“I know you think it’s crazy,” I say, my voice hoarse in the frigid air and with earnest feeling. “But I want to see you again. I don’t believe we found each other like this just to let go.”
She bites her bottom lip, shivers and wraps her arms around herself. After a moment, she nods, seeming to reach a decision. Whether it’ll be to kick me to the subway or give me another shot, I don’t know. But then she takes my hand, her fingers icy and twined with mine. She nods toward the apartment building.
“You didn’t get your tiramisu.” Her eyes lower to the snow-flecked sidewalk and there’s almost something shy in the way she can’t bring herself to look at me. “Why don’t you come up for dessert?”
Pleasure buzzes through me. This is more than I would have hoped or asked for.
“And your parents?” I ask, letting her lead me back inside through the revolving doors. “What do you want to tell them?”
Her laugh is roguish and bold, and the girl on an adventure, on a mission, the one I met that first night is back, smiling at me over her shoulder as we enter the elevator. “Oh, we’ll think of something.”
By Kennedy Ryan
***The Hollywood Renaissance Series***
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Maria
“I have to get home. There’s no way I can miss Nochebuena, the biggest and best night of the year in our family.” Literally translated, Nochebuena means good night, and it’s how the Cuban community celebrates Christmas Eve. Abuela pulls out all the stops to put on a feast of such epic proportions, we can’t move for days afterward. We look forward to it all year, and missing not only the party itself, but the day-long prep with my grandmothers, mother, aunts, sister and cousins is inconceivable to me.
Austin has had the patience of a saint as we grapple with weather delays on the way home from ten days in Hawaii, where we attended the wedding of one of his Miami Marlins teammates while enjoying the vacation of a lifetime.
Our honeymoon is going to have to work awfully hard to top this trip, which was perfect until we landed at LAX and learned we probably can’t get to Miami today due to a massive storm in the middle of the country. Tomorrow, which is Christmas Eve, is looking iffy, too.
He reaches for my hand and draws me down into the seat next to him. “Weather delays mean rough air, and you don’t like rough air any more than I do. I know it sucks to be stranded, especially at Christmas, but I’d rather spend the holiday in this airport than fly through that crap.”
He’s right. I know he is, especially since I totally freaked out on the flight to Hawaii when we flew through thirty minutes of pretty intense turbulence over the Pacific. I had visions of crashing into the ocean that had me on the verge of hyperventilating for the full half hour that the plane bounced through the sky.
I sag into the chair, feeling defeated.
“At least we have each other, right?” he asks with the cute grin that turns my insides to mush every time it’s directed my way, which is often.
My gorgeous man is even more so than usual after ten days of sunshine turned his skin a dark tan and made his blond hair even lighter. He’s unfairly beautiful, and I notice women looking at him everywhere we go. However, he never looks at anyone but me, which is one of many ways that loving him makes me a very lucky girl.