Читать книгу One Perfect Man - Lynda Sandoval - Страница 13

Rule number one for leaving a good impression with a man: Don’t assume he’s gay within the first ten minutes of your introduction, and if for some ridiculous reason you do, for God’s sake, don’t voice your thoughts.

Sheesh, what a colossal mess she’d created for herself. There wasn’t anything on earth wrong with being gay in her opinion, but experience taught her that straight guys didn’t appreciate being mistaken for gay guys. That’s all. And she’d done it, unabashedly, to probably the hottest man she’d encountered in months. Ugh.

It had been nearly a week, and still Erica couldn’t get past the embarrassing exchange with Tomás. She’d replayed it over and over in her mind all week, cringing inside each time she heard him say, “I’m…not gay. Not even a little bit.”

And now she had to face him again.

A fresh fist of humiliation punched Erica’s middle as she guided her Honda Accord over the rolling hills and twisting curves of the Northern New Mexico back roads en route to Tomás’s house. Soft flamenco-guitar instrumentals drifted out of her stereo speakers, and the scents of sage and May sunshine wafted in through her open window. The scenery in this area was beautiful, but try as she might, she couldn’t concentrate on it. Instead, two distracting questions ran incessantly through her mind: One, how could she have been such a flipping idiot? And two—though she’d never admit having pondered this question—if Tomás was, as he claimed, a healthy, red-blooded heterosexual male, why had he assured her she’d never have to worry about him hitting on her?

Did he find her so unattractive?

Was she the polar opposite of “his type”?

Make no mistake, she knew it was fickle of her to even wonder. She herself claimed to have no interest in a relationship and to never date colleagues or clients. And she didn’t. She really didn’t. But that wasn’t the point. She was human, and female, and when a drop-dead gorgeous, come-to-papa man flat out stated that he had No Interest in Her Whatsoever, well sorry, but give a woman and her stillbruisable ego a chance to wonder why.

The simplest and most palatable answer would be that Tomás was already involved with someone, but Erica just hadn’t gotten that sense from their first encounter. After all, he’d hired her to plan Hope’s party. Had there been an available girlfriend, logic said the woman likely would’ve planned the quinceañera herself. So, no girlfriend, and yet zip, zero, nada attraction. Yeah, she was fickle to the core, but still. She couldn’t deny feeling judged and found lacking.

“Stop being ridiculous!” Erica told herself, smacking the side of her fist on the steering wheel. It didn’t matter what Tomás Garza did or didn’t think about her, and it wasn’t worth the mental energy she’d been wasting on it for an entire week.

Interested, not interested, or full-on disgusted, facts were facts: the sum total of her association with Tomás was (1) his contribution to the Cultural Arts Festival, and (2) the quinceañera she would plan for his daughter, Hope—to the tune of five grand in her business fund. And the sole purpose of this dinner meeting tonight was to meet Hope and discuss preliminary plans. Period. She needn’t obsess about anything else. So she’d taken extra pains with her outfit this evening, with her hair and makeup. Big whoop. She’d merely hoped to try for a second chance at an obviously poor first impression, despite the old adage that claimed no such chance existed.

Sometimes a woman just had to try.

Erica forced her mind on to the business at hand and gave one last glance at the directions Tomás had e-mailed her, hoping she was close. She’d driven so far into the boonies that his directions were now reduced to such landmarks as, “pass the blue-fenced property with a brown-and-white horse and a goat in the pasture, then turn left at the next dirt farm road adjacent to the large piñon tree.” Thank goodness for cell phones or she might never make it, not that it would be such a bad thing….

Yes. Yes, it would be a bad thing. She was a business professional with a reputation to uphold, and this was a business meeting. She straightened her shoulders, tossed her hair. After a weekend of researching quinceañera traditions, she’d actually come up with some fun ideas, and she looked forward to running them by Tomás and his daughter and grandmother. She prayed Hope was an easy child to get along with and could only wish her first encounter with Hope and the grandmother would be better than—

Erica pressed her lips together in a resolute line.

