Chapter Five
I arrived at Dulce’s the following day at a quarter till nine, determined to find a seat and get a cup of coffee before Alex arrived.
For some reason, I decided that if I was already settled at a table, caffeine and sugar coursing through my veins, it would be easier to maintain my defenses once Alex joined me.
I have no notion where the idea came from, but self-preservation was my main priority, and I was willing to do whatever it took to keep the friendly, unassuming veneer in place.
But as I walked through the front door, my heart dropped to my feet when I spied Alex sitting at a narrow table near the back of the jam-packed panadería.
He was wearing a ball cap, his face in profile, but from my vantage point, I could make out the sweep of his long eyelashes and the fullness of his lips as he looked out onto the traffic that rushed by on the street.
Fate was cruel that this man was gifted such pretty features when some women have to spend good money on similar enhancements.
Taking a moment to calm myself, I maneuvered through the queue of customers waiting to order, and Alex glanced over his shoulder, his dark eyes pinning me in place. I think I smiled. I certainly wanted to. But all I was aware of was the abrupt pounding of my heart in my ears.
“Hi,” I murmured as I stopped at the chair across from him. Like a gentleman of old, Alex had risen to his feet as I approached, and I suddenly felt awkward. What did one do—or say—when a man greeted you by standing? “You’re early.”
That wasn’t at all what I had planned to say, but alas, my mouth and my thoughts were not in sync.
Alex kept his eyes glued to my face as he sat, his gaze tracing over my features, and I fought not to fidget at his inspection. “I figured I would arrive a bit early and check things out. It seems like you were thinking the same.”
I nodded by way of answer. That’s when I noticed the plate at the center of the table piled high with various pan dulces. Gesturing to it with my chin, I arched a brow. “Did you order every kind available?”
The crests of his cheeks turned pink. “Not everything, but it was tempting because it all looks so good.”
“You said you’ve never had pan dulces, right?” When he nodded, I smiled. “Well, you have a good selection here.” I took several moments to identify each of the pastries on the plate and describe their taste or texture. “Is there one that you’d like to start with?”
Alex studied the selection, his brows drawn together in concentration. “I think the oreja sounds good.”
“Great choice, especially with coffee,” I said, smiling again.
He stared at me, his eyes lingering on my lips, and now it was my turn to beat back a blush. “Aren’t you going to eat it?” I blurted out, desperate to break through the tension abruptly crackling between us.
Blinking, Alex pulled back his chin. “I’m not eating anything until you give me your coffee order.”
Now I blinked. “Oh, I can get coffee.”
“I know you can, but I would like to get it for you.”
What? I stared, open-mouthed, at Alex for what felt like a solid minute.
And he considered me back, a stubborn set to his cleft chin.
The logical part of my brain knew it wasn’t a big deal for him to order me coffee, but I was trying so hard to keep our interactions in friendly territory…
and ordering for me felt personal. Intimate.
Which was ridiculous, I decided. I was making more of his intention than I needed to.
Always overreacting, I heard in Javi’s voice, his signature exasperated tone filling my head.
I didn’t think I overreacted—I was just passionate and perhaps stubborn about the things I believed in.
And if I believed you were encroaching on my independence or efficiency, well, I was going to react accordingly.
Still, I decided to uncurl my hands and lean back in my chair.
“A black coffee with cream and two stevia packets,” I murmured, feigning an ease I did not feel.
Alex watched me for a moment longer and then nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
Exhaling a deep breath, I watched him walk away, doing my best not to notice the way his jeans hugged his ass—
I grabbed a concha from the plate on the table and ripped off a piece, shoving it into my mouth.
As I chewed, I pulled out my phone and opened TikTok, determined to spend a few moments responding to comments.
I still hadn’t put out a new video, so there weren’t as many responses to filter through as normal, but there were still some.
With an intensity I hadn’t shown in a good long while, I filtered through the comments, replying to some, liking others.
Thankfully, there were only a handful of posts spread across several videos asking for a LIVE with Alex, and I was grateful for the decrease in requests.
But considering we had planned to discuss Rosalind Franklin, I would need to bring it up with him. Today, preferably.
