I’m so nervous I can’t stand it. Multiple times during the afternoon I tell myself I should call it off, but thankfully, the desire to see him wins over my stupid nerves.

I know I’m anxious because it’s my very first date with a man who is not my future ex-husband, but it’s also because there is something about all this that’s inexplicably right.

When I’m around Esteban, my senses are heightened like never before. My body is strung tight, and I almost feel a new type of energy running through me. It’s like a magnetic force I can’t escape, and I feel the need to surrender to it to see where it goes.

I want him. I feel the want and need for him in every cell of my body.

My mother always told me that when something’s right you can feel it in your bones, and that’s what I feel right now. What I would give to have my mother here to advise me. I’ve missed her and needed her so much, especially these last few weeks. She was already sick when Brad and I first started going out, when he became my distraction during her last few months at the hospital. She never had much of a chance to get to know him. Sometimes I still get so sad that both of my parents were already gone when I got married. I had no family and Brad’s father had to give me away at our intimate destination wedding in Hawaii. I wonder what my parents would make of my decision to divorce and stay out here in New Mexico. I wonder if they’d approve of me and support me the way they always did.

I think back to my mother’s advice, and none of the decisions I’ve made in the last few weeks feel wrong. If anything, I’m turning a new leaf, and I know she’d appreciate the efforts I’m making.

My wardrobe is still limited, so I decide to wear the same purple dress that caused so much animosity between Brad and me. It’s slightly embroidered around the neckline and has built-in cups that make my moderate assets look fabulous. The bottom is made of a flowy, silky material. The color is a slight ombré. It reminds me of the colors of the sunset I sometimes see around town.

I could never, ever get tired of the gorgeous New Mexico sunsets blooming with purple and cobalt hues. The landscape is so astonishing that I have a hard time finding the words to explain its beauty. When it storms, I’m always chasing after rainbows. They are the biggest I’ve ever seen. They cover the entire horizon and I get giddy like a child when I catch sight of a double rainbow. I’ve toyed with the idea of buying painting supplies and painting again, but for the time being I wanted to focus on my ongoing projects, since I can only rely on my sole income from now on.

I’ve ridden my bike around quite a lot, and I have a sun-kissed glow that makes me look prettier and healthier than usual. I fill the gaps in my eyebrows with a pencil, put on eyeshadow, and swipe enough mascara to highlight my lashes, bronzer on my cheekbones, and just a bit of lipstick.

I’m ready by the time a knock on the door startles me. It’s only 7:15. Is Esteban early? The thought of him being early makes me smile.

When I open the door and find Esteban on the landing outside the apartment, he looks so delicious I almost want to haul him inside and kiss him senseless. Who cares about dinner when I could have him?

His hair is neatly combed and swept back, the way he had it styled on Fourth of July. This look makes his features look even more stunning. When he sucks in a breath as he sees me, his full lips draw all of my attention. I can’t wait to surrender and kiss him.

He’s wearing a white, short-sleeved, button-down shirt with little tiny arrows all over it. Fitting, I think, since Cupid seems determined to shoot all his arrows until I’m completely lost to him. I can’t wait. Black jeans and black boots complete his ensemble and he looks…delectably perfect.

“I’m sorry I’m early. I couldn’t wait any longer,” he says, running his hands on the back of his jeans as if to wipe them down. He’s as nervous as I am. His words echo in my ears as he takes one long look at me. He exhales a deep breath, and I notice he’s brimming with an emotion I can’t quite read. I couldn’t wait any longer. For a moment, his eyes are almost glossy, until he laughs and the smile stretches across his face, bright with such a contagious happiness that I can’t help but mirror him.

“Wow, Ines. You look stunning.” The emotion in his voice is not lost on me and my whole chest in on fire, my heart beating maniacally. Emotions force my throat to tighten. I’m so on edge I’m afraid I’m moments away from assaulting him with my mouth, so I try to break the tension.

I thank him and curtsy, showing off my dress.

“You clean up nice too,” I tell him.

“Ready to go?” He holds out his hand. I grab my clutch with keys, lipstick, and phone. Then I reach for and take his hand, and we’re off.

 

 

When we get in the car, there’s so much electricity in the air, it’s like a thunderstorm is brewing. But, of course, it’s not the weather. It’s us.

It’s a ping-pong game of stolen glances and small touches and easy back-and-forth conversation. We talk about our likes and dislikes. I sit closer than I did last time I was in his truck, and the fingers of his right-hand brush mine. I wonder when it’ll be okay for me to kiss him, and I torture over why he hasn’t done it yet.

What’s he waiting for?

There’s music on the radio, and I recognize Josh Homme’s voice.

