6. Marco
CHAPTER 6
Marco
T he drive home after dropping Leah off felt like a dream I didn’t want to wake up from. The streets of Atlanta rolled by, washed in the soft glow of streetlights, but all I could think about was Leah. The way her eyes crinkled when she laughed, the way her voice softened when she talked about her kids, the way she seemed to carry her pain like a quiet, invisible weight.
I pulled into my driveway, cut the engine, and just sat for a moment, staring at the house. It loomed in the darkness, familiar but somehow hollow. I’d lived here for over twenty years, first with Camille, then with our daughters, and now...alone.
Could I bring Leah here?
She’d been on my mind constantly since our first dance class, but tonight was the first time I let myself admit what was happening. I was falling for her.
The realization landed with a heavy blow.
Part of me resisted it, clinging to the memory of Camille, the life we’d built together, the love that had once been. But another part of me—the one that had laughed with Leah tonight, that had listened to her talk about her fears and her struggles—knew I couldn’t stop how I felt, even if I wanted to.
When I picked her up for our second date the following weekend, I couldn’t shake the sense of anticipation that had been building all day. She looked incredible, wearing a flowing navy dress that swayed around her legs as she walked toward my car. She smiled when she saw me, and I felt that same magnetic pull I’d felt the first time we danced.
She had planned this outing.
She took us to Krog Street Market, which surprised me by being both trendy and intimate. The air was filled with the sizzle of food being prepared at the open stalls. The scent of wood-fired pizza mingled with hints of spices from a taco stand and the sweetness of fresh-baked pastries.
“What do you think?” she asked as we wandered past a sushi bar.
“It’s perfect,” I exclaimed, looking around. “I’ve never been here before. Sofia and Isabella have wanted to bring me, but….”
“My paralegal introduced me to this place,” Leah told me. “The same one who bought me the salsa classes as a Christmas present.”
It was as if I was on an adventure with Leah, trying to find new places to go to, ones I hadn’t been with Camille. My wife and I usually went to the places we knew—where we were familiar with the menu. We were creatures of habit.
With Leah, it felt like I was finally making an effort to explore new things. The thought left me unsettled.
We decided on a stall that served artisan sliders—crispy chicken and smoked brisket paired with truffle fries and house-made sauces. We found a small table in the middle of the hubbub and settled in.
“I hope this lives up to the Ethiopian food.” She unwrapped her slider.
“It’s not a contest, Leah.” I didn’t exactly snap at her, but it was close. Was she trying to one-up me or Camille? I regretted my tone and words immediately. She looked like I’d struck her. “I’m just happy to be anywhere with you,” I added as a peace offering.
She looked at me intently as if trying to figure out what was up with me. Then she shrugged and took a sip of her beer. “I love smoked brisket.”
She was letting it go, I thought, surprised. Even Camille, who I now tended to remember with a saintly glow, wouldn’t have let it slide. She’d have nagged me to death over a knee-jerk comment, and I’d be apologizing until the cows came home before she was appeased.
Was Leah really unaffected, or had she been mistreated so much by her ex that she’d grown used to brushing things off? The idea that I might be treating her the way her asshole ex-husband had didn’t sit well with me. Not one bit.
“When it comes to meat, I like mine with lots of spice, Puerto Rican style,” I said, taking a page from her book and shifting the mood, letting go of the weight of harsh words.
“Your family is still there?”
“Yes. In San Juan. My father was a physician. He’s retired now. My mother was a homemaker. Now, they spend their days perfecting their golf handicap.”
“Are you close with them?”
“I’m Puerto Rican, carino , family is life. Yes, we’re all close.”
After eating, we strolled around.
“May I ask you something?” She didn’t look at me when she spoke.
“Yes.”
She stopped walking and looked up at me. “Why did you ask me out?”
I hesitated, the question catching me off guard. “I felt like it.”
It was a nonanswer. It was a child’s answer. It wasn’t sincere. But I couldn’t tell her that I asked her out because I was attracted to her, because I wanted to fuck her, because I enjoyed her company. All of that would make this…more than I wanted it to be.
“Does it bother you that I did?” I frowned, irritated once again with her. “You said yes, Leah.”
Her eyes went from curious to concerned. “I did say yes. I did so because I enjoyed our time together.”
“Me too.” I kept my tone nonchalant. I didn’t want her to think I was blowing hot and then cold, even though that was precisely what I was doing.
She looked down for a moment, her cheeks flushed slightly. “Look, Marco, you’re a good-looking, successful person. I am neither.” She raised her eyes to meet mine. “I’m as middle-aged as they come, body and mind. I am professionally barely making ends meet. I’m insecure, and I guess I was fishing for compliments.”
Her honesty undid me.
“I think you’re beautiful.”
She chuckled in self-deprecation. “Well, at least I wheedled a compliment out of you.”
“I already told you that you’re remarkable.” I was not used to women who didn’t know their worth. My wife had. My daughters had healthy self-esteem. A super-confident mother raised me. A part of me couldn’t help but see Leah as a little pathetic, but another part quickly chastised me for being so harsh and judgmental. It was obvious that Leah had been mistreated by her husband and even her children—expecting her to have clarity about her self-worth was unfair.
She nodded. “Hey, did you get the email from Viviana about the next class?”
The way she changed the topic could mean two things. One, she was indeed over my boorishness and was moving on. Two, she was doing that thing some people did, which was pretend something wasn’t bothering them when it was, and they’d let it fester, and they’d bring it up another time.
It doesn’t matter, Marco. This is not a relationship. You can even skip the damn salsa classes, and that will be that.
“Yeah, she wants us to wear proper footwear.” We began to walk again.
Viviana had sent links so we could see what she was talking about.
“Dance shoes with suede soles,” Leah remarked amusedly. “My friend Alana, who does dance and well, said it’s so we can pivot without sticking to the floor.”
“Well, Viviana did say it would help with the turns.”
“And make you feel more connected to the floor.” Leah chuckled. “I could fall on my ass and be very connected to the floor.”
There wasn’t a hint of anger or annoyance or…any kind of negative emotion in how Leah was talking.
“She did say you could opt for heels. Not too high but traditional salsa style.”
Leah snorted softly. “Just what I need—an excuse to twist my ankle in front of everyone.”
“Why do you care so much about what anyone thinks?” Now, I did snap. She was a grown-up, not a teenager. She needed to stop behaving like one.
She stopped walking and took a deep breath. “It’s who I am, Marco.” What she didn’t say but hung in the air between us was, take it or leave it .
“You shouldn’t worry so much about other people and their opinions,” I remarked softly. “You’re fine just the way you are.”
“Thanks, Marco.” She looked at her watch pointedly. “Ah, time for this Cinderella to get home, glass shoes and all. I have some early appointments tomorrow.”
On a Sunday, I wanted to ask but didn’t. It was obvious she’d had it with my blowing hot and cold routine. Anyone else would’ve called me out for being a dick. Leah didn’t. Instead, she diverted our conversation, and when I dropped her off, she said goodnight pleasantly.
“I had fun,” I said as we stood in front of her door, her apartment key fob in her hand.
“Me too. I’ll see you at salsa class.”
Her tone was friendly but distant—nothing like before. Her guard was up, and I had no idea how to fix it. Maybe she wasn’t the only one acting like a teenager. Right now, I felt like a sullen kid, annoyed that the girl I’d been pushing away wanted to leave.
“We should do this again,” I threw out there.
She smiled and shrugged as she stroked the key fob on top of the electronic lock. “We’ll see when we have time, okay?”
With that polite go fuck yourself, she walked into her place and shut the door on my face.
Yeah, I so deserved that.