Page 53 of Hearts to Mend

I try to ignore him some more. Try and fail. With a scowl, I answer, “I can’t imagine you’d be dumb enough to bring your other women around me.”

With a heavy sigh, he turns to face me, blocking my view of everyone else. “There will never be another woman, Dee. You were my first, you’ll be my last. You’re my always.”

He’s said that before, a few times, but always when we were naked and tangled together in bed. For some reason, hearing him say it here feels different. Like the words take on a new shine in the sunlight, they sound louder on the hot breeze, and they mean more when said while we’re fully dressed and surrounded by my crew, in the center of our town.

You’re my always.

Those words echo in my head, and I love the sound of them. I love the idea of them. I want them to be true.

When Rico first turned up in town, any affection I’d shown him was left over from before. We were just tying up loose ends, exercising old demons. But somewhere along the way, it changed; I changed. My feelings toward Rico changed too. Now, this thing between us feels new. It’s no longer a remnant of our past that we cling to when we’re lonely or horny; it’s a step into the future, a future he wants to share with me. And every moment I spend with Rico, it’s a future I want to share with him too.

“Okay,” I say dumbly because I’m not ready to say any of that other stuff out loud.

Rico’s mouth quirks up in half a grin, like he heard all that other stuff anyway. “When are you off work?”

“Shift ends at noon.” I shrug. “Why?”

“Because I want to spend time with you. May I?”

“I thought you were spending this last day before surgery with Mateo.”

Tension bristles through him at the reminder of his procedure tomorrow. After weeks of appointments and tests, we’ve come to this: the procedure. Rico’s esophageal echocardiogram revealed an ASD about nine millimeters in diameter. Tomorrow, Dr. Thomas will plug that hole. And I will be there, waiting and worrying with his mom.

Rico responds, “Mamá took him out to buy a pair of swim trunks that fit better, and then they’re getting lunch. Which means I have a couple hours to kill and a few ideas on how to kill them.”

“Oh, do you now? You’re nothing but trouble when you get ideas, Rico Rodriguez. However, I already agreed to join the guys at The Rusty Bucket for Darts & Drafts after work.”

“Wrap it up, Dee,” Watts hollers. “We need to head back to the station for shift change.”

I nod to Watts and turn back to Rico. “You can come if you want to.”

“Oh, I want to come,” Rico says with a smug grin.

Stepping closer so I’m in his space, I challenge him. “But darts ain’t no spectator sport, Rico Suave. If you want to come, you have to play.”

I wink at him, then turn and jog past Pamela and Leroy with a wave before I climb up into the driver’s seat of the engine.

“How’s Romeo?” Drew asks over the headset radios as we go back to the station.

I roll my eyes again—I’ve been doing that a lot lately—and say, “You know Romeo and Juliet died at the end, right? That’s not a love story—it’s a tragedy. You need to work on your references. Maybe go with Westley and Princess Buttercup or Princess Leia and Han Solo.”

“Pretty sure you’d break both my arms if I called you Princess,” Drew responds, and the guys all laugh.

He has a valid point.

* * *

Sunlight slashes across the scuffed wooden floors of The Rusty Bucket as someone swings the door open and walks in. Everyone in our back corner of the bar turns to see who’s entered the building, but I’m the only one who keeps staring as Rico walks across the room to join us back here.

He’s so sexy. The slight limp on his left side from the residual numbness of the stroke is almost imperceptible. I perceive it, of course, because it’s my job to recognize injuries, but to the layman’s eyes, Rico is just a hunky Adonis with a bright white smile. Not that there’s any “just” about it.

“Hey,” Rico says as he comes to me.

The guys pretend to ignore us, but they see all. They’re perceivers like me.

I contemplate my next move. Rico and I have spent a lot of time together lately. If I’m not accompanying him to appointments or meeting him for meals when our schedules align, we’re sneaking around to get in some frisky alone-time action.

But we haven’t said much—to each other or the rest of the town—about our relationship. It’s like old times, back when our easy childhood friendship just naturally evolved into more as we grew up. These days, though, with all our baggage, I want to be careful, more deliberate in my decisions and actions when it comes to Rico. But the fucker is irresistible, and all I want to do is spend every waking minute with him.

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