Heart Breaths (8 page)

“You’re all she talks about now, you know,” I whirled around to find Gabe leaning against the café counter. “You and the pink hair and the pink nails.”

He was smiling.

“I heard you’re some sort of miracle worker.”

I snorted. “Someone hallucinated,” I said, reaching to fill up a cup of coffee for him.

“I think not,” he drawled, looking edible in his suit. Stop it, Maddie, I told myself firmly. Just because you’ve got pink hair now, doesn’t mean you can drool over any men.

Especially not tall, gorgeous, Southern men with beautiful green eyes and adorable little girls. No, no, no, no, no.

“Are you around later tonight?” he asked.

“Around?” I repeated, confused.

“Let me rephrase that,” he smiled charmingly, his dimple making me want to fan myself. Where all these extraneous hormones were showing up from I didn’t know. “I wanted to know if you wanted to go out to dinner with me tonight,” he said.

Oh, no. I couldn’t. There was no way I was going to go out with him. So what that every time he touched me there were electric shocks? So what that just the thought of seeing him with a few buttons open on his shirt made me feel the urge to stick my head in the freezer to calm down?

I was an emotional train wreck, to put it mildly. I was being brave, and trying my best to let myself grieve and move on. But going out to dinner with Gabriel Mendez? I couldn’t.

“I’m really sorry,” I stammered. “But I can’t.”

“You have a boyfriend?” he asked casually.

I shook my head no. “I just am not really in a place to have any sort of romantic relationship,” I admitted. “But if I was…” my voice trailed off.

Gabe leaned over the counter, watching my face intently. “I get it. Honestly, I don’t know if I’m really in a place for any romantic relationship either.”

I looked at him, confused. Then why ask?

“Can we try platonic?” he asked.

Platonic?

I looked up at him, a six-foot tall cliché of tall, dark and handsome. If I let myself think about it, I would leap over the counter and rip his shirt off. I didn’t think I was able to do platonic.

“We can try,” I said, still a little doubtful. “I don’t know how that’s going to work, and I don’t know how long I’m going to even be here.” I looked up at his brilliant green eyes. “But we can try.”

“Then we should arrange this whole dinner thing tonight, probably,” he said, smiling at me. God, those dimples.

No, I told myself. Those are friendly dimples. That’s it. Those are not dimples you can lick.

Where was I getting these kind of ideas, anyway?

Damn hormones.

“Uh, okay,” I answered, still wary about the whole platonic friend thing.

“Well, I’m going to be back from work around five-thirty tonight,” he mused out loud. “Noie is in bed by seven… we can do something in the apartment tonight. She sleeps through anything.”

I looked at him doubtfully.

“Me and you? In an apartment alone?” I asked.

“If you wanted to go out, Noie can sleep at my parent’s house tonight. She loves sleepovers.”

I thought of little Noie, and the terror on her face when pretty much anyone came too close. She was okay at Gabe’s parents, but… I don’t know. What if something happened, and he wasn’t there? I would never forgive myself for that. I wasn’t going to risk that possibility just because I was a little nervous to be alone with Gabe.

“If you just want to do a me and you thing, platonically,” I emphasized, “Your place would be fine. I’m just not okay with the off chance of waking up Noie.”

“You sure?” he asked.

I nodded. I remembered what it was like, having a cranky two-year-old. Not something anyone should have to deal with. Including the two-year-old.

“In that case, do you want to stop by before she goes to sleep?” he asked.

“Sure.”

His smile nearly blinded me. “Awesome,” he said, sounding a lot younger than I had ever heard him sound. “I’ll see you later.”

What was I getting myself into here?

Chapter · Nine

I looked down at my outfit from that day. The usual. A silk T-shirt, leftover from the days my mother didn’t trust me to do my own shopping. A warm grandpa-type cardigan and a pair of shorts I had bought from a thrift store in Harlem. Paint-splattered Converse that I would never be able to throw out.

It wasn’t a date, I told myself as I debated over changing my outfit. It was two friends hanging out. Platonically. With no need to impress the other one.

At all.

Reapplying my eyeliner, which didn’t count as makeup, I looked through the small box of jewelry I had brought with me, in search for something to fancy up my outfit. The jewelry was only because it was evening. It had nothing whatsoever to do with any friends.

Reaching in, I pulled out a handful of colorful bangles, and an intricately carved ring. Putting on the jewelry, I looked down at my hands. They looked more like the hands I used to have.

Picking up my oversized wristlet, another memento from the days before I was disowned, I took one last look at myself in the mirror. Calm down, I scolded myself. Turning, I left the apartment, headed toward a platonic night with a friend.

