A few minutes pass after Brad’s last text. I know that by now he’s had to switch his phone to airplane mode. He couldn’t text me any more niceties, at least for the time being. The sky turns just a little bit darker, and the bright lights of the restaurant cast my reflection on the glass windows. I stare at the scene happening behind me, waiters and busboys still hustling around.

I start browsing on my phone for a place to stay not too far away from Old Town. This restaurant is right on the edge of the oldest part of Albuquerque. I’d rather not go somewhere across town. Splurging on a boutique hotel seems like a stupid idea, and the best-looking Airbnbs are already taken for the night.

Then I remember the For Rent sign I noticed when we came in.

I stand up and leave all my belongings at my booth. I march to the entrance, all too aware of the heads turning behind me, and I pull the ad from the door.

I’d only glanced at it for a few seconds, but the pictures on it were what caught my eye, as well as the title of the ad.

A Room with A View, the ad said, with a brief description of the room, a two-hundred-square-foot ex-storage room on top of a store in Old Town converted to a mini apartment complete with bathroom, kitchenette, and the best view in all of Albuquerque. The apartment even had a tiny balcony.

There was a picture of the mountains, presumably the view from the room.

Experience your very own tiny house, the ad continued, for six hundred dollars a month. A bit expensive for two hundred square feet, but it was in Old Town after all. A room at the hotel nearby was about two hundred bucks a night.

I was sold.

A tiny room in a traditional adobe building. Basically, my New Mexico dream come true. A couple of years ago, during happier times, Brad and I had visited Santa Fe, and dreamed about buying a little property to escape to from time to time. It was just one of those fantasies that I knew would never come true, but that didn’t mean I stopped thinking about spending a little more time in the state of terracotta and turquoise-colored homes.

I picture myself in the room, working on my laptop, staring at the mountains, trying to forget about my failed marriage and ready to start over.

I walk back to my table staring at the paper in my hands and bump straight into someone’s chest.

Crap.

“I’m so sorry.” I step backward, realizing that I’ve bumped into none other than Esteban.

If I were in a romantic comedy, I’d say, “We need to stop meeting like this.” He’s grinning, but he’s uneasy. I laugh nervously and tug my hair behind my ear.

“Excuse me,” I say before he walks away. “Could I please have the check?”

“Sure thing,” he replies, eyeing the ad in my hands.

I sit down, gather all my belongings, including the pieces of the vase clanking in the bag. I wish I’d asked the shop owner to bubble wrap it more carefully. I take two pieces out and examine them in my hands, wondering if I might be able to glue it back together.

“That’s too bad,” Esteban says, nodding at the vase when he returns with the check. He could have sent a waiter, but instead he came back and brought it himself.

Why? I feel stupid for even thinking about whether a guy might or might not be flirting with me right now. Is it bad that it feels good? Is it bad that it feels nice to have someone notice you and treat you nicely for a change?

“I might be able to fix it,” I reply, connecting the two pieces together.

“If you want me to give it a go, I can help.”

Surprised by his suggestion, I smile at him. My smile is short-lived, however, replaced by a frown when I start to wonder if his words are an invitation for something else. I feel stupid for even thinking about whether he might or might not be flirting with me.

If I flirt with him, does that make me an adulterer?

Does it even fucking matter? After seven years of dealing with Brad’s mood swings, maybe it’s time to cut myself some slack.

“I couldn’t help but notice the ad,” he says, pointing with his chin at the ad splayed out on the table.

“Yeah, I think I’m going to call the number and see if the room it’s still available.”

“I know the owner.”

Oh, no. Is he the owner? I didn’t think it was a very good idea for me to get so close to this very attractive man I know nothing about. What if he lives next door?

That might just be a recipe for trouble.

I need to stay far, far away from trouble, even though I’m not upset by the way he looks at me.  He studies me as if I’m a mystery to unfold, like I’m some fascinating, complicated puzzle to solve.

“You know the owner?”

“It’s my sister’s. She renovated the old storage room on top of our family’s jewelry store, and yes, it’s still available.”

His sister’s. Thank God.

“I was about to call her. I don’t have much with me,” I say gesturing at my belongings, “but it sure would be nice to get settled tonight instead of going to a hotel, if possible.”

“Let me know if you can’t reach her, and I’ll call her for you.”

“That’s very nice of you. Thank you, I appreciate it.”

I ring the number. Once, and again, but no one picks up.

It’s past 8:30 p.m. She could be busy, or momentarily away from her phone. The waiter cleans up the plates on my table and asks me if I need anything.

A few minutes later, Esteban wanders over again.

“Did you get in touch with my sister?”

“No. She didn’t pick up.”

“Let me see if I can reach her.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials her number. She answers after a few seconds.

“Lupe. I have someone here who’d like to rent the room. Yes. No, I don’t think so. A woman. Yeah, she’s here right in front of me. Okay, hold on.”

He hands me his phone, and when he does, my fingers touch his, and this time I’m the one who shivers, as a jolt of electricity runs up my arm. He pulls back, startled, eyes wide.

Breathe, Ines.

He smiles at me reassuringly as I take the call.

“Hello? Lupe?” I ask, unsure.

“Hi,” a cheerful voice says on the other end. “My brother says you want to rent the apartment? Do you need to see it before you make a decision?”

“I don’t think so. As long as everything is in working condition and it looks like it does in the pictures, I don’t think I should have a problem renting it right away.”

“Do you want to meet sometime tomorrow? I open the store at ten, and I’m usually there around nine. Does that work out for you?”

“I was actually hoping you could meet me this evening. I had a change of plans and need a place to stay.” Change of plans. Talk about a way to minimize the blow. But, I’m on the verge of a freaking life crisis wouldn’t sound that reassuring coming from a prospective tenant. I think I even see Esteban raise his eyebrows in surprise.

“Do you want to meet me over there in twenty? I’m not that far away. Do you know where it is?” she asks.

“I have the address right here. I think I was at your store earlier today. I’ll meet you there.”

I hang up and hand the phone to Esteban. Esteban. Even his name is gorgeous and somehow fits him so well. This is wrong. I shouldn’t be noticing this type of stuff right now, should I? I should be upset about my broken relationship. I should be too distraught to notice. But somehow, ever since I arrived in Albuquerque the other day, every man’s attention reminded me just how much my husband neglected me in more ways than one. Brad could have learned a thing or two about chivalry, that’s for sure.

Why did you stay married to him for so long? I ask myself once more. Now my friend’s remarks through the years make so much sense. “If things aren’t working out, you don’t have to stay, Ines,” my friend Lily told me on more than one occasion.

“Thank you for calling her for me,” I say to Esteban, shoving my hands in the pockets of my jeans. “Now I just need to get myself over there. I’ll call an Uber and get out of your way.”

“Or I could give you a ride to my sister’s store. I need to give her something and that would actually save me a trip across town to her house.”

“Oh, really? Is it something I could give her myself?” I offer.

“I’m afraid not. It’s family-related stuff.”

“Oh.”

“So, would you like to ride with me?”