Forget that. She was done thinking about it, done feeling humiliated, done apologizing. The last thing she needed in her life right now was a man, anyway, so the point was so moot it wasn’t even a point. Meet the girl, plan the event and get out of this situation with her sanity and her independence intact—that was the goal. The only goal.

Spying the large piñon tree she’d almost missed, Erica jerked the wheel and made a bouncing turn onto the dirt farm road that would lead her to whatever lay ahead. As the dust cloud cleared, so did her head. Finally. She could survive this. No sweat. Well…not much, anyway.

Hope swung her stocking feet under the table and watched her father from beneath her lashes with a mixture of wonder and amusement. Something was definitely up. He bustled around the kitchen between the oven, the countertop and the bubbling pots atop the stove while she pretended to work on homework at the kitchen table. She was able to work here rather than in her room because tonight they were eating at the dining room table, believe it or not. Needless to say, she wasn’t making much progress on her boring French conjugations. Watching Dad was way more interesting at this point and WAY distracting.

Who was this lady he’d hired to help plan the quinceañera, anyway? Hope hadn’t seen her dad this…spazzed out for a long time, and they never ate at the dining room table unless it was, like, a holiday. Seriously, Thanksgiving, Christmas and their birthdays, period. Never on a regular old Wednesday.

Speaking of holidays—she inhaled, trying to pretend she wasn’t actually sniffing him—was Dad wearing cologne? He smelled like Christmas, since the only time he seemed to wear his Gray Flannel cologne was for Christmas dinner each year. He usually just smelled like laundry soap and bleach, like the paste and paper in his studio. Comfortable, like her dad.

But he was wearing cologne now. She was 99.9 percent sure.

Not only that, but he was dressed UP. He wore his black microfiber slacks, the ones she begged him to buy because they were SO cool and he didn’t want to because they weren’t practical, and black shirt—with buttons! Like, a shirt for church, not one of his regular day shirts. Not only that, but the house was spotless, smelling of pine trees and lemons, and he’d been racing around all nervous, exactly like a guy preparing to impress someone on a hot, first date.

It so rocked!

The cologne, clothing, and cleanliness were definite clues that something was brewing. Business meeting? Yeah, sure. Maybe partly, but it was so totally more than that. Tonight’s “meeting” was special, and she might only be fourteen but she knew why. Duh, can you say obvious? They were learning about variables in algebra, and the only variable tonight was this Erica, so it had to be her. Her dad was making all this effort for a woman, something he never, ever did. It was so completely romantic that Hope’s tummy swirled with anticipation. She fought to hold back a giggle!

Biting her lip, Hope made a mental note to keep a close eye on her father tonight. She was pretty good at reading him, which wasn’t saying much because he was a total open book. If he was interested in this lady, all Hope had to say about it was, like, FINALLY. Sheesh. Her dad always claimed he was happy without a wife or girlfriend, but Hope knew better. She was just in the way. She was! But maybe things were changing? From the looks of things, this Erica was the first woman in a long time who even had a remote shot at the title of girlfriend when it came to her stubborn dad.

Her tummy clenched and she fought back another nervous giggle. Hope had no idea what would happen after tonight—maybe nothing at all. But she knew one thing for sure: things in the Garza household were about to get WAY interesting.

By the time Erica pulled up the long gravel drive, her focus of anxiety had moved to Hope. She hadn’t been ex-aggerating when she’d told Tomás she wasn’t really a kid person, and yet she knew kids were far more intuitive than adults. They quickly recognized adults who were uncomfortable around them, and she knew she’d be pegged. Her only hope at this point was that the assignment wouldn’t turn out to be horrid.

