Chapter Eighteen
Alma woke the next morning with nausea filling her stomach. Though the sex had been incredible, Jaime couldn’t have gotten out of there fast enough. She’d thought for sure that he would accept the offer to spend the night at her place.
But no. Despite the intimate moments they’d experienced, he’d bounced the second he could, even though he couldn’t resist nagging her about walking alone back to her place.
Alma brushed her teeth and took a long hot shower.
The steam filled the bathroom—great for her skin, not so wonderful for her hair.
But she didn’t care about frizz in her locks when it was her life that was frazzled.
She had to be honest with herself. She had not slept with Jaime hoping to get back together with him.
She just wanted to have sex with someone who knew her body and could make her feel good.
That was it, right? It was simple. Sure, she could please herself or, over the years, she could’ve had a one-night stand, but she wanted to sleep with someone with whom she felt comfortable and could truly enjoy herself.
So, she had used Jaime.
Whatever she had to tell herself.
And it wasn’t like the fling would last long.
He would be returning to San Diego soon, and she would finally get the break that she needed and go to Mexico with Zoila.
Since she and Jaime clearly didn’t have a future together, maybe their encounter would enable her to finally break free from the chokehold he had her in.
Picturing herself sunbathing in Mexico, lounging by the pool and sipping a spicy margarita that she didn’t have to make, did the trick. She exhaled—her daydreams calming her down.
Her doorbell rang.
Was it Jaime? Apologizing? Maybe bringing her some flowers? He was staying only a couple of blocks away at the Tiburon Lodge.
She wrapped herself in her robe and went to the door and peered through the hole.
It was not Jaime. It was Zoila, holding two coffees and a pastry bag from Caffé Acri.
They hadn’t planned to meet. That was bizarre. Zoila never showed up unannounced.
Alma’s heart sank.
It could only mean one thing—those were guilt pastries.
She opened the door and let her friend in.
Zoila handed Alma a coffee cup. “Hi! Sorry to bombard you. I was in the neighborhood and thought I would stop by.”
Alma laughed. “The neighborhood? No, you weren’t. You wouldn’t have driven here and gone through all the trouble to find parking. What’s up? Spill.”
Zoila flopped down on the sofa. “Girl, please don’t kill me, but I can’t go to Mexico with you.”
Alma squeezed the coffee cup and luckily didn’t spill any coffee on herself. “Please. No. I need this trip. Don’t do this to me!”
“I feel awful. I do. I would do anything to avoid it. But there is this special project I was asked to do last minute at my school and we’re up for a grant.
I can’t miss it. I’m so sorry. I can go during the summer though.
I was trying to swing it in the school year, and it had been approved, but I can’t let my school down. ”
Alma couldn’t blame Zoila for focusing on work. After all, that was why she wanted the trip herself.
No. That wasn’t true. Yes, she would do some work on the trip and meet some tequila makers. But she wanted, no, she needed this trip to relax.
“I understand. I was so excited to take this trip. It was your idea!”
“I know.”
Alma sipped her coffee. It was lightly sweetened with a hint of vanilla and a touch of cinnamon. Zoila had tried her best to make up for her shitty news. “It’s fine. I’ll go alone.”
Zoila shook her head. “No. Oh my God, no. You can’t travel to Mexico solo. Are you crazy?”
“We aren’t supposed to call people crazy. That’s rude.”
“Stop. I’m serious. It’s not safe to go alone.”
“Mexico is safe. It’s all propaganda. There are parts of America that have way more crime.”
“You could get kidnapped and sex trafficked.”
Why was everyone on her about security? Sure, it could be risky, but so was walking home at night. She had to live her life without fear. “You sound like Jaime.”
“Jaime?” she smirked. “Have you been spending time with him?”
Alma pulled a chocolate croissant out of the pastry bag and sat on her sofa. “Yeah. Actually, I slept with him yesterday.”
Zoila’s jaw dropped. “YES! Finally, an end to your dry spell. I need details. All the details.”
“It was super hot. I gave him a private tequila tasting Friday night, then we had brunch in Sonoma on Sunday. Later that night, he stopped by and we fucked on the bar.”
“Woman! You are the coolest. Was it like old times?”
“Even better. But then it got weird. I asked him to spend the night, and he said no. He went back to the Tiburon Lodge. I haven’t heard from him since.”
Zoila shrugged and took a sip of her own coffee. “See! He hasn’t changed. Look, I’m glad you got laid, but you shouldn’t even think of getting back together with him. He left you once—he can do it again. Now this should force you to get back out there, with someone else.”
Zoila did have a point.
But Alma had a plane ticket to Mexico and even though she acted like she felt safe, she really didn’t want to travel by herself.
“I’ll consider it.” There was no future with Jaime. But still, she couldn’t imagine being with someone else. “It’s not like we’re getting back together. It’s just hot sex. He is leaving town a few weeks after the Cinco festival.”
“Oh, cool. I can’t wait to go. Will Santi be there?”
“Yes, he should be.”
“Awesome.” She clasped her hands in a prayer position. “Sorry again about Mexico. I really wanted to go for the Feast of San Isidro.”
“I know. But it’s best to cancel it. We can go next year.”
Zoila picked up Tequila, who was begging for a bite of her pastry, which was not going to happen because chocolate was toxic to dogs.
Light-colored pug hair blew everywhere like willows in the wind.
“Or…I don’t think you should get back together with Jaime, but maybe you should ask him to go to Mexico with you.