A friend, I repeated to myself as I knocked on his door, unsure if it could be heard over the sounds of music.

The door opened, and there stood Gabe, looking fairly edible in his T-shirt and a pair of shorts. Not changing had been an excellent idea. “Hey,” he greeted me. “Come on in. We were just getting ready for dinner.”

The table was covered in papers, with Gabe’s briefcase leaning against a table leg. “Maddie!” Noie called as she ran toward me. “You came!”

Picking her up, I swung her around, watching her giggle happily. “I did come,” I said, dropping a kiss on her cheek. “Let me see your nails, baby girl.”

Reaching her hand out, she showed them to me, grinning. “Still pink,” she said. “Look, Daddy!”

“They still are pink,” he agreed, tugging at a curl that escaped her ponytail.

“It’s a constant checking to make sure they’re all still pink,” he explained as we headed toward the kitchen. “God knows what I’m going to do when one of them chips.”

“Go back to the salon and ask Jessica to fix it,” I said as I watched him pull vegetables out of the crisper.

“What can I help you with?” I asked, looking around the kitchen.

He shot me a look. “You’re a guest,” he protested. “Sit, sit.”

I glared at him. “No, I’m your friend,” I reminded him. “Friends help friends make dinner.”

“Okay.” He looked at me. “You know how to make salad?”

“Did you really just ask me that?” I asked, laughing.

“Sorry, usually dinner guests don’t know how to make salad,” he said, smiling sheepishly.

Which meant that he either didn’t have that many girls over, or the girls here didn’t know how to cook. Option A definitely made me feel better. Taking out a cutting board and a knife, he set them on the counter for me. “Let me just check the pastelitos,” he said, walking toward the oven.

“Wait, you made pastelitos?” I asked, washing off the vegetables and setting them on the cutting board.

“They don’t just appear cooked,” he said, opening the oven to peer in.

“Well, I just figured your mom made them or something.” Clapping my hand over my mouth, I stared at him. “Was that really mean to say?”

His laughter bounced off the walls. “Nah,” he said. “It’s understandable.”

“Daddy, supper!” Noie called, running into the kitchen.

“Soon, Noie,” he said, reaching down and kissing the top of her head. He was so good with her. It was so natural.

I looked around the table, which had mysteriously been cleared while I was cutting up the salad vegetables.

There were three plates—Gabe’s, mine, and a little plate for Noie.

It looked… domestic.

Platonic, I scolded myself as I took a bite of a pastelito.

“Gabe, you made this?” I asked, astonished. “God, I haven’t had meat pastelitos this good in years. Maybe ever. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting this when you mentioned dinner.”

He laughed. “It drives my dad crazy, because pastelitos aren’t supposed to be dinner foods. They’re dessert. But Noie likes them, and loves eating dessert for dinner, so I don’t care.”

“Hey, if she eats it, it’s dinner,” I said, remembering the ridiculous stories I’d make up to get Devi to eat sometimes. “But seriously. This is delicious.”

“Thanks,” he said, cutting up Noie’s pie into pieces before turning to his own. “I kind of learned on the job.”

“Your mom didn’t help?” I asked, puzzled.

“They only moved here six months ago,” he said.

Six months ago?

“From where?”

“Further inland,” he said.

“And you lived here already?” I asked, just trying to get a better picture of what happened. He nodded.

“Yup. I moved here around a year before Noie was born.”

“Since I was born!” Noie repeated, banging her fork against the side of the plate. I smiled at her as she started babbling, telling us both about what happened with her that day when she was at Grandma’s.

“Mama, Mama, Mama!” she yelled, racing into the kitchen where I was stirring the pot of macaroni.

“Yes, Devi?” I asked, reaching down to kiss her head.

“Mama making supper?” she asked.

“Mama’s making supper,” I agreed.

“Daddy?”

“Daddy’s on his way home,” I said. “From work.”

“From work!” she repeated happily. “From work!”

“Daddy’s home!” called a voice.

“Daddy!” shrieked Devi as she ran as fast as she could toward the front door of our little apartment. “Mama, Daddy’s home!”

Ravi walked into the kitchen, holding a giggling Devi. “Hey, Mama,” he said, leaning over and kissing me.

“Hey, Daddy,” I answered, giving the macaroni one last stir.

“You okay there, Maddie?” Gabe asked.

I shook my head, trying to shake off the memories. “Yeah, just spaced out for a second there.”

“Spaced?” Noie asked.

