Chapter 09 - Mary
Mary
I run the palms of my hands over my dress yet again to gather the courage to go inside. The fabric feels slick and cool under my fingers and it instantly slinks back into place. My throat bobs and my pulse kicks up when I step through the door.
I am instantly surrounded by color—orange, purple, the deep green of plants hanging from the ceiling, and the soft tints from the bamboo interior.
Rhythmic drums, light trumpets, and a gentle, sultry voice from a live band playing in the back fill the silence.
People are talking loudly, throwing their heads back laughing, and even dancing among the dining tables.
It’s enough to nearly make my eyes pop out of my head, and I can’t stop a grin from creeping onto my face.
When Cat took the bait and actually asked me out to dinner, I had expected something classy.
Something with white linen tablecloths and soft classical music playing in the background.
But Old Havana couldn’t be further from that if it tried.
This place is dripping with soul and passion, like the restaurant itself has a heartbeat.
“?Buenas noches! ?Tienen una reserva?” a young, joyful-looking waiter asks.
I gulp and scan the room. Cat’s not here yet. Shit. Uhm, no. I can do this.
“Uhm, yes. Sí. Uhm, para dos personas. Con el nombre…de Catherine Durand?”
The waiter grins, and my cheeks burn. The color only intensifies when I hear a soft huff behind me.
“That was… an admirable attempt.”
I bite my lip as I turn to look over my shoulder.
Cat has a smug grin on her face, and her gaze rests on mine, amused.
Her dark hair, which I’ve only seen up in a tight chignon until now, cascades over her shoulders in waves.
She wears a thin-strapped black dress that shows off her collarbones and dips lower than I would have ever dared to expect on her.
Her brown eyes widen slightly as her gaze glides over my body, and suddenly I am very aware of every unwanted little curve, blob, and fold.
But that’s not what I see reflected in her eyes. Not in the slightest.
“Cat, hi…” I breathe like a thirteen-year-old, but her grin turns into a genuine smile regardless.
“Mary.” She nods and then steps forward.
She places her hand against the small of my back as she confirms her reservation in rapid Spanish. I blink but follow her as she guides me to our table. Her hand is an anchor in this cacophony of energy. She only removes it to pull back the chair for me, and I feel my face flush again.
“You don’t ha—”
“I do.” She cuts me off before I can even finish the thought.
There is no room for debate, so I just smile softly at her and sit down. The small nod she gives me somehow calms me instead of riling me up, and I feel myself settling into the place. I try to pick up the menu, but Cat has already flagged down the waiter.
“Start us off with the ceviche, followed by ropa vieja. We’ll close with one Abuela’s Pudding to share. Two glasses of Sauvignon Blanc and table water too, thank you.”
There is no hesitation as she places the order. Cat barely even blinks as the waiter nods and disappears, but then her gaze falls on mine. Her jaw ticks once, and she curls her fingers inward before she slightly dips her head.
“I hope that was okay? If you prefer something el—”
“No, that was fine,” I hurry to say and then smile at her. “I actually enjoyed seeing you do that.”
“Order food?”
I shake my head. That wasn’t it. It was the decisiveness, the way she knew what she wanted and went for it. It made me feel safe and taken care of.
“Just your certainty,” I offer, my throat a bit tight.
Her eyes study me for a beat before she nods and smiles again.
“Good.”
And that’s that.
“So tell me,” I say, grinning as I eye her over the rim of my third glass of wine, “what makes this the best roppa viega in the city?”
Cat’s lips curl up, and she leans forward.
Her hand hovers in the air, and for the briefest of moments, I think she is going to place it over mine.
Instead, she rests her fingers next to my hand.
Close enough to feel the warmth of her skin, but far enough not to be touching.
Her eyes hold mine though, unaware of the heat spreading through my belly.
“Ropa vieja,” she corrects me gently, and I find myself repeating her.
“Buena.”
She smiles, and her whole face softens. Gosh, she is gorgeous.
“It isn’t the best. That would be my mother’s. No one can match her cooking. She does it with so much passion, almost as much as she has for dancing.”
“Dancing?”
“Sí, she is a dance instructor. Salsa, bachata, merengue. I doubt there is anybody with more rhythm than her.”
She leans back again, taking a sip of her wine and letting her gaze roam over me.
I swallow and feel my cheeks burn, but something in her eyes tells me to wait instead of speaking.
She is processing something, and if I talk now, that will be interrupted forever.
So, I hold my tongue and let her study me.
“Ropa vieja is… comfort food. Mi mamá makes it on special occasions. She spends hours in the kitchen, and it makes the whole house smell like tomate y comino.”
Her accent thickens slightly, and her sharp eyes soften.
Almost as if she sinks into another persona.
The strict, cold trauma surgeon has now completely vanished into the background, making room for this warm woman filled with love for her family.
My belly flips as I watch her, and she isn’t even aware of the effect she has on me.
“What does it mean? Ropa vieja?” I ask, my eyes tracing the movement of her lips.
“Old clothes,” she chuckles, and I feel my eyebrows go up.
“That’s oddly… poetic.”
