Chapter 32
Chapter thirty-two
Jay
My nerves are frayed.
My palms are sweating.
Exactly the kind of hand any girl wants to hold.
But I don’t want any girl, I’ve got my sights on one girl.
I’m pacing the living room like a caged animal, every sound from the hallway making my stomach swoop.
She’s due home any minute, and all I can think about is the way her eyes might light up when she sees me waiting.
Or worse—the way they might not. I’m not usually this worked up over a girl, but then Liv isn’t just any girl.
I wipe my palms on my pants again. Useless because they’re still damp.
I want tonight to feel different for her.
For us. Not just two roommates orbiting the same space, bumping into each other over mealtimes and half-built furniture.
Tonight, I want to take her somewhere that means something to me.
Querida is a Portuguese restaurant not far outside of town; some nights it has live music and dancing after nine, and I can’t wait to take her there.
I’ve only visited a few times when my parents came to town, and watched as they danced together.
Now, it’s my turn to take someone there.
The sound of a key turning in the lock makes my heart stutter.
The door swings open, and there she is, cheeks pink from the chill outside, hair a little wind-tossed. She’s still wearing my sweater from this morning, and that sends all kinds of signals of possession to my brain, and neither of us is ready for that.
She freezes for half a second when she sees me standing there, already dressed in a crisp button-up, sleeves rolled, dark jeans, and my boots. I’m not sure what expression’s on my face, but judging by the way her hand lingers on the strap of her bag, it’s obvious I’ve been staring too long.
“You’re ready?” she asks, voice a touch breathless.
“Yeah,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets to hide how clammy they still are. “Didn’t want to risk making you wait.”
Her eyes flick over me, quick but not quick enough, and there’s a telltale curve to her mouth before she looks down at herself, tugging at the hem of my sweater. “Well, I’m not exactly restaurant material yet.”
I can’t avoid stepping closer to her, shrinking the few feet between us until our toes touch. I wait until those blue eyes find my own. “You always look beautiful, Liv.”
Her breath catches, barely, but I hear it. She looks up at me, sweater sleeve pulled halfway over her hand, like she’s hiding.
“Give me ten minutes. Then I’m all yours.”
The words are meant innocently and only for tonight, but I cling to them more than she realizes.
***
The drive out of town is quiet. Liv has her hand on the window ledge, hair catching bits of the streetlight glow, and every now and then she hums along to the music on the radio. I don’t say much because I’m too busy memorizing the way she looks in the low light.
When I pull into the gravel lot and cut the engine, she tilts her head at the golden sign above the door.
“Querida,” she reads aloud, testing the word on her tongue. “What does it mean?”
I glance at her, lips quirking. “Darling, Sweetheart. Or beloved. Depends on how you use it.”
Her brows lift, her smile edging toward a smirk. “Say it for me.”
I shift in my seat, turning toward her fully, letting the word roll slow and low from my chest. “Querida.”
She shivers when the syllables leave my lips, and I watch the way it lands in the widening of her eyes, making them deepen in color, light blues and grays giving way to navy and cobalt.
I lean in just enough that my voice brushes the space between us.
“és t?o linda,” I murmur, letting the Portuguese slip out before I can second-guess it. You’re so beautiful.
Her lips part, curiosity sparking. “What did you just say?”
I grin faintly, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. “Exactly what you think I did.”
Pushing open my door, I let the night air rush in before I give away too much.
The gravel crunches under my shoes, autumn air greeting me, and I circle the car in time to see her step out. She tugs at the hem of her black dress, hair like a halo around her face, highlighting exactly what I whispered to her a second ago.
“Come on,” I say, offering her my hand.
Her fingers slip into mine, and I internally peacock at the feeling of her being mine for the night.
Inside, the place is alive but not overwhelming. The floor tile is familiar and worn, the walls lined with framed photos of Brazil, Lisbon, and Porto, their edges yellowed by years of candle smoke.
And behind the bar, Ana spots me. Her face lights up instantly.
“Jayzinho!” she calls, already moving around the counter, wiping her hands on her apron.
Liv glances at me, brows raised. “Jayzinho?”
I brace, readying my body for the biggest hug I get outside of my family. Ana barrels into me, strong despite her small frame, and squeezes until my ribs protest.
“I haven’t seen you in months. Your mother is worried about you,” she scolds in rapid Portuguese, pulling back only far enough to swat my arm. “You need to visit her more. Are you going home the weekend after Thanksgiving?”
I groan, rubbing the spot even though it didn’t hurt. “Ana, it’s good to see you.”
Her eyes flick past me, landing on Liv, and immediately soften into a knowing smile.
“And who is this beautiful lady?” she asks, her accent wrapping around the words like a ribbon.
Liv’s cheeks flush, and my own ears mirror that pink as I answer, “This is Liv. She’s… with me tonight.”
Ana clucks her tongue like she’s already decided a dozen things about us. She takes Liv’s hands in hers, ignoring how startled she looks. “You are very welcome here, querida. Finally, someone worth bringing.”
Liv barks a chuckle. “He brings a lot of girls here?”
Ana’s head shakes, and I’m cooked before I can even defend myself. “No, he’s never brought anyone here.”
Liv’s eyes snap to mine, assessing the truth of that. I don’t deny it, there’s no need. If she sees how badly I want her, maybe she’ll start to trust that she’s wanted for the right reasons.
Ana pats her hand once more and ushers us toward the tables. “Come, come. Best seat in the house. Take her there, Jay, I’ll bring menus.”
Once Ana leaves us, Liv leans toward me, hands reaching further to mine. “Never, huh?” she whispers.
I hold her eye contact. “Never. You’re the only one I wanted to bring here.”
Liv doesn’t say anything for a beat, making me wonder if I’ve played my cards too soon, revealed too much. But then she smiles, and I’m blinded by it. “So I’m the chosen one, huh?”
I try to play it at least a little bit cool, but before I can speak, she slips her hand over mine on the table. Her fingers are warm to the touch. It’s ridiculous how fast my body leans into the contact, like every nerve under my skin recognizes her before my mind catches up.
“Thank you for bringing me,” she says quietly, all teasing stripped away. “It means a lot.”
I give her hand a squeeze, echoing what’s going on in my chest, just as Ana reappears, menus in hand, already talking before she reaches us.
“Tonight is a very good night,” she says, eyes bright.
“We have caldo verde, the green soup, with chourico from my cousin in California. Fresh clams, straight from the coast—Amêijoas à Bulh?o Pato, you must try.” She taps her finger against the menu like it’s law.
“Bacalhau à Brás or with cream, and of course grilled sardines, though sometimes we use Oregon salmon if it is fresher that day. And feijoada, my family recipe.”
She beams at Liv, ignoring the overwhelmed look on her face. “And for dessert, we have the pastéis de nata, delicious and creamy pastry. Always the best.”
Liv blinks at the list like Ana just recited a thesis. Slowly, her gaze shifts to me. “Jay makes the best feijoada.”
“He cooks for you? Jayzinho, I’m so proud.” Her hand clutches her chest as she beams at me. “Then you must try mine to compare. I need to know!”
“I can guarantee you and my mother make it better than me.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, that one is my favorite,” Liv replies. I like it far too much that I make her favorite anything.
I clear my throat and glance at Ana. “Can we maybe do a few small plates? A bit of everything for her to try?”
Ana lights up. “Of course! I bring caldo verde, some bacalhau, feijoada, and maybe a little salmon, yes? You share.” She taps her pen against the pad, delighted. “This is best way—family way.”
“Perfect,” I say, and I meant the food order, but the more I look at my date across from me, the more the word morphs into how I feel about her.