Chapter 9
sella
“Ithink I’m going to skip dinner tonight, I’m still not feeling very well.”
“Alright, mija. Tell Jonas he’s welcome to come with us.”
I glance over at Jonas swinging gently in the hammock, one tattooed leg draped over the side, nudging the ground just enough to keep him going. He’s wearing an oversized Pearl Jam T-shirt, a pair of olive green shorts, his hair is a little messy, and his face is relaxed with a sun-kissed glow.
Jonas is objectively good-looking in his suit and tailored linen shirts, he’s been wearing around my family, but this Jonas is…otherworldly. Tailored suit Jonas… He would make me do a double-take. Pearl Jam shirt Jonas? He’s making my underwear wet.
He winks at me, and it’s not the first, fifth, or last time I’ll be caught staring. This time, rather than look away, I stare back, unwavering.
“Hello?”
“Yeah, I think we’re going to call it an early night.”
“Probably for the best. Get some rest and feel better. We’re having an easy day out at the pool tomorrow.”
“Sounds good. Night, Mom.”
“Good night, mija.”
Still locked in a game of who-will-break-eye-contact-first, I hang up the phone, set it on the table in front of me, and stand.
“Do you want me to order you some food?” Jonas asks, reaching a hand out to me. “Or I can go out and get something if nothing at the hotel sounds good?”
I close the small patch of space between us. “Let’s go out.”
His lips pull up, but it doesn’t mask the confusion in his eyes. “I thought you still weren’t feeling well?”
“I feel much better. I just want to give you a break from them.” I wave one hand in front of my face, and realize my other hand is busy twisting my fingers between his.
When I look back at him, nothing more than an easy smile covers his face. For a moment, I wish I had the same effect on him that he seems to have on me, but I quickly erase the thought.
“There’s a hole in the wall taco shop just a block away. I saw it on my run this morning.”
“Well, twist my arm. Let’s go.” I drop our hands and dart inside, determined to forget whatever flicker of heat has begun blooming in me whenever our bodies make contact.
“Oh. Oh, you meant like a literal hole in the wall.” I look around at the unsuspecting cement building, to a woman now smiling at us through the hole in the bright orange wall.
“Hola. Cómo estás?” Jonas smiles at the woman, and I’m taken aback by not only his fluent Spanish but his near-perfect accent.
“Bien, graci. Que puedo obtener para usted?”
“Tendre dos tacos de carne asda, por favor y—” He looks back at me.
“Pollo,” I murmur.
“Y dos pollo tacos, por favor,” he tells her, holding up his index and middle fingers.
“You speak Spanish?” I ask after he pays and we step away from the window, waiting for our food.
“Un poco.” He gives me that unbelievably charming smile of his and slides his money back into his wallet.
Between his perfect, white teeth, the scruff of his beard, his gorgeous, honey tan, and his polished jade, green eyes, I almost lose my train of thought.
“Do your parents speak Spanish?”
“Maybe.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Nah, probably not. They probably learned something useless like Latin.”
The woman at the counter calls our number before I can ask more. Jonas takes the bag of food with a smile and drops a more than generous tip into the jar.
“Shall we?” He holds out the bag and leads the way across the sidewalk to the beach. I follow, staring at his retreating back until he stops to unroll a large blanket I hadn’t noticed he had tucked under his arm.
“So, where did you learn to speak Spanish?” I ask, kicking off my chanklas and sitting down beside him.
“You’re pretty impressed by that, huh?” His lips quirk as he unpacks the food.
“Just trying to learn all about my boyfriend.” I bat my eyelashes, smiling sweetly, but don’t tell him that, while yes, I’m impressed, I’m also a little envious.
“My parents were workaholics—still are. I had a nanny growing up, and I saw her more than my own family,” he says, handing me my container. “Anyway, she only spoke to me in Spanish, so I had to learn.”
“Do you still talk with her? Or you just remember from so long ago?”
