Let Him Cry Pt. 03

I'd have known it was lunchtime even if I hadn't seen the truck pull into the parking lot when Ruth said, "Would you like to sit with the girls, Matt?"

Before I could give my standard reply, Bela spoke up. "I know sitting with cool girls was very, very scary in high school, but we'll be nice." That got snickers from several of the women, the ones whose shit list I didn't appear on.

I considered ... or pretended to. "Well, I guess I could." I saw Caitlyn look up at that and Ruth's eyes sharpen. "But," I added, "there's no way that Ruth was ever one of the cool girls. She was probably out in the parking lot blasting Deep Purple and selling weed out of her van."

"That's why I was one of the cool girls, you moron! The boys thought I was pretty choice." She pretended to sniff. "I was picky though. I like 'em about five eleven, brown hair, blue eyes, pretty decent shape, good with their hands. Faded blue jeans and sweatshirts advertising a lumber yard work for me."

It took a second for the others to catch on that she was describing me, just as she capped it off with, "And a little young ain't a bad thing." I retired from the battle, waving my hand to acknowledge my defeat as the hooting broke out.

A little while later, Ruth leaned up against a sawhorse next to me. "You joined us."

"So what?"

"Nothing. Just noting that the man who once told me he doesn't like to be poked got a poke from a cute woman and didn't even blink. So, nothing ..." She turned to walk away. "... lover boy."

Hurling something after her was probably an over-reaction, I decided.

It was our second date. It had started as a casual dinner. Actually, it had started when Bela stepped out the side door of her parent's garage. She was still living in the studio apartment above. "I haven't even had time to go buy any furniture or put up blinds for the new place," she'd told me. Now she emerged as I was climbing out of the car to knock.

"I saw you pull in," she said just as I said, "You look fantastic!"

"Thank you." She beamed. "Now, let's get in the car and skedaddle. If you didn't notice, my mother is standing at — don't even think about looking! — at the kitchen window. In about ten seconds, she'll decide that there's something she needs to ask me or that the garbage needs emptying."

Amused brown eyes met amused blue. She didn't wait for me. She popped open the passenger door and hopped in. As I backed down the driveway, I saw her give a little wave and looked over to see her mother lugging a white trash bag toward the garage.

"Tell me more about opening another store," I said as the entrées were set down.

"It's just a plan, nothing more at this point. I want to open another location closer to the college. More seating so I can attract the students to come in and hang. But all I've done so far is sound out Taty on the idea of taking on more responsibility and do a little looking for a location. I need to get started on a business loan."

"Will you call it Grano 2 or Grano East or ...?"

She shook her head. "Café Olé. It's a pun on—"

"I get it." Mutual amusement.

"But I want to hear more about this new company of yours," she said, "especially since John and you looked like the cats that ate the canary all week."

"Well, I'm planning on diversifying. I was thinking about a chain of macchiato stands all over town."

It took her a second to realize I was pulling her leg. Then she assumed a serious expression and her American accent morphed into pure Castilian-speaking-English. She picked up her butter knife and held it menacingly. "Hello. My name is Isabel Navarro. You killed my coffee shop. Prepare to die."

I put up my hands in surrender. "Well, maybe that should be Plan B."

She nodded magnanimously and replaced the utensil next to her plate.

"I like what I'm doing with Abode, but I'm not sure how I feel about Abode itself." I paused to see if that was going to get a big negative reaction from someone who got their home that way.

"Explain that."

"I like what they do. Giving people a path to a house is great, and more homeownership is good for the community. But they starve the crews for resources. This means that people like John are working insane hours on salary. It also means that you have inexperienced people doing things maybe they shouldn't be doing ... or, at least, should be doing with supervision."

She looked troubled. "Were corners cut on my house?"

"I wouldn't have allowed it." That got a warm smile and a touch of her hand. "Also, their insistence that they only work on single-family homes cuts out a lot of people."

"I guess I'm seeing the glimmering of a plan?"

I nodded. "I'll still keep up the other, just on a smaller scale until we can grow it. Craig will run that side. I'm going to start a second side that's more construction-oriented. We'll focus on multi-tenant structures at first, maybe eventually branch out into Abode's space."

"And John?"