She glanced at the buildings up ahead, taking in this home, getting a feel for the animal in his natural habitat, so to speak. Tomás’s low, smallish house looked to be authentic adobe; the setting sun washed it into shades of gold and peach that Erica found both beautiful and charming. Behind it loomed a newer, large wooden structure, probably a barn. A barn? She took in the property, saw no animals. Undulating meadows spread out around the house and barn, covered with scrub oak, sage, and piñon and juniper trees. Though she was a city girl at heart, she couldn’t deny this would be a great place to raise children.

Okay, she’d stalled enough, avoiding that moment of truth when she’d have to face Tomás again and meet his daughter. What kind of person would be afraid of a fourteen-year-old girl? Idiot. Pulling in a deep breath, Erica stopped her car behind a black Ford pickup parked adjacent to the house and turned off the ignition. As the hot engine ticked, she resisted the urge to flip down her visor and check her makeup in the mirror one last time. Just nerves. She could beat them.

Alighting from the car, she retrieved a black-leather portfolio from the back seat along with her purse. She followed the small sidewalk up to the front door and then lifted her fist and hesitated only momentarily before knocking on the bright red door. As she stepped back and waited, she braced herself for the awkward moment when she’d face Tomás again, uneasy especially because she was on his turf this time.

When the door opened, however, Tomás wasn’t on the other side. Instead, Erica faced a bright-eyed little tomboy who stood, one stocking foot atop the other, smiling shyly. The girl wore low-rise jeans and a baggy Buffy the Vampire Slayer T-shirt that sort of ruined the effect of the cute tummy-baring pants. She had Tomás’s watchful, tiger’s-eye gaze and a choppy haircut that was as bad as it was endearing. Erica wondered if the girl had cut it herself, and a pang of…something unrecognizable tightened her middle. Compassion? She smiled. “Hope?”

“Hi.” The girl teetered on that precipice between girl and woman, gangly and unsure. “My dad’s in the kitchen.” She stepped back from the door and tilted her head. “Come on in, Ms…. I don’t know your last name.”

“How about if you just call me Erica?” She stepped over the threshold into a warm, welcoming living room appointed with deep, comfortable mission-style furniture and bold colors. Intricate quilts shared wall space with Zarape blankets and artwork she recognized from some of the galleries in Santa Fe and Taos. Gorgeous black Santa Clara pottery and Jemez carved redware held places of honor on the lighted shelving adjacent to a huge fireplace. The shelves seemed to have been built just for the collectible Native American pieces, and the effect was stunning. This wasn’t just a house, it was a home. Part haven, part gallery. Erica didn’t know what she’d expected, if anything, but she was impressed.

She glanced over to find Hope studying her with a childlike intensity that caught her off guard. “It’s beautiful.” She indicated the room.

Hope stuffed her hands into her back pockets and turned her attention to the room as though she’d never seen it before. “Grandma Ruby made the quilts. There’s one on my bed, too. It’s a log-cabin pattern.”

Erica couldn’t help the smile that lifted the corners of her mouth. Leave it to a child to miss the significance of the artwork in the room and go straight for the comfortable.

“Is someone talking about me?”

Erica turned at the same time Hope did and saw a small, elderly woman with a shock of almost magenta-tinted hair wheel deftly into the room from the archway behind them. She hadn’t expected Ruby to look so vibrant, but then, she didn’t know much about multiple sclerosis. “If you’re the creator of these fabulous quilts, then the answer is, yes.”

Hope pointed a thumb over her shoulder. “That’s Grandma Ruby. You better just call her Ruby.”

“Well, now. You must be Erica.” Ruby came to a stop just before her and knotted her hands loosely in her lap, which was covered by another small quilt she no doubt made herself.

“In the flesh.” Erica transferred her portfolio to her left hand and thrust out her right. “Thank you for having me.”

Ruby shook Erica’s hand. “Nonsense, it’s our pleasure. Welcome to our home. I can’t tell you how glad we are to have you helping with the quinceañera. Isn’t that right, Hope?”

Erica glanced at the girl, sure she saw something move through Hope’s expression before she bit her bottom lip and nodded silently, a placid smile on her lips.

Interesting. Erica filed that away for later.

