C (99:27)
Ava lifted the glass to take a sip and nearly spit it back out. Forget lemonade. This was more like furniture polish. Strong and sour and nowhere close to the tangy sweetness she'd been expecting. Ava couldn't control her grimace as she swallowed. As the stinging in her mouth subsided, she set the glass back on the napkin and tried to school her features, hoping the bartender hadn't seen seem. So much for new experiences. She'd just go upstairs, order French fries, and watch Pride and Prejudice for the millionth time alone. The enormity of her loneliness hit her like a sledgehammer. She'd bottled things up during her marriage, acted like everything was fine throughout the divorce, but somehow this disappointing drink was the last straw. The need to talk to somebody, somebody, anybody, welled up in her like a tidal wave. But there was no one. Jasmine and Michelle were busy with their new lives. Damaris wouldn't be there until later that night. Ava's mother worked the night shift as a NICU nurse, and never mind her dad or stepmom. They tiptoed around the subject of divorce like it was a contagious sickness. And Ava's father was in remission. Eyes hot, she blinked hard and pushed her glass toward the other side of the bar. As she was opening her purse to pay, someone approached on her left. Wary, Ava glanced at the newcomer. A ton of empty seats stretched along the bar. So why was somebody trying to sit right next to Holy? Her thoughts stuttered to a halt as her gaze traveled over the man beside her, taking note of every handsome feature. Dark, wavy hair with hints of silver at the temples. Strong jaw, brown eyes. Impossibly long lashes and thick, straight brows. The faint lines at the corners of his eyes only added to his attractiveness, as if they were neon arrows, inviting her to drown in their depths. The word that came to mind was dreamboat. Old fashioned, but it fit him as perfectly as the dark blue silk suit that accentuated his broad chest and shoulder. On second thought, he could sit next to her anytime. With a friendly smile, he gestured at her glass. Something wrong with your drink? Shit. He must have seen her reaction. Embarrassment warmed her cheeks, but she tried to play it off like the smooth timbre of his voice wasn't doing dark and delicious things to her. Oh, no, the drink's fine. His expression turned skeptical. The face you made when you tasted it says otherwise. She waved a dismissive hand. I'm not really thirsty anyway. Eyes filled with amusement, he picked up the glass and sniffed. Then, to her surprise, he took a sip. Wow. With a slight raise of his brows, he set it back down and cleared his throat. Did you order that on purpose? I left it up to the universe, she grumbled. What was that? Nothing. I just wanted something strong. I guess she wasn't going to explain the concept of New Ava to him. This wasn't what you were expecting? Not exactly. When he smiled, soft laugh lines bracketed his mouth. Mouth. Let's get you something else that's not Wait. What are you doing? He rounded the end of the bar as if it were the most normal thing in the world. I'm going to make you a different drink. Ava stared at him, aghast, and darted a look at the bartender. Luce was helping someone else down at the other end and paying this attractive stranger no mind. You can't just go behind the bartender. Ava hissed at him. Across from her, he leaned his forearms on the polished wood surface. Why not? This man was handsome but clearly lacking in common sense. Still, instead of walking away, she found herself answering his rhetorical question. It's not allowed. Says who? She sputtered, trying to think of a response. The law. What law? I don't know, but I'm sure this violates the hotel's liquor license. At the very least. His smile became conspiratorial. I appreciate the concern, but I think they'll make an exception. She got the distinct impression that she was walking into a trap. And why is that? Because I'm the only owner. Roman Vasquez. He nodded to her purse. Look me up before you have me arrested for impersonating a bartender. Some part of her still felt like he was around, but his self assured expression had her pulling out her phone. She typed the name he'd given her into the search bar, and there he was. Roman Alejandro Vasquez, CEO of VQZ Limited. Ava did a quick scan of the results. First a list of Dulce Hotel locations around the country. Then a recent Forbes article about a real estate acquisition in Japan. Ava tried not to look at the headlines, speculating his net worth, but it was impossible to miss the word million at the end. She zoomed in on a picture of him in a hotel lobby very much like this one, where he posed casually with one hand in his pants pocket. Pocket. Then she glanced at the man leaning against the bar. Same broad shoulders, same easy smile. Same dreamy brown eyes. What the photo did not capture was the way his brow quirked with amusement, his playful tone of voice, or the simmering heat in her chest caused by his equally obvious perusal of her. Well, she said through a throat suddenly gone dry, I. That's you, all right. That's me. Roman's gaze flickered over her face. And you are. Now that she knew he wasn't some over entitled with no sense of propriety, she stuck her hand out for him to shake. Ava. I'm here for the education conference. Nice to meet you, Ava. He reached across the bar to shake her hand. His grip was firm and dry but warm. The lobby was well air conditioned and her imagination supplied a flash of those warm hands running down her cool arms. She fought off a shiver, then chided herself instead of picturing where else this stranger could touch her with those warm hands. She should have brought a sweater. Cold mischief glinted in his eyes. Ava's cheeks warmed. Was he flirting with her? She was saved from having to reply when the actual bartender hurried over. Do you need help with anything, Mr. Vasquez? He gave loose a pleasant smile. I'm good. Just getting back to my roots. Once Luce left to help another guest, Roman picked up the shaker and gave it a spin spin before setting it down on the bar. Ava raised her eyebrows. Are