"Leaving Abode and coming to work with me. Better hours and better pay."

She went back to her meal. Then, out of the blue, "Why did you do Abode?"

"I enjoy that type of work."

She shook her head. "I mean at the beginning. We could all see that you had a lot on your mind and ..." She shrugged.

"Is that a polite way of saying I wasn't pleasant to be around?"

Lips pursed in humor. "You were always nice to me. But, occasionally, a trace of irritation with others might have slipped out." She didn't let the topic derail into a joke, however. "So why?"

"Honestly? At first just to get Caitlyn off my back. She thought it would be good for me."

"And is she why you kept on coming?" There was no accusation in the tone.

"No. I started coming back when she wasn't there."

That brought a start of surprise. "So, what brought you back?"

"Are you fishing for me to say you?" I teased, but she didn't take me up on it.

"No. I'd like to know the real reason if you'll tell me."

I thought back to those weeks. "Because it made me feel good. Part of it was working with my hands, building something. Another part of it was I knew I was doing some good, helping someone ... I mean, helping you ... you know what I mean."

She reached over and touched my hand to stop me from floundering. "I said I wasn't fishing. You answered my question."

A while later, she said, "I think they want to flip the table," after the waiter had stopped by for the third time to see if we were okay. "I get where they're coming from. I have the same thought sometimes."

"A drink at the bar?"

She shook her head. "That would be nice but not tonight. I promised Ana I wouldn't be late. She wants to go out. Besides, I'd rather get the grilling from mom over with." She smiled to take any sting out of that and preceded me to the door. Outside, she paused to let me step up beside her and took my arm.

"Grilling, huh?"

The Spanish accent came back, and her voice went up a note or two in pitch. "So, mija, two dates. Who is this man? And when will your father and I get to meet him? How did you meet? Is he Spanish? He doesn't look like it. What does he do for a living? Does he know about Rafi?"

"Yes, I know about Rafi. I like him," I said, uncertain about the sideways glance that accompanied that last.

She smiled. "I'm glad, osito."

I sighed. "Little bear?"

"Sort of like teddy bear." She dimpled. "You growled when I called you chulazo."

"I think I preferred jefe."

"Oh no." She shook her head. "That would give you a swelled head."

"And viejo?" I asked as we got to my car.

She paused and, even in the dim light from the storefront, I could see a little flush spread to her cheeks. "I was just poking fun and, well, it's not always respectful." She screwed her face up into a rueful expression. "Sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I was just teasing."

I harrumphed.

She leaned up and kissed me quickly on the cheek. "Forgive me?"

"Yes," I admitted. "But teddy bear?"

She poked at the open neck of my shirt, tickling a little of the fuzz showing there, laughed and turned to get into the car.

I knew it would be goodnight at the door; she'd already told me that she needed to relieve Ana. With a momentarily cryptic, "Fortunately, the door is on the side away from the house," she finished unlocking it, then she turned, leaned up, and closed for a hug. She leaned back and lingered with her hand still on the back of my neck. I bent, not ninety percent this time.

Her hand pulled my head in. I watched her eyes close just before our lips met, hers parted fractionally. As we kissed, I let my hand slide down to the middle of her back, careful to match the pressure of her grasp, embracing her and what was happening without being aggressive.

She kissed me thoroughly — somewhat short of a make out, longer than just a thank you for dinner — broke the kiss, met my eyes with a smile of pleasure. Then she leaned up for a brief touch of lips again. "Thank you. I had a wonderful time."

I let her go reluctantly. "Me too."

"Goodnight, osito."

I felt like I was on a caffeine high on the drive home. Part of it was just excitement, the desires that had returned some weeks ago. I'd been very aware of the soft curve of body under my hand, the gentle pressure against rib cage as she leaned in, the warmth of her hand on the back of my neck. But a bigger portion of it was something new. Or newly returned.

It wasn't the pre-sex eagerness I'd felt with Caitlyn or Lauren, nor the post-sex languor. It was more a deep-seated sense of ... anticipation, I guess.

My memory flashed back to that frat party long ago, to the moment when the girl in the black tights answered me. "Olivia. I'm a junior. And that's at least the third time someone's used that lame-o approach tonight." But she'd smiled and not turned back to the music.