Queens of the Stone Age. Mr. Esteban Garcia is not all about oldies and goodies. He’s the perfect mix of old and new, just like New Mexico.

Every time he smiles at me, my stomach flips, and I ask myself how much longer I’ll be able to resist him. A week? A day? Two hours?

If I had a Magic 8-Ball in my hands right now, that’s what I would ask.

Two hours? And the answer I’d want from the Magic 8-Ball: most likely.

He opens the door of the truck for me when we arrive at the restaurant, and when I take his hand, leaning closer and inhaling his minty scent, I’m too ecstatic to think straight.

I’m so dazzled by his presence alone that it takes me a while to realize the restaurant where we’re eating is half empty, even though it’s dinnertime.

We’re sitting in a secluded area of a simple courtyard, surrounded by privacy bushes. There are three other groups of people eating al fresco, but the rest of the tables—inside and outside the restaurant—are empty.

That can’t be a good sign.

I’m looking around, and Esteban registers my confusion.

“I know the chef and the owner. I wouldn’t have taken you to the soft opening of Vida Dulce if I didn’t trust the place.”

“Soft opening? That explains it. It’s a beautiful location.” The location and décor are stunning. The chairs and tables are simple, but strands of twinkly lights are masterfully arranged over us, and the courtyard is secluded and magical. “Vida Dulce?” I ask Esteban.

“From La Dolce Vita. The owners are quite the Fellini fanatics,” he tells me with a shrug.

“Hmmm. I’ve watched it maybe once or twice in my life, many years ago.” I don’t remember much about it, except that Marcello Mastroianni’s character is so taken by the woman played by Anita Ekberg, he follows her around Rome almost as if hypnotized. That’s how I feel looking at Esteban tonight. I link my fingers with his, and we only let go when it’s time to eat or say hello to Esteban’s chef friend, Cyrus, who comes to the table to tell us he’ll send an assortment of tapas-size dishes with a few things from the menu. Having Cyrus decide for us suits me just fine, because even though I’m a little hungry, I’m so nervous and excited that eating is the last thing on my mind right now. The tension in my stomach gets worse as I feel Esteban’s eyes on me the entire time when the chef is telling us about the restaurant’s specialties.

Despite my nervousness, we both eat, especially when the waiter brings over a grilled peach and arugula salad that makes my mouth water. Esteban and I share fried goat cheese stuffed squash blossoms, blue corn gnocchi with guajillo chile sauce, and coriander-crusted buffalo beef tenderloin with dried cherry sauce.

A mix of eclectic songs plays from the speakers and toward the end of our meal, a familiar voice croons a song I’ve listened to many times.

My smile stretches so big, I don’t need to say anything to Esteban for him to catch on.

“Did you?”

“I swear, I had nothing to do with it. It’s just a coincidence. A beautiful coincidence,” he adds, pausing on the word, his eyes growing darker, hungrier. Patsy Cline sings about walking after midnight, and it feels like a recap of the last few weeks I’ve spent hoping to run into Esteban.

“I know I’ve asked you already, and I understand you had a lot to take care of, but are you telling me you didn’t have time to stop by Lupe’s store or my apartment not even once?”

“Should I tell you the truth?”  he says, almost as if he’s talking to himself.

I respond with a playful glare. “What do you think?”

“It’s true that I’ve been busy, but it’s also true that I wanted to stop by. Many times.”

“Why didn’t you?” I ask, realizing my tone sounds entirely too eager.

He lets out a breath. “You made quite an impression on me the night we met, Ines.” He raises his eyebrows and gives me a long, piercing look. Another soft, old-fashioned ballad plays through the speakers and I feel like the songstress who’s mad about the boy. “However, I knew that you were going through something…monumental, and that you needed time and space. I’ve wanted to know you since the moment I met you, but I knew that I shouldn’t rush this. I also felt wrong wanting you when you were still someone else’s.” My heart picks up a faster beat, and I almost wish we were at the end of our dinner already, because there is no chance I’m letting him walk away from me without kissing him stupid, especially not after his last few words.

He fixes the silverware on the tablecloth and adds, “The truth is that I’ve wanted to be around you since the night I met you, but I knew I had to have patience. I also wasn’t planning on running into you on the night of the Fourth. I certainly didn’t mean to slip and kiss you.”

“That was a slip?” I ask, incredulous. What’s he going to say next? That he regrets it? That it happened too fast?

“Try to see it from my point of view. I like you, but I want to make sure you’re ready. I felt…I don’t know…I worried I was coming on too strong that night.”

