Chapter 8
Armando
I woke up at five a.m., same as always. But this time, there was a warm, cuddly man in my bed. I curled up at Tory’s side and went right back to sleep.
When I opened my eyes about three hours later, I was alone in bed.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the apartment, and I could hear pots and pans rattling.
I got up and pulled on a T-shirt and sweats from the pile of clean laundry on my chair.
Then I stopped off in the bathroom before going to see what Tory was up to.
I rounded the corner at the end of the hall and paused to admire the view.
He was in my kitchen, dressed in dark jeans and a black T-shirt that fit his muscular body like a second skin.
The kitchen window was open, and as he whipped something in a bowl, he shook his hips and hummed along to the Celia Cruz song drifting in from one of the other apartments.
I grinned and leaned against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest as I watched him.
I’d had a hard time imagining him in my shabby apartment when I’d invited him over.
He was just so elegant and sophisticated, the kind of man you could easily picture on a yacht, or running a meeting in a board room.
Yet somehow, he looked like he was right at home.
For the first time, I let myself imagine a future with him, one with countless mornings just like this one. But it was way too soon to think about stuff like that, so I pushed those thoughts aside and went to join him.
As soon as he spotted me, Tory’s face lit up with a glorious smile. He put down the whisk and the mixing bowl and grabbed my hand, pulling me to him as he said, “Dance with me, Arie.”
We both tried to lead and burst out laughing as we bounced off of each other. I said, “Follow me,” and showed him the few salsa steps I knew. He picked up on it right away, and we danced around my little kitchen like we were at the hottest nightclub in town.
When the song ended and something slower came on, we let go of each other and smiled self-consciously.
Then Tory gestured at my crowded countertop and told me, “I’m making us breakfast. I hope you don’t mind.
I had some groceries delivered, because I didn’t want to use your stuff without permission.
And I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I’m making…
well, pretty much everything I could think of.
Whatever we don’t eat will keep, though.
I probably made enough for you to have breakfast for a week. ”
As he poured a cup of coffee and handed it to me, I told him, “I feel like I’ve been transported to a fancy café. What did you make?”
Tory pointed to the various dishes as he explained, “There’s a frittata Florentine with spinach and cheese, some fresh fruit, a few pastries from the market, and a dish I learned to make when I lived in Spain.
It’s called tortilla Espanola, and it’s made of eggs, potatoes, and onions.
I also mixed the batter for some ricotta pancakes, to go with the orange marmalade on the stovetop.
Why don’t you make yourself a plate and have a seat while I finish this last dish? ”
I served myself a little of everything and took a seat at the kitchen table, positioning my chair sideways so I could watch him cook. “Thank you for doing all of this,” I said. “I feel bad, though. You’re my guest, and I seem to remember promising to make you brunch.”
“This is fun. I enjoy cooking, but it’s much better if it’s not just for me.” He brought the basket of pastries over and put it on the table before bending to kiss my forehead. “Besides, you’re planning to make dinner for us, so it’s only fair that I make breakfast.”
I tried a bite of both of the egg dishes, which were incredible. He seemed pleased when I told him that, and then I murmured, mostly to myself, “I wonder if my customers would be willing to try these if I offered them as specials at the diner.” When he chuckled, I asked, “Why is that funny?”
“You said the same thing last weekend, when we were eating something from room service. It’s like part of you is always working. And that’s not a criticism, just an observation.”
“You’re right. I bought the diner right around the time my son moved to San Francisco, and I guess it became my whole world.
I love it, especially my customers and the people I work with.
But I know I need to get a life, and I’m trying.
That’s why I’m here with you this morning, instead of at work. ”
He smiled at me and said, “I’m glad I can bring you some balance.”
We lingered over breakfast, all of which was absolutely delicious.
Then, after he helped me pack up the leftovers, the two of us stood side-by-side at the sink and washed the dishes.
It was such a simple thing, but it felt good.
He seemed to think so, too. I loved how relaxed and comfortable he was, both with me, and in my home.