That evening hadn't ended with a kiss, although I'd thought about trying to steal one in the moment she'd handed my phone back to me, complete with her number. She had read the expression on my face. "Down, boy," she'd laughed, and I'd felt a thrill of anticipation for our next meeting.

The same feeling rushed through me now. I wanted to pull over and call Bela, to nail down when and where. Then I remembered her amused explanation about being cool and chill after our first date.

Down, boy, I thought to myself. You'll see her when you get coffee and maybe she'll be at the worksite. If not, then call.

My coffee was handed to me with a smile that flooded up into Bela's eyes, but the place was too busy for more than that. And she didn't show at the Abode site, despite my wishing it so. Ruth must have noticed a glance or two out toward the driveway. I turned back to find her looking at me, a smile on her face. I flushed and shrugged. She mimicked the shrug and we got back to work.

I called that evening and got voicemail. "It's Matt. I was just calling to say I had a good time last night. Talk to you tomorrow?" I ended hopefully. My phone dinged as I was disconnecting.

≪ Awkward to talk right now.

I was surprised at the small flare of misgiving that shot through me, dispelled a second later at the second ding.

≪ Back to School night.

≪ Wedging my butt into third-grader chair and listening to teacher drone.

≪ But come over for dinner tomorrow? My brother and wife have a thing so

≪ Mom's playing grandma to all the kids including Rafi and they'll crash there.

That dinner started on an interesting note. Bela's mom discovered she needed to come over and borrow some eggs as Bela met me at the door. "I'm Isabel Abendaño, Isabel's mother. I am pleased to meet you." The accent was delightful. The formality and cool assessment not so much.

Ignoring the eye-roll I could see over her shoulder, I shook the hand she offered. "I'm Matthew Brennan, Bela's dinner guest. The pleasure is entirely mine," I said with equally grave formality. That brought a wide-eyed look of hilarity over the same shoulder.

I escaped after thirty seconds or so of reciprocal assurance we were doing well, supplying my occupation, and confirming my lack of encumbrance with my response to, "Does your family mind the time on Community Abode Project?"

"I'm sure Isabel's father would like to meet you. He's still at work, but perhaps next time."

"Sorry," Bela said as we climbed the stairs, "but it was inevitable, and now the first round is out of the way." She saw my little flinch at "first round" and smiled in sympathy. "I know. Believe me, osito. I know."

"Why do you always call me Spanish nicknames?"

"Does it bother you?"

"No. It's just that you don't with other people. You're always, I don't know, American with them."

"I'm not going out with other people."

That struck me as reasonable for a brief second except, "But you weren't going out with me before."

A faint blush touched her cheeks.

I waited.

Finally, "Maybe to seem a little exotic. A couple of the girls noticed you, and maybe I wanted to stand out in your mind a bit."

"Who?" At her look of disbelief, I amended the question. "Who besides Caitlyn?"

"Lindsay, and maybe others. It was mostly Caitlyn. She catches every guy's attention." She took my coat and moved over to the closet.

I felt guilty for being so stereotypically guy, but there was something I could honestly say here to redeem myself. "Yes, I noticed her, but—"

I ignored her muttered, "I think you did a lot more than that to her."

"But one of the reasons I asked you out was I realized that, ever since I met you, I was always aware of you. That wasn't true with her."

She froze. Finally, "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. I noticed when you showed up. I noticed when you left. I always noticed your reaction to whatever was happening. When Lindsay was being a pain, you laughing at me was all I noticed."

She was looking down at the floor, but I could see a small twitch pull at her lips. "That's a pretty good line, Mr. Brennan."

I didn't bother to dignify that with a response, and she looked up and met my smile with one of her own. "Do you want me to stop giving you nicknames?"

I shook my head.

"Okay. They're affectionate. I promise."

A chicken Caesar salad and a glass of wine had me content with the world. Bela tipped her glass to get the last drops. "One more?"

"Probably better not if I'm driving." A small corner of my mind caught the very slight questioning tone I'd added unconsciously.

I suspected she caught it too given the way her eyes met mine, but all she said was, "Okay," and she set the bottle aside.

I didn't feel particularly rebuffed. We'd only been out a couple of times, three if you counted today, and she was a completely different woman from Caitlyn when it came to romantic tempo. And I sincerely hoped she was different from Lauren. I liked Lauren, but I wasn't looking for a one-night hookup here.