She snorts.
“It’s just a name for a simple dish.”
But the sparkle in her eye tells me it is much more. And so does the fluttering in my chest.
***
It is already past midnight by the time I get home, and my whole body is still buzzing.
Maybe it is the wine—I don’t drink often, so I am considered a lightweight—but every nerve is singing to me in the best possible way.
This dinner might just be the best I’ve had in a shamefully long time, and nothing even happened.
The spark was definitely there. I could sense it in how she hovered instead of touching me, see it when her gaze dipped to my lips and back, and feel it by the end of the night when she leaned in slightly as if she was going to kiss me.
A part of me wishes she had, but another part is grateful that she didn’t.
For the first time in my adult life, I want to move slowly.
Not because I am not longing for her—gosh, it’s kind of shameful how quickly she got under my skin—but because I want this to be meaningful. No. Because it is meaningful.
That is what makes this connection so different from anything I’ve ever felt before. The way the air crackles between us, how I feel a tug toward her when I lay eyes on her, how I can’t get her out of my head. Even now, the thought of her is enough to make my heart stutter. Fuck, you got it bad.
Before I can stop myself, I grab my phone and type out a message. Sure, I might want to take things slow, but that doesn’t mean I have to move at a snail’s pace either, right?
00:39 a.m. – Mary Mary
Tonight was amazing. Thank you for a wonderful time. I hope we can do this again soon?
I bite my lip and press send. Maybe I should worry about looking desperate or coming on too strong, but for some reason, I don’t think Catherine is wired to think that way. The fact that the three dots pop up almost instantly confirms that thought and makes me hold my breath.
00:40 a.m. – Katherina
I had a wonderful time. Thank you.
I smile at the message and wait for the bubbles to return.
When they don’t, I frown slightly. Tonight, I saw glimpses of the warm personality that she hides so well behind her titles and that big wall of ice, but this message makes it feel like we are back at the start.
And that push and pull is really starting to get old.
A frustrated sigh escapes me, and I put my phone away.
Now that the buzz has worn off, exhaustion is seeping into my bones.
I kick off my shoes, strip off the dress, and brush my teeth, all while the clipped answer plays on repeat in the back of my mind.
Did I read too much into this, after all? Was she just being friendly?
When I slip between the covers, my screen lights up, and I instantly reach for it. My breath catches when I see Cat’s name on the screen, and my fingers twitch slightly as I unlock it. The message pops up instantly.
00:48 a.m. – Katherina
Tú eres una pequena bruja. I can’t stop thinking about you.
I frown and open a new tab in my browser. When I translate the sentence, everything in me stills. A little witch… I’m on her mind.
I didn’t imagine it. I didn’t read too much into it. She is thinking about me. I stare at my phone until the screen goes dark, and then I scramble to unlock it again. My fingers go cold from the sudden rush of adrenaline.
00:50 a.m. – Mary Mary
Funny, I could say the same thing about you…
00:51 a.m. – Katherina
I’m not usually like this.
00:51 a.m. – Mary Mary
Like what?
00:51 a.m. – Katherina
I don’t pursue former patients.
00:52 a.m. – Mary Mary
I know. But I also know you feel this pull.
The dots appear, disappear, and then appear again. My stomach flips every time, and I can’t help but bite my hand as I wait. Did I go too far? Too soon?
00:54 a.m. – Katherina
Sí.
00:54 a.m. – Katherina
Goodnight, Maria.
A soft squeak escapes me as my teeth sink even deeper into my hand.
It is the second time she has called me Maria.
I don’t even know if she does it on purpose or doesn’t even notice that she does it, but a bolt of lightning courses through my body, straight down to my core.
Dear lord… she is trouble. I release my hand and bite my lip instead as I type out the response.
And I know exactly what to say to make her feel the same way.
00:55 a.m. – Mary Mary
Goodnight, Doctora.
I put my phone away and slide further under my covers, my hand gliding over my stomach and between my legs.
I feel the heat before I even touch myself, and the wetness instantly coats my fingers when I do.
My lips part as I find my rhythm, and I let my thoughts drift to what the doctor might be doing right now.
Gosh, if Cat only knew the way my body responds to her.
***
It is still way too early, but even the gray morning sky can’t erase the smile plastered on my face.
I tug my jacket a little closer around me, grab the two coffees from the counter, and walk the last remaining block to the hospital.
Last night, Cat mentioned how the break room coffee usually tastes like ash and carpet, so this morning, I just knew I had to save her from that horror.
The doors slide open, and I step into a now-almost-familiar ER, the smell of antiseptic wafting toward me. For once, it is quiet, and I am not sure if that’s a good sign or ominous.
I decide not to overthink it and walk toward one of the chairs. I am about to put the coffees down when I hear a chipper voice behind me.
“Ah, la rubia! Mary, is it?”
I turn around to see a gorgeous woman with dark curls and a warm smile coming toward me.
“I’m Carmen,” she offers as she glances over her shoulder. “You here for Cat?”
I can only nod and stare at her. She grins back, wide.
“Bueno. Follow me, guapa.”