“So,” Ruby drew out, “I will admit Tomás has told me a bit about you.” And then she chuckled softly and Erica knew.

Without a doubt.

Tomás had told his grandmother about their little misunderstanding at the Arts Festival meeting. Ugh, she wanted to kill him. Since that wasn’t appropriate behavior for a guest, she tried another angle. “Yes. Well. I’m sure I know what little bits he shared. As his grandmother, I’m counting on you to share a few of his embarrassing secrets, as well.”

Ruby’s eyes sparkled. “You can count on that.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Hope asked, baffled.

Ruby wagged a finger. “Mind your business, young lady.”

“Erica.”

So caught up in meeting Hope and Ruby, Erica somehow forgot that Tomás would be nearby. Her stomach plunged at the sound of his voice in the room, its depth and richness seeming to suck away all available oxygen. She looked toward the archway that led to the dining room beyond, and there he stood. Dressed all in black, wiping his hands on a strawberry-patterned dish towel, guarded laughter and welcome in his eyes.

God, but he was a beautiful man.

She forced a smile. “Tomás. I hope I’m not too early.”

“Not at all.” He tossed the dish towel over his shoulder as he crossed into the room, then wrapped Hope in a playful headlock. “You’ve met my girls?”

“Da-a-ad!”

Erica grinned at Hope then smiled genuinely at Ruby. “I have. We’re all old friends by now.”

“Good. Then let me get you all drinks.” He smoothed those work roughened hands together, and Erica’s gaze dropped to watch the mesmerizing motion. Why was it, with some men, you could simply look at them and imagine the feel of their hands on—

“Wine, Erica? A cocktail? What’s your pleasure?”

Arsenic? These thoughts had to stop. “How about water?” She crinkled her nose. “Sorry to be so dull, but I’m not so sure about those dark, winding backroads after a drink.”

“Backroads?” he teased. “Those are superhighways in these parts, city girl.”

“I’ll get the water,” said Hope eagerly, and they all looked at her. Tomás with raw love. Ruby with pride. And Erica, with a sense of relief. She’d only been there for a few minutes, but if Hope was always so obedient and well-behaved, this job might turn out to be easier and more pleasant than she’d anticipated.

“Thank you, baby,” Tomás said, as Hope bounded out of the room, all exuberance and no grace, like a retriever puppy. He looked at his grandmother. “Rube? How about you?”

“I will go with my great-granddaughter and fetch my own wine, thank you. I’m not an invalid who needs waiting on.” She maneuvered one large wheel until she faced the kitchen and made her way swiftly from the room.

And then they were alone.

Erica fought the urge to avert her eyes, to look anywhere but at this man. She was no high school girl, and this wasn’t a date. “They’re wonderful, Tomás. Your grandmother is a pip.”

“She’s a handful,” he said, but respect and love threaded through the statement. “God love her.”

For a moment, they were both silent, and suddenly Erica knew she needed to say something about her gaffe. Anything. Or else the not saying would loom in the room with them all night long like a giant purple monster he and she would studiously ignore.

Garnering courage with a slow intake of breath, Erica splayed a hand on her chest. The words came in a nervous rush. “Tomás, can I just say one more time how sorry I am to have made the assumptions—”

“Ah, ah.” Tomás stopped her, one palm forward. “We’re past that, Erica. A simple misunderstanding. Let’s just move on.”

She hung her head, grateful…a little embarrassed, perhaps? But she wanted him to know it had been her mistake, not based on him, really, at all. “O-okay. I just…let me say that…you need to know my assumption was never because I thought you weren’t…” She rolled her hand, realizing she’d just dug herself in further, wondering just how many times she’d wished for death since she met this man who stole her composure so easily, so completely, without even trying.

His smile widened. He was enjoying her discomfort, the rat. “That I wasn’t what?”

“Well…not virile.” Her face heated instantly. She held up her hands. “Wait, that didn’t come out right.”