It was just really nice to share this task like this with someone, after entirely too much time spent alone. I tried to remember the last time I’d had a guest in my apartment, aside from my son and his husband, but I drew a blank.
Looking back now, I knew I’d been lonely these past few years. Somehow, my way of coping with that had been to work—all day, every day. Maybe I’d thought if I stayed busy enough, I wouldn’t notice my life was empty. But I’d definitely noticed.
Once we finished up in the kitchen, Tory took my hand and guided me to the couch. “We still have a couple of hours before we need to leave,” he said, as we curled up together. “I propose spending it being completely lazy.”
“Good plan.” I put my head on his chest and asked, “Are you ready to tell me where we’re going?”
“No, I still want to surprise you. But if we get there and you hate it, we don’t have to do it.”
“Can I have a hint?”
He grinned and said, “It’s something I think a Formula One crew member would appreciate.”
“Okay, but you know that was a lie.”
“Sure, but I have a theory that most lies contain grains of truth. We’ll see if I’m right.”
Later that day, I gasped in delight when we pulled up to a stunt driving school.
“Is this what we’re doing? Please tell me it is,” I said, as I sat up straighter and looked around.
A sleek, contemporary building sat at one end of a wide tarmac, and lined up in front of it were several shiny, bright red stock cars.
“It is. We have a private lesson with a professional stunt driver who’s going to teach us things like drifting, one-eighties, all the fun stuff. I personally want the chance to do a bunch of donuts.” He smiled at me as he drew circles in the air with his index finger.
We got out of the car, and I ran around it and grabbed him in a hug. As he lifted me off my feet, I exclaimed, “Thank you so much for this! I heard about this type of driving school years ago and always wanted to do it, but it wasn’t exactly in my budget.”
“I always wanted to do it too,” he said, as he put me down again, “but I never got around to it.”
“So, my story obviously influenced your decision to come here.”
“It did. Even if it was made up, it was clear to me that you like cars and motorsports.”
“I really do.” I grinned and said, “I almost told you I was in the circus. Good thing I changed it at the last minute, or we’d be spending the day hanging from a trapeze.” That made him chuckle.
Tory took my hand and led me into the building, where we were treated like VIPs. One person brought us bottles of fancy, imported water while another fitted us for matching red jumpsuits, helmets, gloves, and shoes.
After we changed in the locker room, a photographer took our picture in front of one of the cars. I noticed the interior was stripped down and had a full roll cage. That was a good reminder that this was the real deal, but I was far more excited than worried.
Over the next three hours, I got to live out a lifelong fantasy.
We were taught several very fun maneuvers and got to take turns trying them out.
Time flew by. The session ended with each of us getting to spin the car around in tight donuts, laughing like maniacs while the tires squealed and smoked on the asphalt.
When we finished, I hugged him and exclaimed, “That was so much fun! Thank you again, Tory.”
“Thanks for agreeing to do it with me.” He leaned back far enough to see my face, his dark eyes full of mischief behind his glasses. “This is going to be hard to top, but do you trust me to plan another adventure for us next Saturday?”
“Absolutely. I’m down for whatever you can dream up.”
After we changed back into our T-shirts and jeans, we were presented with the photos they’d taken, along with very nice duffle bags stuffed with souvenirs.
I took a peek inside my bag and glimpsed a baseball cap, T-shirt, athletic jacket, and water bottle, all with the school’s name and logo.
Clearly, Tory had bought us the most deluxe package possible, and I was overwhelmed by his generosity.
When we got back in his car, Tory said, “I did some research ahead of time, and I found a place we can go for drinks if you want.”
“Sounds great.”
We’d driven about an hour north for the class, and now he drove us to a pretty little town on the coast. When he pulled into a parking spot at the back of a compact, Spanish-style building, I asked, “Are you sure it’s okay to park here? The sign says it’s reserved.”
He grinned and said, “It’s reserved for us.”
The bar on the bottom level was crowded, but that wasn’t our destination. Instead, it turned out he’d reserved the second floor banquet room, which was meant for private parties.