“You weren’t. I enjoyed every minute of it.” My breath is shallow as the words escape my mouth, and my eyes dance between his face and our hands joined together, my chest burning with an emotion I can’t comprehend. This is definitely not turning into a friends-with-benefits arrangement. We have barely even started, and it already feels like so much more.

I can’t wait to be skin to skin with him, I can’t wait to rest my head on his chest and feel his heartbeat. I want to know all of his secrets, all of his dreams.

I manage to restrain my already infatuated heart and we keep talking, getting to know each other.

We talk about my life before Brad, both of us avoiding the subject of my marriage, and he tells me about growing up in his parents’ restaurant when they still only had one. Apparently the one I dined at was the OG location. I picture a little Esteban running around between the tables, enchanting patrons and employees alike with his toddler cuteness.

“Did you always want to be a graphic designer?” he asks, distracting me from my daydream.

I let out a breath. “I actually wanted to be a painter. I went to art school and everything. Sometimes I can’t believe my parents never opposed me, considering how many sacrifices they made to make sure I’d get a good education.”

“Being an artist is no walk in the park. How did you end up becoming a graphic designer?” he asks.

“It pays the bills,” I say with a shrug, avoiding looking at him, swirling the wine in my glass, even though it’s been open so long, there’s no reason to swirl it. “I actually like what I do, but yeah…if I had to say dream job, being in a gallery with my own work would top the list.”

“Do you still paint?”

“At first, I told myself no matter how busy life got, I was still going to pursue painting. Then when I started working, I was so busy trying to establish myself as a freelancer and make enough money to remain independent from my husband that I neglected my passion.” I wince once I realize I brought up Brad for the very first time this evening. I’d sworn to myself I wasn’t going to mention him at all. I glance in Esteban’s direction and he doesn’t look perturbed; instead, he’s still actively listening and waiting for me to say more. I smile, biting down on my lip, a bit too aware about how his green eyes are dark and hazy. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and clear my throat. “I’ve actually thought about taking it up again now that I’m here, since I have a lot more time to myself.”

“You should,” he says softly, taking my hand in his.

I smile. “I think I will. New Mexico is the best place for inspiration. I love that art surrounds you, everywhere you go. It’s one of the things I love most about this place. It’s uplifting, and I honestly believe it changes your perspective and your mood when you’re surrounded by beautiful artwork—one of the many ways humans choose to express themselves.”

He considers my words and nods. His approving smile illuminates his entire face and my cheeks redden. I’m in so much trouble…I already like him way too much. I let myself imagine for just a few seconds the things he’d do to me if we were alone. My nipples harden, and I clench my thighs. I inhale deeply, and try to distract myself making conversation.

“What about you? What would you do if you didn’t run your parents’ restaurants?”

“I would run my own restaurant,” he says with a smug smile. “I honestly don’t mind running the restaurants. When I was younger I couldn’t wait to get away from them, but now that my parents are out of the picture and I’m…the boss, I can do things differently and still retain the restaurant's nostalgic reputation as the local staple that people have grown to love.” I love how his eyes light up when he talks about his job, and I’m glad he found something he loves doing even though it stemmed out of necessity.

I’m about to ask him more about his dream restaurant. I want to know what kind of place he has in mind and if he’s actually working toward his goal, when Cyrus brings us our dessert, a baked berry mix topped with whipped cream and two shot glasses of a rum-based, rosehip cordial he makes. He tells me how excited he is to see Esteban out and about with a girl, which flatters me but also gives me pause, because it didn’t seem so long ago that he was involved with someone.

I see Esteban tense up from the corner of my eye, and Cyrus takes a cue and tells us more about the dessert and the cordial before leaving us alone.

I take a spoonful of berry and whipped cream, making eye contact with my date, and my blush comes back once more. I lick my lips and try to get over my embarrassment. This evening has been entirely too good for my soul and I don’t need to get lost in some mind trip and get too caught up about…whatever might happen.

“So good. You need to try some. I’ve never had berries like this,” I tell him, covering my mouth.

His green eyes sparkle with delight, and the smile on my face becomes so big that when he takes the spoonful I’m holding out to him, my cheeks actually hurt.

The fuzzy feeling in my stomach makes me feel all warm and tingly, and I’m dying to kiss him, dying to taste the mix of berries and whipped cream on his tongue.

The other patrons wave at him before they leave, and when it’s our turn to go, the girl at the front desk tells him goodbye calling him by his name.

I imagine that since he works at so many different locations he must know a lot of people in the industry, but I can’t shake the feeling that the way she said goodbye to him was oddly familiar. Maybe they’ve known each other a while.

My stomach tenses up as we make our way back to the turquoise truck and when he opens the door to let me in, I pause for a second, wishing he’d kiss me already.

To my disappointment, he doesn’t.