20. Chapter 20 #2
I unfolded it and stared blankly at it, the options overwhelming.
Each food had the English translation written under the Spanish name, but that did little to help.
Knowing what the concept of a plantain was and actually knowing what it tasted like when cooked various ways were two entirely different things.
And then there was the pressure of knowing Cendy would be back soon to take our orders that seemed to make my brain forget how to read.
This was exactly why I googled restaurant menus before I went anywhere.
“Uh, in that case” —I set the menu on the table— “what should I order?”
He rested his chin on his hand thoughtfully as he regarded me. “Let’s see. You mentioned that you and garlic were best friends, so I’m gonna recommend the camarones al ajillo .”
He pointed to the garlic shrimp on the menu, but I barely noticed.
I was still in shock over the fact that he remembered me mentioning how much I loved garlic.
I didn’t even remember telling him that, yet it sounded exactly like something I’d say.
Probably while rambling over lasagna after trauma-dumping on him.
The epitome of romance, that’s me.
“Yep, that sounds good.” I lifted the menu back up so quickly I nearly smacked myself in the nose with it. “What are you getting?”
“I’m feeling carnita frita —that’s fun to say, isn’t it?” He chuckled to himself. “It’s fried pork. And then mofongo on the side.”
“ Mofongo ,” I repeated, testing the foreign word out on my tongue. According to the menu, it was mashed fried plantain with garlic and fried pork. “Sounds intriguing.”
“It’s pretty different from American food, but it’s great.”
I wasn’t convinced yet, but if he liked my baking, his tastes couldn’t be that bad, right?
I folded the menu and gestured around the quaint establishment. “You said you come here often?”
“Practically every week since I found it, yeah.” He shrugged one massive shoulder.
“It reminds me of home, I guess. I spent a lot of my childhood at my abuela’s house outside of Miami.
She grew up in the Dominican Republic and went to great lengths to make sure her children and grandchildren never forgot where we came from. ”
I slid my purse off and set it on the booth seat next to me. “She sounds like a great woman.”
“Oh, she is.” He smiled and pursed his lips in the direction of the hilly landscape mural. “Tougher than me, too. She worked in one of the sugar cane plants on the island, and I swear she could beat me in the yearly Bureau fitness exams to this day.”
I snorted, immediately slapping my hands over my face to conceal the noise.
His eyes twinkled as he cocked his head to the side. “Why do you do that?”
Barbecued chicken gizzards , just kill me now.
I scrunched my eyes closed and covered them with my hands, wishing Cthulhu would spring forth out of the floor and eat me whole. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. Maybe it’s a deviated septum or something. I know it’s not very ladylike—”
“No,” he laughed softly, pulling my hands away from my face, “why do you cover it up and get embarrassed about it?”
My brain buffered for a whole agonizing second. Was he serious right now? Why wouldn’t I cover it up? “Um, because sounds like that aren’t supposed to be heard by mortal ears?”
He smiled his devastating smile, still holding my hands in his. “Why not? It’s easily one of my favorite sounds.”
“Then you need to get your ears checked.”
This was both a dream come true and a nightmare, since I was currently living out a mortifying conversation with my Prince Charming, but the feel of his hands on mine was like morphine in my bloodstream.
He laughed. “No, I’m serious. I like it.”
Be still, my beating heart . I didn’t care if he only liked it because he was delusional, or if he was simply trying to make me feel better. The point remained, he didn’t mind my piggy snorts. Somehow.
“You do?” I finally managed to say, blinking rapidly.
“Of course.” He pulled his hands away, his fingers sliding along mine as he did. “It’s unbridled happiness. It’s like you forget to be reserved for a second because something was that funny or surprising, and it’s nice seeing that glimpse of raw… Dekkerness .”
Never in a quadrillion years did I expect to have a term coined after me. Period, but especially not something positive. Maybe a “ wow, you really Dekkered that” when somebody chose the wrong dialogue option in conversation and made everyone fidget awkwardly. But this?
Had I secretly entered the twilight zone when we walked through the doors?
I gaped dumbly at him until Cendy returned with glasses of ice water for both of us. Max helped relay my order, and with one last conspiratorial look over her shoulder, Cendy disappeared again.
