he offered, forcing a note of calm into his voice even though his stomach twisted with disappointment. “I’m fine with whatever you want to do.”
Rosa bowed her head.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m trying to not . . . I seem to have worked myself up to a . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she sucked in a shaky breath.
When she finally glanced up at him, her soft brown eyes were a tumultuous mix of fear and resignation.
His heart melted a little more for her.
Sure, Rosa typically preferred staying in her comfort zone, but he hadn’t expected her to be this nervous about coming here today.
“My mom’s not that bad, I promise.”
“It’s just, I’ve wanted to meet her for a long time, you know?” she said.
No, he hadn’t known. Her admission intrigued him.
“The thing is, I hadn’t intended it to be like, well, not like this.” Rosa pressed a hand to her stomach.
Shame shadowed her beautifully expressive face.
Aw, man. Guilt for putting her in this awkward position soured his excitement over their visit.
Without thinking twice about it, he stabbed a finger at the red stop button on the panel.
The car jerked to a halt.
“Ay Dios mío!” Rosa stumbled backward and he grasped her elbows to steady her. “Qué estás haciendo?” She shook her head as if realizing she’d spoken in Spanish. “Jeremy, what are you doing?”
“Giving us a minute to get something straight,” he said, his voice gruff with frustration. Mostly at himself for not realizing how she felt. “You have nothing to be ashamed of here, Rosa. I care about you. And I’m pretty sure you care about me, right?”
“Um, yes,” she murmured, her eyes wide pools of shock.
“We’re not coming here to be judged. Not the slightest bit. We’re here because you’re important to me.”
He slid his hands up to cup her face, bending to press a kiss to her forehead, her cheek. And because he couldn’t resist, he lightly brushed her lips with his. “We’re here because my mom wants to meet the amazing woman who’s pregnant with her first grandchild. There’s no pressure. No expectations other than I hope you like her as much as I know she’s going to love you.”
Blinking rapidly, Rosa caught her lower lip between her teeth.
God help him. Every time she did that, he wanted to nibble on that luscious lip for her.
The urge to take her mouth with his, try calming her nerves—hell, his own nerves—by giving in to the undeniable chemistry between them was nearly irresistible.
It took all his willpower to keep his mind on the original reason why he’d stopped the elevator: to calm her down. Convince her there was no reason for her to be nervous.
It definitely hadn’t been so he could coax her into engaging in all the hot and heavy activities he’d rather be doing with her in a stopped elevator.
“Look, if you’re not ready, say the word,” he offered.
He’d leave right now if Rosa asked him to. Though his mom would be disappointed.
Who was he kidding?
He’d be disappointed. Big time.
This was a huge step for him. He hadn’t brought a girl home since freshman year of undergrad, and then only once. Cecile, whom he’d dated for a bit before starting his master’s degree, didn’t really count. Their families had been close for ages so it wasn’t out of the norm for her to be around.
With Rosa, it was different. He felt different.
“Do you want to go home? It’s okay if you do.”
Rosa shook her head, tiny side-to-side jerks that weren’t too convincing.
“I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
She stared up at him, her brown eyes big pools of indecision.
He could see the wheels turning in her head. All he could do was hope like hell they’d wind up steering her in the direction he wanted. But he wouldn’t push.
“We should stay,” she finally said. “I don’t want to disappoint your mom.”
Jeremy bit back a sigh. Of course she’d think of the other person before herself.
“Come on.” She waved her gloves at the control panel. “Push the button again before we get stuck in here and someone has to come get us out. Talk about making a scene.”
“Are you sure?”
Her head bobbed agreement; her eyes hinted at the opposite.
Doubt poked at him like a woodpecker tap-tap-tapping on his brain, warning him that there was more bothering Rosa than her pregnancy and meeting his mother. She hadn’t said or hinted at what it could be, so he had absolutely nothing to go on other than gut instinct.
Had she done some digging around, discovered his connection to Roger? Worse, was it making her doubt him?