When Alex returned to the table, he set a paper cup filled with coffee in front of me, depositing the cream and sweetener packets next to it. I looked up with a smile. “Thanks.”
He nodded and resumed his seat. For a moment, he simply swirled his own coffee cup around, his gaze fixed on the plate of pastries in front of us.
Alex seemed lost in another world, and I understood.
Hadn’t I just been staring off into space, fixating on things I could control when there was so much I couldn’t?
Finally, I selected an oreja with my fingertips, gently placed it on a napkin, and pushed it across the table toward him. “You have no more reasons to procrastinate. Eat up.”
His dimple flashed in his cheek, but Alex dutifully picked up the oreja, dunked it into his coffee, and sank his straight white teeth into it. I tried not to notice how his dimple appeared as he chewed. After several bites, he wiped his mouth and shrugged.
“It’s delicious.”
“I know.” I flashed him a quick smile before I popped another bite of concha into my mouth. After I finished chewing, I said, “Dulce’s pan dulces are one of the best things about living in this neighborhood.”
Alex cocked his head. “I didn’t know this was your neighborhood.”
I hadn’t meant to share that tidbit. The greater Phoenix area was vast, and he didn’t need to know that I made my home in this sleepy little corner of Tempe.
You’re overreacting, my brother’s voice repeated in my head.
And I suppose I was. Alex knowing I lived nearby wasn’t a big deal, and there was no point in acting like it was.
“It is. I live a couple blocks over,” I said, gesturing with my head to the direction of my house.
“I didn’t really have Tempe on my radar,” he said, glancing about us with renewed interest. “Not that I had any place on my radar. Aside from downtown, where the Scorpions arena is located.”
We spent several minutes discussing the areas Alex was interested in exploring before he asked, “How long have you lived in Tempe?”
“Since I moved from Tucson after college nine years ago.” I stared down into my coffee. “I bought my house four years ago.”
“Oh,” he said, his dark eyes growing large, “I didn’t know you were a homeowner.”
I shrugged. “I was lucky to buy before the housing market soared to ridiculous heights. And my house isn’t a lot. Just a thirteen-hundred-square-foot bungalow with a lot of charm.”
“Does charm mean historical features or charm as in ‘these crooked walls and creaky floors are charming’?”
“Umm, maybe the latter.” When Alex chuckled, I clarified. “I mean, it does have historical features, like an old wood-burning fireplace, gorgeous Spanish tiles, and the cutest front porch just big enough for a bistro table and chairs.”
“But?” Alex smirked. “I can feel you holding on to a but.”
“But,” I said, drawing out the u sound, “it also needed a new roof, and I had to completely renovate the kitchen to bring it into the twenty-first century. And don’t even get me started on the nightmare the heating and cooling system has been.”
Alex considered me, the corner of his mouth tipped up. “So why did you choose that house? Was it all you could afford? That doesn’t seem true to what I know of you, though.”
He was right. I hadn’t purchased my house because it was in my price range. Of course that was part of the reason, but not the primary reason.
“I bought it because it felt like a house I could grow with. A house with a history I wanted to honor, and not just four walls I wanted to rebuild.” I stared down at the concha in my hands.
The one I had ripped pieces from. With my tongue pressed to the back of my teeth, I tried to fit the remaining pieces back together.
“So much of Arizona is new compared to other places, and yet it has a long, rich history. It’s more than cacti, golf courses, and stucco cookie-cutter homes.
And there’s nothing wrong with stucco cookie-cutter homes.
But I had an opportunity to own something that has provided refuge and shelter to families before me.
Their laughter, their sadness, and their happiness is embedded in its old bricks, and I wanted to add my experiences to them. ”
We were silent for a spell, and I cringed internally.
Alex had asked a simple question, and in turn I had delivered a whole diatribe he probably hadn’t expected.
But just as with our interactions online, I found it hard not to be honest with him.
God, I just hoped it wasn’t too much. I wasn’t too much.
“That’s what I want,” he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “I want more than a house I come home to at the end of the day. A place where I hang a picture on the wall and call it home. I want to walk through the front door and immediately feel the stress leach from my body. A place that’s inviting and cozy and full of history, even if it’s just the history I make there myself. ”