Tomás laughed. “I think it came out fine. It’s good to know my virility isn’t in question.” He blew on his fingernails and buffed them along the collar of his shirt. “Did you have any comments about machismo or handsomeness you’d like to share?”

Then he winked.

She managed, just barely, to roll her eyes. Her throat felt dry and tight, but she injected an illusion of friendly drollness into her tone anyway. “Don’t push your luck, buddy.”

“Bueno. No more joking, okay? I know what you’re saying, even though you don’t have to say it, and I swear to you it’s in the past.”

“Thank God. And thank you.” A little more laughter, and then…silence. And what now? Small talk? She despised small talk. But it was either that or stand there stunned by how absolutely hot he looked with his hair hanging loose. A little bit rebel, a little bit artist. Hey, just because she wasn’t interested in marriage didn’t mean she wasn’t interested in men.

And Tomás Garza was one verrrrry interesting man.

She cleared her throat and forced her thoughts from him before she did something stupid. “Your home is lovely. You’re quite the art collector.”

“Thank you. Ruby’s the real collector, though. Most of these pieces are hers. I just build the display cases.”

“You’re a woodworker, too?”

“Hey, when you live out here, you become a jack-of-all-trades without even trying.” He ran a hand slowly through his hair, his gaze on the thick black pottery Ruby bought at the last Pueblo Festival. “The Santa Clara is my favorite. So sleek and dark. Quiet. Beautiful in its straightforwardness.”

Kind of like you, Erica thought, attuned to him in a way that frightened her. A lag in their superficial conversation ensued, and she was determined to fill it. She could pull her weight in most situations, but she absolutely couldn’t sit in silence with Tomás. Not tonight. “Hope is a lovely girl.”

“Thank you. That she is,” he said, turning his attention from the pottery. “She’s been looking forward to meeting you. At least I think.” He quirked his mouth to the side. “To be perfectly frank, my Hope isn’t a girl of many words.”

“She takes after her dad.” She wondered what traits Hope had received from her mother but knew it was a question she’d never ask. “Looks like you, too. Same eyes.”

Tomás shrank back in mock horror. “Now, don’t go and tell her that. The last thing a fourteen-year-old girl wants to hear is that she looks like her father.”

They both laughed softly, and Erica felt herself loosen up a bit. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, this dinner, this evening as an outsider with Tomás and his nontraditional little family.

Just then, Hope brought Erica’s ice water and her own and claimed a spot on the chair, tucking one stocking foot up under her. Ruby pulled up in an empty spot next to an occasional table that looked to be there just for her.

“Are you going to make the poor woman stand all night, m’ijo?” Ruby asked, eyeing her grandson sharply. “My gosh, your manners. Raised in a penitentiary, I swear.”

Tomás colored slightly but recovered just as fast. “Of course. Erica. Won’t you sit. I’ll leave you ladies to get acquainted while I check on dinner. Shouldn’t be too long. I hope you’re hungry, Erica.”

She set aside her purse and portfolio, then claimed her spot in an armchair and laid a hand on her stomach. “You told me to come hungry, and I did.”

“Excellent. Finally a woman who follows instructions.”

“Don’t make us hurt you, sonny,” Ruby warned, giving him the eye. He just laughed.

Erica sat her water glass on a stone coaster, and as Tomás moved out of the room, Hope asked her, “Do you have kids?”

Some non sequitur, Erica thought. “No kids. I’m not married. I have cousins,” she offered, as a replacement.

“Oh.” Hope twirled a finger in one choppy lock of her hair. “I wish I had cousins. My dad’s an only child, and…”

An odd pause ensued.

Ruby sipped from her wineglass, and Hope gave Erica a funny little closed-lip smile. She never finished her statement, and Erica knew better than to ask, but she didn’t quite know why. For a moment, the room fell silent. Then Ruby picked up a remote, pointed it at a stack of stereo components in a carved, wooden cabinet, and pressed the button. Soft native flute music wafted through the room, and Erica’s gaze fell on her portfolio. Business. Yes. A convenient bridge over the chasms of the unsaid that seemed to flow through this house like canals through Venice. She reached for the zippered case, glancing at Hope while she did so.