He continues to squeezing limes over his tacos, completely unfazed by my curiosity. “We keep in touch. Call each other for holidays and birthdays and such, but you remember I told you about Miles and his wife Camila?” he asks before taking a bite of his food.
I bob my head, realizing I haven’t touched mine yet, and wait for him to swallow.
“She keeps me on my toes. It started out as a bit. You know, I thought we could talk shit about Miles in front of him, but he’s been learning more and more over the years.” His laugh is soft, and he shrugs casually before taking down the second half of his taco in one bite.
“What about you?”
I pause. It’s possible he’s just making conversation and returning the question, but I don’t doubt for a second that he’s picked up on the fact that I don’t sound like my mom.
“My mom grew up speaking Spanish but didn’t teach us. I guess she wasn’t around her family as much, and my Irish father didn’t know a lick—although to his credit, he did take quite a few Spanish classes, to woo her.”
Jonas smiles, like he can appreciate the romantic gesture.
“Anyway, there are about ten words that she never learned the English words for, so she used the Spanish words for them. And that’s the extent of my knowledge.”
“But you understood me?”
I smile at the memory of how I learned bits and pieces.
“When we were little, my mom used to call my aunts all day long, and when she thought we were playing outside or watching movies, my sisters and I used to eavesdrop on the other phone. I picked up on some things over time, but just never learned to speak it myself. Plus, I don’t sound like them, and I don’t know.
” I shrug. “It’s embarrassing.” I quickly take a bite of my food, filling my mouth before I can say anything more.
Jonas chews thoughtfully, and when he’s done, I can tell he’s going to ask more, but I cut him off instead. “So, John Jacob Jonas.” I huff a laugh as he quirks his head, his brows pinch together in the middle. “What? I thought I’d give it a shot.”
“Shot and a miss, darling. Shot and a miss.” He smiles that heart-stopping fucking grin of his, and I have to look away, because somehow even the horizon painted in streaks of purple and pink doesn’t have the same effect on me that his smile does.
“So what’s the deal with the destination Christmas? Is this a family tradition?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s relatively new, actually.
I was the last to leave home three years ago, and ever since then, my parents have decided to do family trips instead of Christmas at their house.
The first year we went to Maui, last year was Costa Rica, and this year.
” I look down and draw a heart in the sand with my finger.
“But you wish you were somewhere else?”
I look up and find his full attention on me.
“What?”
“I mean, I know I read people for a living, but I don’t think you need to be Nancy Drew to figure out you’re uncomfortable here.”
“Maybe it’s because I’m pretending to date a complete stranger.”
“Maybe. But the only time you don’t seem uncomfortable is when you’re with me.”
His words catch me off guard, knocking me still for a beat.
“And besides, I’m not a complete stranger.”
“I still don’t even know your first name,” I deadpan.
“Two truths and a lie?”
I smile, dust off my hands, and sit up straighter. “You’re up, counselor.”
Jonas leans back on one elbow with an overly confident smirk. “Alright, one,” he holds out his thumb. “I once went to court and argued a four-hour case in front of the judge with my fly down. Two, I hate squirrels. And three, my first name is Preston.”
The confident smirk is starting to make a lot more sense.
There wasn’t a lick of hesitation for any of those.
Not a stutter, or even a difference in eye movement.
He read those off no differently than he would read an ice cream menu.
I narrow my eyes at him, hoping for any change in his demeanor, but his lips remain in their same signature curve.
Preston. Preston Jonas. I say the name in my head a few times, and it feels fitting. Would he finally tell me his real name through a game of two truths and a lie, though? It sounds more realistic than this meticulously dressed man forgetting to zip his fly, though.
“I don’t think you would forget to zip your pants.”
“Final answer?”
I tap my fingers against my knee, assessing him, but he still gives nothing up. “Final answer.”
“Damn. So close.” He snaps his fingers.
“What?! Was it the squirrels?”
“Nope.” He shakes his head with a laugh. “Your turn.”