“How’s your hobby hunting going?” I asked after a few minutes of small talk. “You still have all your fingers, so that’s promising.”
He laughed, drawing a few curious glances from those nearby. “I considered it, especially after the day I’d had at work. But, no, no knife juggling. The week is almost over, and I haven’t tried a new hobby yet.”
I took a long sip from my water. “If you haven’t come up with one by tomorrow, let me know. I can get you hooked on competitive baking shows or eat way too much ice cream trying.”
“Ice cream, you say? I’m in. Doesn’t matter what we watch.”
I beamed, already excited to spend more time with him. “Said like someone who hasn’t seen the light yet.”
“The baking shows are that good, huh?”
“I guess you’ll have to see, won’t you?”
He narrowed his eyes, his dark lashes long and thick. “Well played, Chef. Well played.”
I sank back until my spine rested against the cool booth. “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you make that resolution to try something new every week? Just to be adventurous?”
“Oh, uh, not exactly.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a little embarrassing, really.”
“How so?” I folded my arms over my middle. “Because you’ve seen me biff it on a fur suit and freak out over a belt, so I think I’ve kinda got a monopoly on embarrassing things at the moment.”
And, sweet honey lemonade , how I wished I didn’t.
He rubbed his face in an attempt to conceal his smile. “Those weren’t that bad.”
“Liar.”
He chuckled, giving up the charade. “Okay, yeah, those were pretty memorable, but not all bad. This is embarrassing in a different way, I guess.”
I waited, letting the Latin music and clangs from the kitchen fill the silence while he gathered his thoughts. Maybe it made me a bad person, but I hoped his reason was a little embarrassing. It only seemed fair, considering how I’d made a fool of myself ten ways to Sunday since moving in.
I reached out and brushed his hand, lingering for only a second despite how much I wanted to stay there forever. “If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to. Just say the word and we’ll move on. No problem.”
The tan skin framing his eyes crinkled in amusement at how I’d echoed him from a few nights ago. “I want to tell you. Even if you’ll look at me differently once you know.”
I snorted but stopped myself short before covering it up.
I wasn’t convinced there was anything on God’s green earth that could spoil my opinion of him, but the fact he cared about my opinion of him in the first place made my stomach somersault.
“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that, Max, but I promise I’ll keep an open mind either way. ”
He studied me for a moment before releasing a long breath and leaning back in the booth.
“When Vicky and I broke up, she pointed out that the only thing I seemed to push for in our relationship was getting married. Everything else, I just went along with whatever she wanted.” He shrugged sheepishly.
“She didn’t mind that for a while, and I was content with whatever, so nothing else mattered enough to disagree about. ”
I nodded my understanding, my brow furrowed. He didn’t have a say in anything else about their relationship? What curtains to buy, what side of the bed to sleep on, how to divide and combine their assets— nothing ?
“Yeah, I know,” he chuckled, reading into my facial expression.
“Anyway, I realized after I wasn’t in a relationship anymore that I didn’t know what I liked.
” He offered an uncharacteristically shy smile.
“I’d gone along with whatever someone else wanted for so long that I’d forgotten what I’d do if I was the only person I had to worry about.
” He grimaced and leaned in, his voice lowered conspiratorially.
“I didn’t even know how I liked my eggs. Sad, right?”
I didn’t reply. I couldn’t unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth if I’d wanted to.
What must that have been like, constantly disregarding his own preferences—not to keep the peace like I’ve been guilty of before—but because he was so easy-going he didn’t care enough to form an opinion?
He’d probably viewed it like he viewed opening doors.
Going with whatever his fiancée wanted was a way to show his love for her.
He’d be content with whatever she chose anyway, so why argue?
That wasn’t a relationship, though. It was ownership.
And if she hadn’t broken things off, how long would they have lasted with that dynamic? Would Max have remained content with that, or would he have finally exploded when it became too much? Would he have resented her? Himself ?
“Anyway” —Max leaned back, casual as a cucumber, as if he hadn’t just broken my heart a little— “I also realized that working out was the only hobby I had for me . And we have to workout for at least an hour every weekday for the job, anyway, so it didn’t feel like a hobby hobby, if that makes sense?
You know, something you do purely because you enjoy it. ”
“Yeah, I can’t imagine enjoying it, period , but I understand.”