Chapter Seven
“So, Alex,” Denise began, “I understand you haven’t been in the valley long. A job transfer, right?”
He glanced up and nodded. “I’m working in the Scorpions front office, helping oversee the team’s print, television, and social media marketing.”
Denise let out a surprised chuckle.
“Do you spend a lot of time on social? Like on TikTok and Instagram?” I asked, arching a brow.
A tinge of pink touched his cheeks. “Sometimes, yeah.”
“That’s probably how you met Caitlin,” Denise added.
Alex shook his head, his gaze darting to mine for a quick moment. “No, actually. I had no idea who she was when we first met.”
“Really?” Denise pressed her lips together as we exchanged a look. “You’d never heard of Caitlin Wolf? Never saw any of her sponsored posts? She has a huge following.”
“I hadn’t.” He used his index finger to push his glasses up his nose. “Most of my FYP is WNBA and NBA content. Some educational creators”—Alex’s gaze touched on me for the briefest of moments—“or, my guilty pleasure, horse and cow hoof–trimming videos.”
Denise’s lip curled. “Hoof-trimming videos?”
“I’ve watched those,” I voiced with a laugh. “They make it look so easy.”
Alex turned fully in his chair to face me, grinning. “They do. One of my fatal flaws is my belief that I could trim a hoof and change the shoe on a horse.” He emitted a quick snort. “But the horse would probably just kick me in the face.”
“There’s something so satisfying about how a farrier’s tools cut through the hoof like butter.” I chuckled. “It’s a weird form of ASMR, but it works for me.”
“Me, too,” he said, his dimple punctuating his words.
Denise’s soft snort had me tearing my eyes from Alex to look at her. She was glancing between us with an amused crinkle in her brow. “You guys are so weird.”
“As if you don’t like ear wax–cleaning videos,” I shot back.
“Hey,” Denise exclaimed, “you weren’t supposed to tell anyone about that.”
I shrugged, lifting my chin. “Now who’s the weirdo?”
“We all are, apparently,” Alex said, lifting his palms.
Denise snagged my gaze before I turned to look at Alex, who simply dipped his head. We burst out laughing in unison.
The server arrived with our drinks, and Denise eagerly reached for her rum and coke, sighing when she took her first sip. My own mojito tasted divine and blended beautifully with the laughter that still sat on my tongue.
“Did you see anything good on the menu, Alex?” Denise asked, setting down her drink and tapping on the menu in front of her with a perfectly manicured nail.
Alex wiped his mouth with a napkin and set it down to pick up the menu again. “Honestly, I was hoping you and Sofia would help me choose. Since you two come here frequently, I figured you’d have some recommendations.”
“We can do that,” I said, gamely. “What are you in the mood for?”
He pursed his lips as he studied the selection. “I don’t really know. It’s been so long since I’ve had Puerto Rican food that I don’t know a lot of the items on the menu.”
“You don’t? But didn’t you ever eat Puerto Rican food in the city?” Denise asked, tilting her head to the side.
Alex shook his head. “No, not really. But I also didn’t search it out.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I looked at the menu briefly after Sofia sent the restaurant name, but I haven’t had a chance to google any of the items.”
“Oh.” Denise flashed a quick frown at me, but I was just as confused as she was. “But you’re Puerto Rican, right?”
“I am,” he replied, a note of defensiveness in his tone, “but home-cooked meals were not an everyday thing in my house growing up.”
Denise and I exchanged another look. She’d obviously picked up on his prickliness, but if Denise was anything, she was stubborn.
“I feel you.” She swirled her drink around in her glass, the ice cubes clinking together. “My mom didn’t get home from work until my sister and I were almost ready for bed. Sometimes dinner was something I could throw in the microwave or add to boiling water.”
“My parents were both in the military, and we moved around a lot. My sisters and I were all born in different states.” Alex toyed with the edge of the menu, the pad of his finger passing back and forth over the laminated corner.
“Mom and Dad worked opposite schedules so one of them was always home with us, but that meant that sometimes dinner fell between their shifts. My older sister and I usually just cooked the easy things we learned how to make.”
My heart squeezed tight at the halted manner in which Alex spoke the words, almost as if he had shared this story before and expected to be judged for it. He probably had been.
Swallowing, I softly said, “Your parents were working hard to support you all, and seeing as how the good stuff can take a while to prep, I’m sure Puerto Rican dishes were saved for special occasions.”