I should just resign myself to the fact that I’m never going to learn this man’s real name. With a sigh, I cross my legs under myself and turn to face him. “Alright, but put your bullshit lawyer tricks away. You’ve got an unfair advantage.”
“I wouldn’t need any lawyer tricks to figure you out, Stella. I can read you like a book.”
“You’ve known me for three days,” I remind him.
“Two and a half, and you have tells. Let’s go.”
I ignore the heat that makes me feel, school my features, and look him dead in the eyes.
“Okay. I’ve never been to Ikea. I almost joined a cult by accident. And…I’ve won a sushi-eating contest before.”
The words aren’t even fully out of my mouth before he says, “You’ve never won a sushi-eating contest.”
I blink. “What the hell?! How did you guess that?”
“It’s not in my best interest to give away your tells.”
“But they're mine!” I argue.
Jonas sits up, leaning in closer to me. His scent wraps around me, and I have to take measured breaths to focus on him.
“Your left eyebrow raises slightly, like you’re holding more tension in your face or something. And your breathing pattern changes.”
“My—”
“I noticed it at dinner last night, and earlier, when you were on the phone with your mom. Also, usually when I do this...” His fingers trail along my necklaces, separating the two, and the warmth of his skin sends goosebumps across mine.
I try not to read into how much he’s noticed about me, but rather remind myself that’s just who he is.
He makes a living by paying attention to people.
But when it’s me he’s paying attention to, it feels like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
My sisters have had their focus on me my whole life, but that’s always been in an overbearing-we-know-better-than-you type of way.
When Jonas does it, it’s almost intimate.
I shake my head, sharp enough to clear the thoughts, and hope my smile doesn’t come across as flustered as I feel.
“Careful, Jonas. Overconfidence is how you end up with a glitter bomb in your car.”
He laughs gently. “Alright, well, now that you know a little more about me, you want to tell me why you’re not into the family trips?”
“I would hardly consider your fear of squirrels—”
“I didn’t say I was afraid of them. I said I hated them,” he interrupts.
“Okay, your weird hatred of squirrels…doesn’t count as knowing you better.” I look at him, hoping he’ll change the subject, but he doesn’t say anything. “It sounds so dumb when I say it out loud.”
“Aww, come on, Stell.”
God, something happens to me every time he calls me that. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve never had a nickname before, or if it’s just the way his tongue wraps around my name, but it does something indescribable to me.
His eyes stay locked on mine, and I get lost in their green depth. There’s something in the way he looks at me that makes me feel like he actually sees me, and it might just be wishful thinking, but the way he looks at me feels like it’s more than just pretend.
“Okay. It’s really not that serious, but I grew up watching all the classic Christmas movies, and continued watching them not just for the nostalgia, but for the feeling I got when I watched them.
There’s always a warm brick house, with beautiful wallpaper, a fire crackling in the hearth, everyone is in cozy or oversized sweaters, they hold their hot chocolate with two hands wrapped around their mugs to keep warm, and it’s always snowing.
In every single one, there’s snow acting as the backdrop to this magical night. ”
“So you didn’t want to come to the Dominican Republic for Christmas because you wanted to be on the set of The Family Stone?”
A laugh burst out of me. “No, I just want snow! I spent my whole life in Florida, then I moved to San Francisco, and every Christmas since, I’ve been on a beach.
I know I sound ridiculous and ungrateful, but I spent years decorating our house to look the way they did in those movies, and at the end of the day, I would get hot chocolate, and get on the couch—no fire because we never had a fireplace in Florida, and half way through the movie I would be out of the blanket, socks peeled off, and my sweater tossed to the side. ”
“So, snow. That’s what you want.”
“That’s what I want.”
His lips purse as he nods, and we both look back over the water.
We sit in a comfortable silence, letting all the things I so easily shared with him settle between us, and for the length of three waves brushing against the shore, I let myself wonder what it would be like to really be dating someone like Jonas.