“I’ve come up with a few ideas for your quinceañera, Hope. I’m looking forward to going over them with you.”

“Oh.” The girl’s gaze lit on the portfolio before sliding away evasively. “Okay. Well…we’ll wait for Dad, though. We can just…relax until dinner’s ready.”

“Of course.” Erica abandoned the portfolio and reached for her water glass. So much for that idea.

“How about dogs?” Hope crossed her other foot up under her, then slipped into a lotus position in the chair, with the ease and flexibility of the young.

A sip, a swallow. “Excuse me?”

“Do you have dogs? Or cats?”

Erica shook her head.

“Any pets at all?”

Erica’s expression was regretful. “I travel quite a bit, and when you live alone… I had a dog when I was growing up, though. His name was Spike. And a hamster, Morton. My mom has two dogs. Does that count?”

“Everyone should have a pet, right Grandma Ruby?”

The older woman shook her head, laughing tiredly. “I’m not getting in the middle of it, m’ijita, but nice try.”

Hope giggled, and Ruby looked toward Erica. “This one has been trying to finagle a puppy out of her father now for months.”

“I love puppies!” Hope threw her arms out with exuberance. “We have, like, a zillion fields. It’s not like he wouldn’t have any place to run around.”

Erica lowered her voice, sotto voce, and leaned toward Hope. “Shhh. I’ll tell you a secret. I love puppies, too.”

Hope turned a beatific smile toward her grandmother—in truth, her great-grandmother. “See, Grammy Rube? It’s so totally perfect.”

Erica wasn’t sure if Hope meant the puppy, the secret or something else. But she did know, finally and for sure, that she would make it through this evening. Tomás was right—his daughter was a wonderful young woman rather than the sullen, petulant teen Erica had feared she’d face. Childlike, yes, but definitely not a child. A budding teen, but certainly not an adult. Hopeful, effervescent and eager to please. She reminded Erica of herself at that age, and that she could handle. Easing back in her chair, Erica sipped her water and relaxed.

By the time he had served the flourless chocolate cake and poured coffee for the adults, Tomás was beginning to mellow out. Erica seemed to fit in fine, and Hope appeared to like her. Almost too much. A pang of jealousy tightened Tomás’s middle, but he tried to ignore it. Ridiculous that he should resent the fact his daughter liked the woman, when that had been his goal in the first place. He needed to chill. It was just…he and Hope had been a team for so long, he found it difficult to let anyone else into the fold. Old story.

But Hope was fourteen. Four more years, and she could be gone. For a moment, the world and his heart jolted to a stop. Horrid, that thought, and disturbing in ways he hadn’t even begun to contemplate. He didn’t want to face them now.

“How about we talk a little about the quinceañera?” Erica said. Tomás blinked at her, only just dragging himself mentally back into the room, into reality. She glanced eagerly from him to Hope to Ruby, then bent over to retrieve her black-leather portfolio.

The quinceañera. Yes. It’s what he’d hired her for, and yet they’d spent the evening eating, drinking and talking about art, mostly. Art and soccer and the godforsaken yearning for puppies, and with each bit of conversation, he’d found himself more intrigued by her. He cleared his throat. “Yes, let’s. Hope, come here, m’ija.” He beckoned her with a sweep of his arm. “Sit next to me and we can look at everything together.”

Hope stood, then dragged her chair noisily over next to him. He draped his arm over her bony little shoulders and pulled her familiar warmth against his side. Smiling into her innocent face, he asked, “You ready?”

She shrugged. “Sure. Whatever.”

“Now that’s enthusiasm for you,” Ruby said dryly. “Ach, teenagers. Pillars of zeal, I always say.”

“Great-grandmother,” Hope said, in a playfully warning tone.

“She only calls me that to get my goat,” Ruby told Erica.