The age-old insecurity that had taken root early in his childhood sprouted another suffocating vine.
He needed to level with her. Stop anxiously waiting for the other shoe to drop.
He was too afraid she’d look at him in an unfavorable light. Wasn’t sure how he’d deal with it if she did.
Annoyed with his inability to man up and broach the topic with her, Jeremy jabbed the stop button on the control panel. The elevator made an ear-piercing screech before the car started moving again.
Rosa shot him a worried glance.
God, he hoped bringing her here hadn’t been a mistake.
They’d actually made progress this week. Slowly easing back into the camaraderie they’d built over the past few years. Especially when they’d been together on campus.
The past few mornings, they’d fallen into an easy routine. She used their shared bathroom first while he headed downstairs to brew fresh mint tea with ginger for her. Evenings, he took care of a simple meal and the dishes while she stayed off her feet. Friday night, they’d dimmed the living room lights and watched a documentary about the jazz era until she’d fallen asleep, her head nestled on his shoulder. Yesterday, she’d read or written in her poetry journal on the couch for most of the day while he’d taken care of some work on his laptop. After they’d said an early good night, he’d continued working in Yaz’s room.
This morning, Yaz had swung by to pick up Rosa for mass. He’d tried not to be hurt when Rosa had told him it was best he not go with her. No need to fan the gossip fires by having him sitting beside her in the pew, she’d said.
He was used to being the subject of gossip columns. Rosa, however, was not.
They were good together, even though they still mostly danced around their attraction. Well, except for that kiss in the school library.
His body pulsed at the memory.
Same as their first night together, Rosa had surprised him, going all in, matching his intensity kiss for kiss. Murmuring her pleasure when he nuzzled her neck, teased her with tiny brushes of his lips.
He wanted more though. Especially because he knew how amazing it would be with her.
The past few nights, leaving her at her bedroom door after they said good night, he’d had to fist his hands and force himself to step away from her. What he really wanted was to follow her inside, start where they’d left off in the hotel room the morning after.
Only, she hadn’t given him any sign that she’d welcome him back into her bed. And he wouldn’t make any move until she did.
23-24-25. The floor numbers lit up one after the other, drawing closer to his parents’ place on the 42nd floor.
Right now was not the time for him to be thinking about how sexy Rosa was, or how easily she turned him on. Or how badly he wanted her in his bed again, moaning with satisfaction.
The need to feel a connection with her drove Jeremy to reach out and cover her hand with his. Hers were ice cold.
She glanced up at him, anxiously gnawing on her lip.
“If it’s any consolation, I’m probably more nervous than you are.”
Rosa gave him a what are you talking about? frown.
“I mean, what if you don’t like my mom? Then what? You have nothing to worry about. I’m sure my mom’s already half in love with you based on what I’ve told her,” he explained. “I’m betting that, five minutes in, you’ll have her eating out of the palm of your hand.”
Rosa scoffed, but her lips curved, hinting at her sweet smile and easing his reservations.
“Thank you. I appreciate the pep talk.” She twisted her wrist to link her fingers with his.
Lifting their joined hands to his mouth, he kissed the back of hers. Hoping it eased her jitters as much as it did his own.
Because he did have jitters. He realized that now.
This whole time he’d been so worried about her, he’d ignored the tangled mass of knots inside of him. As each floor passed, bringing them closer to the penthouse, Jeremy’s heart hammered faster and faster as if he were sprinting toward the Chicago marathon finish line again.
God, how he wanted this to go well. For Rosa to feel comfortable in his childhood home, with his mom and family, though Michael wouldn’t be around today.
The clock was ticking. Their baby’s due date grew closer with each day. Even if he was no longer pushing Rosa toward marriage, he couldn’t let go of the idea. He still thought about the two of them being married and ready to start their family together when their child arrived. Their time together this week had solidified that in his mind.
This afternoon was an important step in making that goal a reality.
Everything had to go right today. So much depended on that.
Finally, the elevator eased to a stop. The doors whooshed open, and Jeremy ushered Rosa out with him.