Page 9 of Ice Ice Maybe
Zena crossed her arms. “I never said you were eye candy.”
I pointed to my head. “Is it the flow? If it’s too long, I can get it trimmed.”
She snickered. “Next question.”
“How did we meet?’ I asked.
“That’s easy—we met at the wine tasting fundraiser for the foundation last month,” Zena said. “You spilled your glass of merlot on my shoe. The rest is history.”
“You find my clumsiness endearing,” I said.
“I do—and there you go again,” she said with a smile, grabbing a napkin and wiping up a few drops of salsa I had spilled on the table. “And since you didn’t even bother asking, my favorite color is teal.”
I nodded. “Let me guess, you’re secretly a mermaid?”
Zena smirked. “Close—I’m actually part octopus. That’s why I need a boyfriend who’s good with ice—to keep my tentacles fresh.”
I startled, surprised by her quick wit.
We finished our burritos in silence, watching the cooks work their magic in the kitchen while they chatted in Spanish. The front door chimed and a group of college students entered.
I finished the last bite, wiped my mouth, then glanced at Zena. “Tell me something about your private life, things that an extremely attractive and attentive boyfriend would know.”
“I can do that.” She tapped a finger on the table, thinking. “I’m president of the San Diego Sea Lions Foundation, something dear to my heart. I’m pretty terrible at ice skating, ironically enough. I do Pilates three times a week. I love other cultures and have traveled to twenty-seven countries, including spending a month volunteering at an elephant sanctuary in Thailand. I’m a horrible cook, but can make the best homemade pizza you’ve ever had.”
“Toppings?” I asked.
Zena smiled. “Always pepperoni. Oh, and in college, I won a karaoke contest at a dive bar with my rendition of ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’.”
“I’ve got to see that,” I said. “Or hear, rather.”
“Play your cards right, Zamboni man, and maybe you will,” she said with a wink. “And here’s a fun fact: I’m fluent in four languages: English, Spanish, French, and Mandarin.”
I nodded. “Why Mandarin?”
Zena smiled. “When I was growing up in Sunset Cliffs, a Chinese family bought the house next door to us, and they had a daughter the same age as me. She always waved whenever she saw me, almost every single day, and she had the most beautiful smile you could imagine. Call me crazy, but I wanted to communicate with her. So, I learned Mandarin at the age of twelve. I also helped her with her English, which was fun.”
“I’m impressed,” I said. “I’m also surprised Mr. Dalton agreed to that, since he probably already had an entire life mapped out for his little princess.”
“Thatis true, but he also was the one who eagerly arranged for the tutor to come to the house twice a week,” Zena said. “He was convinced speaking Mandarin would come in handy for my future career in international business since he had contacts in Shanghai and Beijing.”
“And was he right?” I said.
She smirked. “Not even close. I had no interest in international business at any point and I ended up getting an MA in nonprofit leadership and management.”
“And the Chinese girl?” I asked. “Whatever happened to her? Did you end up staying in touch with her over the years?”
Zena smiled proudly. “She’s my best friend. Her name is Jing.”
“What a cool story,” I said, shaking my head in amazement. “My apologies.”
She tilted her head to the side. “For what?”
“For assuming you were a spoiled rich girl,” I admitted. “You have done some gracious, admirable, and respectable things, and I was an idiot to label you based on what other people havesaid, without even knowing you. I’m usually not like that, so please forgive me.”
Zena squeezed my hand, her touch sending a tiny spark up my arm. “Thank you for saying that, but don’t even worry about it. To be honest, I’m used to it. And I’m impressed you can admit your shortcomings. That says a lot about a man.”
I winced. “Let’s call it a slight flaw or imperfection, shall we?”
