Chapter 1 #2
She giggled, holding her hands gingerly before her, looking around.
“I don’t know you well enough to be naming animals we find together.
I think that’s Step Four in dating.” Her hand went to her mouth to cover it, as if shutting herself up, but then she grimaced in disgust as she realized what she had done, touching her lips.
Big, loud laughter rumbled out of his chest, of a kind he hadn’t heard from himself in years.
It scared the cat, who struggled in his arms.
“We’re terrifying the poor thing,” she said.
“You brought up dating,” he replied with a wink. “Not me.”
Maybe tonight wasn’t off limits for the right woman.
“Excuse me? I did not… oh!” She laughed, the sound contented and self-assured. “You’re right. I did say the D word. Sorry. My bad.”
Before Dennis could respond, the metal door was pushed wide open, slamming hard against the brick wall, and a kid no older than ten stood on the threshold, breathless and upset.
“My kitty! Has anyone seen my kitty?”
Dennis’s ears began to ring.
Damn it.
The kitten jumped out of his arms and ran straight for the kid, whose face lit up like exploding ordnance.
“PILLOW!” he screamed, voice cracking, the kitten snuggling up against the boy’s shoulder as Dennis’s heart rate skyrocketed. Grateful young eyes met his.
“Thank you, mister! You found him!”
“Him,” Ana said with a laugh, then gave Dennis a concerned look.
Every molecule in his body was ringing. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from that kid.
“Are you okay? What’s going on?” Ana asked, her hand going to his forearm, which was covered by the long sleeve of his Henley shirt. Striking red fingernails made the hunter green knit seem festive.
Christmas-like, even.
It was the first week of January, and they were in an alley in Boston, but Dennis didn’t feel the cold. Transported to the opposite extreme, he was in sand and heat, a place where the hot wind stole a piece of your soul every time it decided to blow.
“Kieran!” A mother’s shrill voice pierced the air. “Did you lose that kitty again?”
“I didn’t lose him! He ran away.”
A very harried woman in a white kitchen uniform, splattered with an assortment of red and orange-colored foods, came to a sudden stop when she saw Dennis and Ana.
“Oh! My goodness. I am so sorry. Are you guests here at the hotel? Did my son rope you into helping him?”
The fear in her voice cut through Dennis’s triggered state, the world narrowing slightly.
“No,” Ana said calmly, pressing her hand harder against Dennis’s skin, as if she knew it grounded him. “Your son didn’t ask. I heard the kitten mewing when I was trying to find a bathroom, and then I found it in the dumpster.”
“Poor Pillow! In the dumpster? That’s where I found him!”
Kieran’s mom, who wore a name tag that said Lainey on it, pressed her lips together and took what appeared to be a patience-gathering breath. Whether it worked or not wasn’t easy to discern, but Dennis joined her.
The ringing in his ears did not lessen.
“Maybe he was just trying to find something to eat,” Ana said, her charm turning up as she talked to the boy. Then she frowned, apparently thinking of something new. “You said you found him in the dumpster?”
“Uh huh.” Kieran eyed the pile of trash bags, shivering in the cold Boston night. “A few hours ago. It was empty then. If we didn’t find him when Mom’s shift started, he could have gotten buried in there alive! Or frozen!”
Buried.
Alive.
Kid.
Dennis’s skin suddenly felt covered in bugs, his eyes unable to focus, ears doing their best to double as fire alarms. Ana nudged him, looking up, studying him.
“You need a drink,” she said, turning him back into the hotel.
He was in no condition to argue.
“And I need to wash my hands,” she added. “Ewww.”
“Here,” the mother said, opening the door to the kitchen. Dennis watched as Ana went straight to a small hand washing station right next to the door, her messy hands and forearms clean within a minute as she scrubbed with determination, all smiles when Lainey spoke to her.
“Sir?” the little boy said, looking up at Dennis with a worshipful gaze. “Thank you.”
“Welcome.”
“Me and Pillow are best friends. Mom’s letting me keep him.”
“Nice.”
“I would do anything for Pillow. Anything.”
Ana and Lainey reappeared, both of them struggling to center themselves but for different reasons.
Ana plucked his jacket from his hands and shook it lightly, sniffing it.
“You’re in luck,” she said brightly. “Pillow didn’t desecrate it.”
She wrapped it around her own shoulders, shivering.
“Hmmm,” was all he could manage, but it was more than a moment ago, and that helped.
“Bye! Thanks!” Kieran called as Ana guided Dennis over to the door leading to the service hall and then to the main thoroughfare. A right turn there would take them to the bar.
“Ma’am? Sir?”
The pleading tone made his throat tighten. They both turned around to find Lainey standing in front of the now-closed exit door, her face an uncomfortable mash-up of emotion, hand on Kieran’s head.
Possessive.
Motherly.
“Um, please don’t tell management? He’s a good boy.
Comes straight here from school now–we don’t have the money for him to go to the after-school program since the budget cuts for the Boys and Girls Club, and sometimes I have to work nights like this.
We don’t normally find strays, and this one is distracting him. ”
Dennis cleared his throat and stopped her.
“Won’t say a word.”
Her shoulders dropped with relief.
“Thank you! What room are you in? If you order room service, I’ll add something to it.”
Dennis waved her off, his tongue thick, his eyes dry.
“Take care of Pillow.”
“Thank you!” Kieran said as someone hollered in the kitchen, Lainey skittering back in through the swinging door.
Every lightbulb sang to him.
Each line in the rug’s pattern became three dimensional.
And Ana’s hand on his forearm was the only thing keeping him in this world.
“You can tell me,” she said softly, standing on tiptoes, her body warm as she moved closer.
“Tell?”