Smiling, Erica opened the pages of the portfolio turning them to face Tomás and Hope. “First of all, you’re going to have to sign up for some reconfirmation classes at your church.” She glanced at Tomás. “I’m assuming you do want religious instruction as a part of this? From what I’ve read, it’s traditional to have a thanksgiving mass with the ceremony, but this is the twenty-first century and I’m all about being nontraditional. We can modify however you wish.”

“Well, we belong to a church in town.” His face heated. “I can’t say we’re there fifty-two Sundays a year—”

“Or ever,” Hope quipped.

Erica waved that away. “I’ll leave that up to you. If you decide to go the church route, though, you should get started.” She turned a page. “Hope, you’ll also have to choose some community service to do for the summer.”

She looked baffled. “Like what?”

“Anything that interests you,” Tomás said.

Hope looked at her grandmother. “I’d like to do something for people with multiple sclerosis.”

Erica smiled. “Perfect. I’ll search out some options, and you can do the same.”

“There is a ranch around here that offers therapeutic horseback riding for people with MS. It’s called hippotherapy, even though I think it should be called horse-o-therapy.” The adults laughed, and she shrugged. “We learned about it in health class. I guess riding a horse can help some people with their MS symptoms. Maybe I could volunteer there?”

“That’s beautiful, baby,” Tomás said, kissing her cheek.

“Yes.” Ruby reached over and patted Hope’s hand. “But don’t even think about getting me on a horse.”

Everyone chuckled again.

“Other than that, assuming you’ll have the mass and ceremony at your church…?” She looked at Tomás in question, and he nodded. “Then the most pressing details will be selecting and booking a site for la fiesta, the party afterward, and ordering the cake, choosing a menu and selecting Hope’s vestido.”

“My what?”

“Your dress,” all three adults answered at once.

“And you’ll need to select your damas and chambelanes, in other words, the lords and ladies who will comprise your honor court.” Erica winked. “In plain talk, friends who get to dress up with you and cute boys you all get to dance with. Seven of each is traditional, plus one special escort just for you.”

Hope blushed prettily.

Erica flipped another page. “There are other smaller details…ordering the cake, deciding what recuerdos, or mementos you’d like for all your guests, learning the waltz—”

“What waltz?” Hope shrieked.

Tomás chuckled. It’s traditional for the corte de honor, your lords and ladies, to dance the waltz. Along with you and me, and I get the first dance.” Hope pulled a look of abject horror. “Don’t worry, baby, if I can do it, you can do it.”

“Smaller details yet—” Erica directed her comment to Tomás “—you’ll need to come up with a toast, Hope’s godparents will present her with a gift. And then there is the shoe thing.”

“What shoe thing?” Hope asked.

“At one point during the fiesta, before the waltz with your father, he is to replace your patent-leather flats with a pair of high heels. After that, all the younger children gather, and you’ll toss the muñeca, your final doll of childhood. It’s all meant to represent your move from childhood to adulthood.”

“It sounds so weddingish,” Hope said, nose crinkled.

Erica tipped her head to the side. “Well, it sort of is. It’s an acknowledgement by your family and your community that you’re no longer a child. A rite of passage.”

“Does that mean I get to date boys?” Hope teased.

Tomás made a pained face. “Unfortunately, yes. But no car dating until you’re thirty.”

“Gee, sounds reasonable,” Erica said, jokingly. “You know, it is also traditional for Hope’s godparents and other special people in her life to act as sponsors, defray some of the costs.”

“No need. I’ve got it all.”

Her eyebrows lifted on a careful inhale, but she didn’t question it. “Whatever works for you.”

He regarded her across the table. For an assignment she hadn’t wanted, she’d sure done a lot of work already. He had been smart to hire her, despite the exorbitant fee. The portfolio pages held drawings, fabric swatches, lists, charts. They’d gone over each page, with Tomás alternating between nodding and watching her intelligent, beautiful face. Her full lips moved sensuously as she spoke. It was enough to distract him completely from the matter at hand. The working Erica and the having-a-friendly-dinner Erica were two parts of a very interesting, enticing whole. He had to remember, she was here for Hope. Man, he had to stop watching her mouth.