“Spaced,” I agreed, smiling at her. It’s okay, I told myself. It’s okay.

The rest of dinner went without incident. If Gabe noticed the drop in my appetite, he didn’t say anything.

“Bedtime, Miss Noie,” he said, after the table was cleared. “Say goodnight to Maddie.”

She ran over to me and threw her arms around me. “Goodnight, Maddie,” she said, pressing a sloppy little kiss on my cheek.

“Goodnight, baby girl,” I whispered, inhaling the smell of little girl.

“I’ll be back in a few,” Gabe said, Noie propped on his hip. “Don’t do the dishes.”

I smiled. “Friends let friends…” I began.

“No,” he said. “Friends do not let friends wash their dishes the first time friends come over.”

I wandered over to the couch, taking another look around the room. There was a photo album lying on the coffee table. Overcome with curiosity, I reached over and picked it up, hearing the murmurs of Gabe’s deep voice and Noie’s little one.

The first picture was of Gabe in the hospital, holding Noie. God, they both looked so little. Well, Noie looking little made sense. But Gabe? Gabe barely looked like he was old enough to have graduated high school, let alone become a dad.

Not that age ever stopped anyone from becoming a dad, I reminded myself.

The pictures progressed—more of Noie than of Gabe. There would be an occasional picture of the two of them, but mostly it was pictures of Noie as a baby. She was beautiful. I swallowed the traitorous lump that appeared again.

“Noie calls that her picture book,” Gabe said, settling down on the couch next to me. He yawned widely.

“Do you want me to leave?” I asked, watching him yawn. I remembered those days after the baby went to sleep, when all I wanted to do was curl up on the couch and sleep.

“No, stay,” he said. He yawned again. “Sorry, just comes with the territory.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.” He smiled. “I never turn down a chance for adult conversation. Especially not with pretty café waitresses.”

“So, you used to hang out with what’s-her-name, the artist?” I asked, grinning. “Is this a pattern I should know about?”

Gabe burst out laughing. “You know Martina?”

“The old waitress? No, Grandma Evelyn told me about her.”

“Did she tell you about the paintings?” His eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Not really?”

“If you’re asking it like that, she didn’t.”

“Okay, I give up. What paintings?”

Gabe snickered, sounding closer to fifteen than twenty-something. “Martina paints political figures naked.”

“Like, senators and presidents?”

“Well, yeah, and mayors of small towns. And sheriffs. And sometimes government employees.”

“Oh.” I tried not to laugh. “You know, I’ve been to MOMA and the Guggenheim, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a series of naked government employee paintings.”

“Not yet, you haven’t.” He stretched his legs out and propped his feet on the battered coffee table. “Thank God I wasn’t a government employee.”

“Why?” I asked. “Don’t want anyone to paint you naked?”

No, Maddie! Don’t say things like that out loud!

The look on Gabe’s face went from amused to hungry. “Well, depends on who’s doing the asking,” he responded.

Why was I suddenly so disappointed in the fact that I couldn’t paint?

“Well, next time someone offers to paint me naked, I’ll make sure to refer them to you,” I said.

His eyebrow shot up. “Again?”

And… apparently I was going to tell Gabe about the time someone wanted to paint me naked.

This was not where I was expecting this platonic night with friends to go. But it’s just platonic, I argued with myself. So it’s not a big deal.

Ha.

“Once, but it didn’t count.”

“How could it not count?”

“Um, when you’re fifteen and he’s a twelve-year-old with a crush on you?”

“Well, that’s a pickup line I never tried.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me. “Hey gorgeous. I wanna paint you naked. Don’t really see how that’s going to get you girls, unless you’re Leonardo DaVinci or something.”

I giggled. “Takes ‘Let me show you my pictures’ to a whole new level of gross.”

“And I was just about to ask you if you wanted to see my pictures,” he said.

“Um… what?”

Laughing, he pulled out a laptop from the briefcase propped up on the side of the couch. “Movies. Moving pictures. I’ve got a bunch. That is, if Sam hasn’t swiped them all.”

Platonic movie night with friend. Okay. I could do this.

“What do you have?” I asked, leaning back, trying to look like I was comfortable. Trying to actually get comfortable.

“Hmm…” He opened a file on the desktop and started scrolling down. “Well, every episode of
Sesame Street
known to mankind for Noie, a whole bunch of documentaries, all the
Godfather
films,
Ocean’s Eleven
,
Twelve
and
Thirteen
, all the
James Bond
movies,
Inception
,
Catch Me If You Can
…
Mean Girls
? What the hell?”