Alex huffed a dry laugh. “If that.”
“Well, you’re here with us now, and Denise and I will tell you about the items we like on the menu and you can decide if you want to try them or not.” I laid my hand on his arm. “Sound good?”
“That would be great,” he murmured, lowering his gaze to my hand.
Yanking my hand away, and ignoring how my pulse dropped into first gear, I forced myself to look at the menu.
“Under the appetizers, we usually get maduros and tostones. Both are made from plátanos, but one is prepared when they’re green and the other when they’re really ripe.
Denise prefers tostones, which are more savory and cooked with a lot of garlic, but I like maduros because they’re buttery and sweet. ”
“We’re going to order them no matter what because it’s a tradition,” Denise added, “so you can try both and decide which one you like.”
“And you don’t mind sharing?” Alex asked.
“Por supuesto que no.” I pointed to the entrées. “Now here’s where things get good.”
Denise and I took turns explaining the various entrées, sides, and desserts on the menu, and when the server came to take our order, Alex selected two entrées with an assortment of sides, saying they sounded delicious so he would try them all.
“Were you born here in Arizona?” Alex asked, his gaze drifting over my face.
I shook my head. “I was born on the island, although I’ve lived much of my life here in the desert.”
“Really? How did that happen?”
“I was five years old and my brother was eight when our dad got a position at the University of Arizona. He specializes in water management, and his research was perfectly matched with the dry Sonoran Desert.” I took a sip of my mojito, relishing the way the drink slipped coolly down my throat.
“And my mom has a background in collections and preservations, so she was able to find a position at the local historical society. She’s worked there for over twenty-five years. ”
“Wow,” he whispered. “It must be nice to have been in one place long enough to grow roots.”
That was an interesting statement. I opened my mouth to tell Alex as much, but before I could, he looked at Denise. “Are you a transplant as well?”
“Yup,” Denise said, raising her glass to Alex. “I moved here ten years ago from Miami, and although I like to bitch about the weather and the snowbirds and their horrible driving, I had to deal with snowbirds and their driving in Miami, too. At least the heat here bakes you evenly.”
Alex leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, his glass dangling from his fingertips. “Was it hard to adjust?”
Denise pursed her lips, her gaze far away.
“Yes and no. Moving is always hard, especially if you move somewhere without a support system. I was lucky that I had an aunt who lived in Glendale, and I would go visit her whenever I felt homesick or needed some authentic Dominican food. And then my sister and her husband moved here, so I see them and my niece and nephew frequently. I finally feel comfortable enough to call Phoenix home, but every once in a while, I’m homesick for Miami.
It’s possible I always will be, to some extent. ”
“Have you been feeling homesick?” I asked quietly, looking at Alex.
He seemed to ponder my question for a moment, simply staring at the activity in the dining room.
“Perhaps a little. I lived in New York for almost a decade, but I don’t know that it felt like home.
I had friends, but I never felt rooted to my life there.
Despite my proximity to Puerto Rican culture living in the city, I never engaged with the community and I truly don’t know why.
” Alex turned his head, glancing at Denise before sliding his gaze to hold mine.
“I suppose I want to try something new here in Phoenix. Give myself opportunities to connect in ways I didn’t in New York, or Raleigh, or Pennsylvania before that. ”
“That is a lot of moving around,” I murmured.
Alex chuckled, although it sounded a tad brittle. “I went from being a military brat to a career that took me all over the country. I’m hoping Phoenix might be a place I can settle down in for a while.”
But Caitlin’s in New York. I didn’t voice the thought, but I still considered it.
While it was true that they hadn’t been seeing each other for long, it seemed as if agreeing on a central place to live would make sense for a new relationship.
But then both Caitlin and Alex were used to traveling and moving about, so maybe that worked for them.
I didn’t have a great track record when it came to love, so it certainly wasn’t my place to question how other people navigated their romantic relationships. Next time I talked with Caitlin, I would have to ask how she and Alex were doing, and how they made it work with their busy schedules.
“Well, Puerto Rican culture here is not as prevalent as it is in, say, New York or Chicago, but there are Puerto Ricans everywhere.” Denise grinned. “Between Sofia and me, we’ll make sure to expose you to as much of the culture and community as we can. Right, Sof?”