At the top of the stairs, she started to slip her shoes back on. "Don't bother," I said. "Stay up here where it's warm. Thank you for dinner." I loitered, hoping it was clear I wouldn't mind a smooch before I went down. I guess it was because the kiss was as nice as the other evening.

A couple of steps down, I turned back. "I have a question. You called me pobrecito the first time we met."

"You remember?" she asked in surprise.

"I told you I've always noticed you." That got a warm look. "You were interested back then?"

"You recall that moment when we met?"

"You mean when I smoothly dumped pizza all over myself?"

"No, that was pretty lame," she mocked. "A minute later, after I told you my name, when I looked back at you."

"Okaaaaay."

"You had pulled off the work shirt and were just in a white tee and jeans. The dark ones, not the faded ones you sometimes wear. You had boots, black boots, on under them. You were kinda looking over your shoulder at me, and you were squinting a little into the sun."

"That's a really specific memory."

She nodded. "Well, you looked like James Dean to me for a second. All you needed was a red jacket ..." She trailed off as if embarrassed and looked away.

"I do not look like James Dean."

Her eyes came back to mine. "You don't have those pouty lips, true. Almost no guy does." She reached out and touched them with a finger as she said it. "And you're way too tall."

"Just for starters," I agreed.

"But you have those blue eyes, and brown hair that you wear a little long and a bit back, your face is the same shape, and ... I don't know ... you're lean, and ..." She shrugged.

I felt self-conscious and all I could do was reiterate, "I do not look like James Dean."

"Maybe not to some, but you did to me," she insisted, "and I liked what I saw. I've seen Rebel Without a Cause a million times." She lowered her hand from my face to my shoulder, then ran it down my arm. "I wanted you then. Oh, I mean" — she flushed — "not like ... I mean ... we'd just met ... you know," she floundered. Then she rallied. "I mean I just thought about you a lot. I brought you that coffee to break the ice. I was so pissed off when I heard Caitlyn made a move on you that very day. So pissed off!"

The fingers trailing down my arm raised goosebumps.

"Bela?"

"Yeah?"

"Keep doing that, and I'm going to be thinking it would be pretty great if you wanted me in an 'Oh I mean, not like, I mean, you know' kind of way," I teased, chuckling as I said it to keep things light.

She looked at me and there was a heat in her eyes. Also, a trace of regret rather than the banter I fully expected. "Want and will are two different things. For now."

I spent the morning prepping a bathroom for tile by myself. Bela joined me after lunch. She already knew how to work a tile saw and appropriated it while I troweled down mortar and set the tiles. Other than when the blade was whining through ceramic, it should have been easy to talk, but conversation lagged.

I turned and sat back against the wall so I could look up into her face, careful not to disturb our work. "You seem quiet, and things feel ... I don't know ... a little awkward between us."

She picked up a rag to wipe the spray from the saw off her hands. I waited. "Everything's fine."

Just like when Taty had said, "Nothing," way back when, I knew that meant it was something. I tried to wait her out, but, "What's the next cut? You said we need to keep moving before the adhesive skins over."

I found it frustrating to be put off. I tried one more time. "If something I did ..." I let that hang there.

"You feeling guilty about something, osito? Some other woman catch your eye?" The attempt at humor would have worked if the smile that went along with it had reached her eyes.

I gave up. "Ten and a quarter by seven and three-eights," I said, answering her question. I picked up the trowel and began to apply the thinset while she did the cuts, ignoring the gaze I could see out of the corner of my eye.

I came back from putting the tile saw in the trailer at the end of the day to find her hanging around the door to the house, waiting for me.

"Will I see you this weekend?" she asked.

"You won't be here the rest of the week?"

She shook her head. "I've got too much to do. It's going to be crazy. Maybe we could go out for lunch on Saturday?"

"How about dinner Saturday night?"

"I was planning to see my folks. I've been neglecting them lately."

"John's expecting me here Saturday. There are a lot of newbies signed up."

She hesitated. "Okay. Dinner then." She turned to leave.

I tried one more time, calling after her. "Bela?" When she looked back, she could see the question on my face.