You even said he was concerned about your safety.
You could have fun and great sex. Then you can return home and move on with your life. ”
When she put it that way, it honestly didn’t sound that bad. Alma had had a blast in Jalisco when she went with her girls, but she had been so sad from the breakup. Seeing couples together, walking through the streets, had made her miss Jaime even more.
Being there with him, she would feel safe. And it would be nice to have a crazy no-strings sex vacation with someone she trusted.
“Fine. You’re right. I’m going to ask him.”
Zoila high-fived Alma. “Deal. But no love, just great sex.”
Alma finished getting dressed, then they took Tequila for a short walk.
Alma had the entire day off and she knew that Jaime was only a couple blocks away at his hotel.
She resisted the urge to text him. She would see how she felt in a week and possibly ask him to join her in Jalisco when she saw him at the Cinco festival.
She tucked herself under a blanket, pulled Tequila beside her on the sofa, and settled in to watch the latest true crime documentary on Netflix. Something about safely viewing these horrors from the comfort of her home calmed her.
Damn, she was so messed up.
Her phone rang. It was Chuy from work.
Oh no. This was her lone day off. She needed this break.
But as an owner of a small business, she was always plugged in.
“Chuy, this better be important. I’m watching that show about the mom who vanished in the middle of the night but was found a month later with her ex.”
Chuy, one of her employees, chuckled. “Sorry, Alma. I wasn’t going to call you, but I thought you would like to know what is happening.”
“And what is that exactly?”
“The critic is here.”
Holy shit. “Are you sure? How do you know?”
“Evelyn recognized him as the guy who came in and left that night. I just wanted to let you know. We have it under control.”
Chuy was the best and Alma didn’t doubt his capabilities for a second. But this was her shot. “I know you do, but I’m on my way.”
She turned off her television, kissed Tequila before placing her on the ground, quickly freshened up, and darted out the door.
Why had he returned? Usually, critics gave one chance and one chance alone. She had already blown that by yelling at Jaime.
Jaime.
She stopped cold a few feet from the bar.
Had he actually come through for her and got the critic to come see her?
He was a man of his word, so she didn’t doubt that it was possible for Jaime to arrange it.
She exhaled and stepped into her bar.
Chuy greeted her and then pointed to the back of the restaurant.
And there, dressed in a black shirt and gray slacks, was the critic.
She gulped. Was it too obvious if she just walked over to him and gave him her best tequila?
Yes, yes it was.
“Chuy, did you take his order?”
Chuy nodded. “Yes, of course I did. And I prepared him his first drink. He sipped it and said it was wonderful.”
Alma bit her lip. “Good. I’m sure you did it perfectly.” Should she make the critic a flight? “Did he order anything else?”
Chuy scrunched up his face. “No, he didn’t.”
No. She needed to chill and let him call the shots.
Why was it so hard to give up control?
She slid behind the bar so she could pretend she was busy and not intently staring at the critic.
After a few moments, the critic’s hand went up.
Be cool, Alma muttered to herself.
She sauntered over to his table. “Hi, sir. I’m Alma Garcia, the owner of Mezcalifornia. Is there anything else I could get for you?”
He grunted. “I’ll have a tequila flight. And some elote.”
“Good choice sir. The street corn is delectable. Coming right up.”
She slowly walked over to the bar and exhaled. Showtime.
Alma put together the best tequila flight that she had ever made. She chose top-of-the-line tequilas that she herself rarely drank unless it was a special occasion.
The kitchen prepared the elote and Chuy brought it to her. She carried the drinks and food to the critic, and Alma explained each tequila to him, then returned to the bar.
The man sipped the tequila, but Alma wasn’t close enough to see if he was smiling or not.
Did he like her place?
The suspense was killing her.
She walked over to the table again, scanning the critic’s face for some type of signal as to what he was feeling.
But it was blank.
Breathe.
“Can I get you anything else?”
He shook his head. Alma’s heart dropped. “No. Just the check.”
“I’ll be right back.” She turned and walked to the register.
Hated it. He must’ve hated everything.
She calculated his bill and returned to the table. “Here you go, sir.”
He opened the check, gave it a quick glance, and handed her his card. But his fingers grazed hers. “You’re doing a great job here, kid.” He winked.
Alma gulped. “Thank you, sir!” She tried to contain her excitement and not go overboard, but she had no chill.
She processed his payment in her handheld machine and it printed a receipt. She ripped it out and gave it to him. “Would you like to try one last special mezcal? On the house.”
“Sure.”
She grinned and dashed back to the bar, quickly but thoughtfully prepared her signature smoky blood orange mezcal, and then ran it over to the critic.
She bounced around the room. She would be getting a good review. She knew it! This critic had been notoriously stoic.
She couldn’t wait to thank Jaime.
She grabbed her phone and texted him.
Alma: What room are you in?
Jaime: 302
“Chuy, thank you! I’m going to split, but you’re amazing.”
“Anytime, boss.”
Alma walked out of her bar and crossed the street twice. She strode straight toward the Tiburon Lodge. The elevator opened to the third floor, and she knocked on the door.
Jaime opened the door.
Alma’s jaw dropped. He was shirtless, his arm perched in the doorframe.
“Did you get the critic to come?”
He smirked. “Maybe.”
Alma licked her bottom lip, pushed her way into the room, and shut the door.
She dropped to her knees in front of Jaime.
“Thank you.”