Page 32 of Challenged By You
“She normally stays over.” I hear his, “Lucky,” and I tip my head back before letting my eyes drift shut. When I do, I call up the image of his face just as Jonas was about to kiss me.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jonas,” I whisper. “I’ll text you the address. We can rent a stroller at the market entrance.”
“Sounds perfect. I’ll see you…then.” He hangs up before I can ask about the hesitation.
I press End and before I can put my phone back, Elle is plopping her chest onto mine. Her arms are outstretched as to not spill a single drop of wine. “I’m so proud of you.” She’s sobbing.
“Jesus, were you doing shooters in the kitchen?” I demand, shoving her sloppy face off my breasts. “Give me my sludge. It’s just a day at the market.”
“It’s a beginning, T.” She hands me the bottom half of a sippy cup I’m drinking out of before holding up her glass to clink the two together. “And don’t you deny it.”
I open my mouth and close it. I won’t deny it verbally because I think the beginning of me and Jonas happened the moment I saw him standing at the bar at Seduction.
Not that I’ll admit that to anyone but myself.
Chapter 12
Trina
Inod toward the long line in front of the tent as Jonas joins me at the biweekly farmer’s market. “Remember how you were thinking of trying to get to García’s?”
He immediately picks up my meaning. “That line’s for them?” he asks incredulously.
I nod. “I told you they were super popular and their takeaway business was off the charts. What? The big bad food critic didn’t do his research to see who the vendors were for today?” I laugh when his handsome face turns mutinous.
“I’ve tried twice to eat there. I think I’ve given up.”
“Tsk, tsk. I never would have taken you for a quitter, Mr. Rice,” I tease him.
“It’s not quitting. It’s not being given a chance. Some of us like to come to our own opinions without being told what to think,” he informs me loftily.
“Then go get yourself some of the best New Mexican food you’ll get in this borough without having to wait the average two hours for delivery.”
“Two…two hours?” he splutters. “No wonder why they hung up on me when I called at 6:30 for a to-go order!”
“If it’s good, it’s worth waiting for.” I shrug, but as soon as the words pop out of my mouth, Jonas’s eyes narrow on my lips, reminding me of our almost kiss yesterday. Pulse racing, I swallow to get moisture back in my mouth. “End of the line is right here.”
His voice husky, Jonas asks, “How long is this going to take?” And I’m not quite sure if he means the wait for the food or something else.
But my answer works for both. “As long as it takes.”
We move into line. Jonas is taken aback by how quickly we shuffle forward. “So, is there anything we can get for the kids?” He nods down to the twins comfortably ensconced in the stroller, who are enjoying the sights and smells emanating from the booths.
“Here?” I hoot. “Jonas, I’ve exposed my children to a lot of food—”
“Mac’n’crap doesn’t count,” he interjects.
“But they might not enjoy the flavors yet. I’m not saying they won’t, but I wouldn’t waste the money on a maybe.”
“Why not? There are so many children not much older than Annie and Chris in line.”
I don’t point out to him the likelihood is those kids were sent to the market at their parents’ urging because he’ll likely be affronted over the lack of parental supervision. Here in Parkchester, we may not be in the wealthiest part of the city, but I’ve found my neighbors—my mother notwithstanding—to be courteous people, many dealing with the same day-to-day issues I do. Even if we’re all not grilling out on a regular basis like I used to do on my cul-de-sac in Wilton, we have an unspoken rule about keeping an eye out for one another’s children.
This is a city where we know anything can happen.
A group of older boys saunter by, bumping into people randomly. Jonas tenses next to me. Abruptly, one stops. “Hey, Ms. P.” Charmingly, he holds out a tattooed hand.
“Luis.” Jonas relaxes imperceptibly when I extend mine in return. “How’s your grandmother feeling?”