“So, what do you think?” The portfolio closed, and Erica tossed her hair. “I’ve been doing most of the talking.”

“It’s going to be so nice,” Ruby said.

“It looks wonderful to me.” Tomás looked at Hope. “Baby?”

She rolled her eyes, and he grinned, because she hated to be called that. But she was his baby, from the moment he’d held her tiny swaddled form when he was seventeen—alone, at once terrified of and awed by what he’d created, adoring and determined to protect her—to now, when she was on the verge of womanhood. Mysterious and edgy. She’d always be his baby, like it or not. Some things he wouldn’t budge on.

Hope lifted a shoulder, her face emotionless. “It’s fine.”

“Fine?”

“Sure.” Her eyes flickered uncertainly toward Erica. “I mean, the ideas are good.”

“Do you have any other ideas?” Erica asked.

“Not really,” Hope said, after a moment of thought.

Tomás sighed, pulled a put-upon face and hugged Hope closer. “What did I tell you about Little Miss No Help at All?”

Hope clicked her tongue. “Dad, stop it.”

Erica rezipped the portfolio. “It’s a lot to take in, but we have plenty of time, don’t worry. Speaking of which—” she propped her elbows atop the portfolio and knotted her hands beneath her chin. “When do you get out of school, Hope?”

“In June.”

“Okay. That’s perfect. I think we can wait to do a lot of the legwork until after that. I’ll spend the rest of this month planning. You concentrate on school. I’ve got the festival and some other assignments, too.” She checked her PalmPilot, which she’d retrieved from her bag. “Does that work for you, Tomás?”

“Absolutely, if you think you can swing everything. But perhaps you and I…can we meet briefly, say, once a week for a progress update? Just a coffee or lunch in town—”

“Or dinner,” suggested Hope. Ruby and Tomás turned to her, surprise in their expressions.

Erica made a notation in her PalmPilot, ignoring the dinner prompt altogether. “Coffee works. We can set some times….”

Tomás gripped the top of Hope’s head in his hand and shook playfully. “Let me get this one off to bed and we can talk a few minutes before you leave, coordinate things.”

“Dad,” Hope groaned, standing up. “I can go to bed myself, you know. I’m not a baby.”

“I know, I know, so you keep telling me.” He smacked her playfully on the backside. “You run on then.”

Hope blinked shyly at Erica. “Thanks for coming over, Erica. I hope you liked dinner.”

“You’re welcome, and it was great. We’ll talk soon?”

Hope giggled. “Okay.” She turned to her dad. “Erica loves puppies. She thinks everyone should have one.”

Tomás smirked in Erica’s direction. “Thanks a lot.”

Erica just grinned.

Ruby wheeled back from the table. “If you two don’t mind, I’ll retire also. It’s been a long day.”

“Of course, Rube. You go on.”

The older woman turned to their guest. “Erica, it’s been such a pleasure. Do come back sometime soon.”

“Oh, believe me,” Erica replied, laughter in her tone. “I’m going to need your help on this quinceañera. I fear you’ll see so much of me you’ll be begging me to leave.”

Tomás watched as the two women shook hands. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine ever growing tired of Erica’s company. He could tell by Ruby’s amused, knowing stare that she agreed, and also that she knew what he’d been thinking.

On that note, what in the hell had he been thinking? After fourteen years of avoiding even the remote possibility of entanglements that might put Hope in a vulnerable position, he’d willingly brought a beautiful woman into his house, into all their lives, even if only for business reasons. She was here, and the memory of her, he knew, would linger even when she’d left.

Hope liked her. Ruby liked her.

He even liked her, maybe a little too much.

He avoided entanglements, sure, but he’d never claimed to be celibate, and right now his libido was in rage mode. Damn. What had he been thinking, indeed?