Page 29 of Hold Still

I ruffle her hair before she puts her motorcycle helmet on. “Let’s go grab a bite. Know any good places out here?”

“There’s a steakhouse nearby. Sound good?”

I pat my toned stomach. “Sure thing. Nothing a few more laps in the pool won’t overcome.” She gives me the address and we take off.

Walking into the wood-paneled restaurant, I silently give thanks it’s the lunch crowd and not the dinner crowd. It also hits me—I haven’t been out to dinner at a restaurant in forever. While I enjoy my fans, I’ve been sticking to either the Jade or my rental. Why have I become such a hermit? Only one answer comes to mind—Teresa.

Fuck her. It’s time I took back my life. I like this mantra.

The hostess does a double-take at me, then leads us to a table in front by the windows. I’m uncomfortable being so exposed, even with my new grip on life. McKenna pipes up. “Do you have another table we could have? Perhaps, more in the back?”

The hostess looks to me, then my lunch companion, and takes us to a much more private table. When she leaves us, I say, “Thanks.”

“I thought eating in a fishbowl might not be so pleasant. This is a nice table, though.”

We order drinks and enjoy the goodies in the bread basket. As we wait for our entrees, it hits me for the second time today. I’m having pure, unadulterated fun. No expectations. No strings. And we’re both fully clothed. I pick up my Cuba Libre.

“A toast. To the best day I can remember in a long time.”

She touches her mojito to my glass. “To having fun!”

When she puts her drink down, a bit of salt clings to her lower lip. Instead of telling her, I reach out and remove it with my finger and hold it up for her to see. Latte-colored eyes zero in on my fingertip before traveling to meet mine. “Oops!”

As I wipe my finger on my napkin, she says, “So, tell me when you knew you wanted to be a musician.”

Visions of Tio Miguel, my dad’s brother, and his guitar cloud my memory bank. “I always loved music. Growing up in a Puerto Rican family, there always was music around. We’d get together with my aunts, uncles and cousins at the farm, make a roasted pig and dance all night long. My uncle always had a guitar.”

She takes another sip of her drink, her pink tongue swiping her lips to make sure no salt was left behind. “Sounds like a great time.”

“It was.” I break off another piece of the multi-grain bread and dip it into olive oil. I’ll pay for the carbs later. “Tío Miguel had a band, and played at small clubs and bars on the island. Traditional Puerto Rican stuff.”

Her hand stills. “Like the ballad you sang last night?”

I smile. “Yeah. It was the first song he ever taught me to play.”

“I loved it. I could really feel that your heart and soul were in it, and now I know why.”

Our conversation is cut short when our waiter brings our meals. I dive into my porterhouse, while she enjoys her filet mignon. Once our meals are devoured, we sit in the restaurant and talk about everything and nothing. We laugh. We joke around. She makes fun of my empty three-car garage while I tease her about being afraid of Bans.

The server interrupts, holding a tray filled with desserts. “Would you like something sweet?”

Of course, my mind travels down a non-food path. McKenna’s eyes, however, devour the dessert tray like it’s Christmas morning, straying to one particular item. I ask, “Is that crème brulee?” When he nods, I say, “Great. We’ll take one—two spoons—and I’ll have a tea with agave if you have it, while the lady would like a coffee, sweet with cream.”

“Very good, sir.” He walks away.

McKenna clears her throat. “How interesting.”

“What?”

“You ordered my favorite dessert without even asking me.”

I tap my forehead. “I know things.” She giggles, the sound sending a thrill throughout my body.

“I guess I should ask you how you enjoyed your after-after party last night.”

“Slept like a baby.” I’m tempted to leave her dangling, amused by her curiosity, but she deserves clarification. “Alone. At home.”

A huge smile creeps across her face. “Really?”

---