“You’re quiet. Too quiet. And frozen.”
“It was cold out there. Of course I’m frozen.”
Gently, she offered him his jacket back. He took it, folding it over his arm where her hand had just been. Ribs unlocking, they let him take in a deep breath, the image of Kieran superimposed over a very different boy clearing from his headspace.
One step. Then a second. Soon, he walked with purpose toward the hotel lobby, Ana at his side.
She turned with him. They both stopped and looked at each other.
“Have a drink with me?” he asked, the words coming out of him as if some unseen hand reached in and typed them out for his tongue to speak.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Of course I don’t have to.”
“Dennis, I need to ask you something.”
“Sure.”
“Are you… a bodyguard? Security of some kind?”
“Why?”
“You seem out of place.”
“I’m always out of place.”
“Add the word babe to that line and you’re a smooth operator.”
The clink of silverware on plates, the murmur of private conversation, and happy laughter were the background for his own surprised chuckle.
“Are you feeding me pick-up lines?”
“The last thing I want tonight is to be picked up, Dennis.” Ana was smiling, but with a twisted look that said she had a story to tell, too. “But I’ll take you up on that drink. You buy the first round, I’ll buy the second.”
“That’s quite a commitment for a woman I found in a dumpster.”
“I wasn’t really in the dumpster. More like on the dumpster.”
“You have a tender heart.”
“Says the man who cuddled a feral kitten in his jacket.”
“Never said I wasn’t a pushover for strays.”
From the way she jolted, he knew he’d touched a nerve.
Chest rising and falling faster with each breath, she worked hard to stay even-keeled. Dennis recognized her response.
This woman was trained to stay focused and calm.
“Is that why you’re asking me for a drink? Because I’m a stray?” she finally asked, voice tight.
“How the hell did you get from the kitten in the garbage to that conclusion? Who hurt you so badly that you got that out of my comment, Ana?”
The look on her face made it clear he wasn’t just touching a nerve.
He was tap dancing on it while pouring roofing tacks on top.
“Nice meeting you, Dennis,” she said, chin up, hand out to shake.
Dismissed.
He was being dismissed.
Fingers pressing into hers, he was taken with how soft her skin was. His eyes combed over her. Plenty of women were available back on base, and his work had put him in more than enough situations that involved opportunities, but something about Ana made his body respond.
“Can we reboot?” he asked, holding her hand for longer than was socially acceptable for a kiss-off handshake.
“Reboot?”
“Start over. Start fresh. I meant it when I offered you that drink. I could use some company.”
“Plenty of company in a hotel bar,” she said with a snicker, her meaning obvious.
She wasn’t going to sleep with anyone tonight.
Good.
Dennis wasn’t looking for a quickie. Easy lays were just that–easy romps that meant nothing the next morning and more often than not, left him with an emotional hangover.
Not that he’d had a long string of them, but he’d had his share.
Ana interested him. Something deeper and more intuitive rested in those warm brown eyes.
“Not the kind I’m interested in,” he finally said as he released her warm hand, his thumb remembering the pulse of her wrist.
“And what kind is that?”
“The kind who goes out of her way to rescue a little kitty who needs some help.”
“You’re looking for a little kitty, are you?” Sly and bold, the innuendo made his blood rush.
“You are unpredictable.”
“Hah!” The laugh was unexpected, brash and unfiltered. “Nope. I’m the opposite. Criticized mercilessly for it, too.”
“You’ve been told you’re too predictable?”
“Yes. And that’s boooring.”
“Who’s been saying that?”
“Someone I don’t want to talk about.”
His inner radar pinged again.
Rebound.
Ana was on the rebound.
“We don’t have to talk about your ex in order to share a drink.” He eyed her, purposely obvious about it, until she began to smile.
“What?”
“You’re a mule.”
“Excuse me?”
“Moscow mule.”
“You’re trying to guess my drink?”
“I’m very good at it.”
“Not this time. Dead wrong.”
“Then what?”
“Caipirinha.” The way the syllables flowed off her tongue was beautiful, mesmerizing and sweet.
“You’re Brazilian?”
“Second generation.”
"N?o falo Portugues muito bem,” he replied.
A mishmash of confused reactions covered her face, Dennis’s explanation–in Portuguese–that “I don’t speak Portuguese very well” bemusing her.
The squeaky wheel of a room service cart caught his ear, and he and Ana both took a step to the right as a uniformed service worker walked by, well within earshot.
“How can you say you don’t speak Portuguese very well in such a perfect accent?”
“It’s basically the only phrase I know, other than ‘Me ajude, meu amigo levou um tiro’ and ‘N?o, obrigada, n?o preciso de uma boa hoje à noite.’”
“That’s ‘Help, my friend has been shot’ and ‘No, thanks, I don’t need a good… screw… tonight.’”
“Except it’s not the word screw.”
She began to sputter.
“You live a colorful life.”
So she spoke Portuguese, or at least understood it. His intrigue meter clicked up another notch.
“Make it even more interesting and have that caipirinha with me?” Head spinning, he was wooing her, compelled by a warm, intense feeling that he couldn’t shake.
Didn’t want to shake.
In the bar, live piano music began, a jazz melody that added to the glow inside him. If being around her made him feel like this–even without a beer–what would an hour or two of her undivided attention do?
“I don’t have drinks with strange men in bars,” she said, but one corner of her mouth curled up, making it clear he was an exception.
Better act like one, then.
“Why don’t we up the ante and make it dinner, then?”
“I get the sense you up a lot of antes, Dennis. So what do you do for a living?”
“Before I answer that question, you need to answer mine. I didn’t hear a firm yes in there.”
“You like things firm, too?”
And that was when he knew.
Knew that tonight, there were no limits.