you trying to impress me? The look he gave her could melt a popsicle in winter. Is it working? Holy. He was flirting with her. She couldn't stop the smile that tugged at her lips a little. Only a little. I better step up my game. He grabbed a dark blue glass bottle out of the fridge behind the bar and rolled it down his arm to land in front of her. Start with this. Ava lifted it to look at the label. What is it? Sparkling water. Oh. She gave a little laugh and unscrewed the bottle before taking a sip to wash away the taste of the limon dulce. Roman gave the martini glass in front of her appointed look. What were you going to do? Pay for it and not drink it? Or drink it and suffer in silence? Ava sighed. Pay for it and not drink it. Well, we can't have that. He slipped the offending lemon drink away and dumped it out. How do you feel about rumors? She twisted the cap back onto the water. I only buy it to make coquito. His eyebrows rose. Tueres Latina? Puerto Rican on my dad's side. My mom is from Barbados. Boricua en baja. I bet you make a killer coquito. She grinned. Don't tell my grandmother, but I made a few adjustments to her recipe and all My cousins agree. Mine is better her. Don't worry, Ava. Your secret is safe with me. Something about the way he said her name had goosebumps prickling up her spine. Her cousins would know exactly what to do in this situation. Jasmine would toy with her hair and lean forward to show off her cleavage. Michelle would make a sarcastic quip, the kind that managed to be equal parts funny and suggestive. But Ava wasn't like her cousins. She wasn't sensual or bold. She was practical and polite. So she ignored her pounding heart and warm cheeks and just murmured, thank you. Roman's gaze landed on her lips. She caught the rise and fall of his chest, like he was breathing deep. My pleasure, he said in a low voice. And then he turned, breaking the tension that had wrapped thickly around that them to grab a bottle. He flipped it over to his other hand and said, let's start with a tasting. His movements were a blur as he spun a couple of napkins onto the bar and produced two small glasses. From out of nowhere, he deftly poured a small amount of liquid into each. Ava was indeed impressed. How do you know how to do all this? I didn't always own hotels. Smells, he said enigmatically, setting the first glass in front of her. Smell this. Ava lifted the glass. It contained less than an inch of dark amber liquid. Keep your lips parted as you sniff. You know how when something smells really strong, it's like you can taste it? When Ava nodded, he continued. A si mismo. You have olfactory receptors on your tongue. It's part of the tasting experience. Somehow he even made olfactory receptors sound sexy. Ava parted her lips and brought the glass to her nose. What do you smell? Roman's voice was soft, nearly seductive, but also curious. There's no wrong answer. She closed her eyes and inhaled. It smells sort of sweet. Like caramel apple. Apple. Also a bit woodsy oak from the barrels. She opened her eyes in time to see him smile at her over the rim of his own glass. Take a small sip. She did as he instructed, letting the rum flow over her tongue and paying close attention to the sensation and flavor. Now take another and tell me what you taste. She rubbed her tongue against her palate palate, analyzing the flavors. At first it's almost fruity, but then there's a bit of smokiness in there. Rounding it out. Do you like it? It's different, she said, then met his eyes. Hadn't she come to this bar looking for something new and different? He watched her intently, a smile teasing the corner of his mouth. That's a dark rum. It's made of a blend of rums that have been aged up to 15 years. He held up a stout, sturdy looking bottle. The black label read Casa Donato Quince in fancy gold lettering with the faint outline of a large house and a number 15. There was something about the way he cradled the bottle. Not just like he was at ease behind a bar, but more proprietary. Do you own this too? She gestured toward the logo and was rewarded when his handsome face broke into a wide grin. How did you know? She just smiled. Lucky guess. What do you think of it? I think if I'd just gulped it down, it would have been too strong. But drinking slowly like this, taking time to smell it and taste it, that's how you drink a good sipping room, he finished for her, savoring every drop. Her heart thumped at the way he said savor. She got the feeling he was a man who knew how to linger over the things he enjoyed. What are you doing? She asked when he shrugged his broad shoulders out of his suit jacket. The look in his eye was playful but hinted at darker pleasures. Don't think I forgot about making you a drink. Drink? This isn't the drink. Not even close. He folded the jacket and handed it to her. As Ava took it, she caught a whiff of his cologne and automatically parted her lips as she inhaled. It wasn't too strong, woodsy, with a hint of sweetness and spice, like his rum. But there was something erotic about the idea of tasting the scent of him. The thought made her glance at his mouth. If she kissed him right now, would he also taste like all the flavors she'd teased out of the rum? Ava quickly set the jacket on the seat beside her. They'd just met. She had no business thinking about tasting Roman's scent or his mouth, or any other part of him, for that matter. She turned her attention back in time to see him roll up the cuffs of his sleeve sleeves, revealing thick forearms taut with muscle. The sight made her swallow a whimper. This man was far too appealing. Oblivious to her inappropriate thoughts, Roman launched into a flurry of movement, tossing bar supplies from one hand to the other, flipping them in the air, and rolling them down his arm in a remarkable display of coordination and competency. By the end, there were two glasses sitting between them. Each held a large cube of ice, a couple inches of reddish orange liquid, and a swirl of orange peel. Ava clapped. Okay, now I'm impressed. Roman executed a little bow. Mission accomplished. So what is it? Roman spread his hands. This, he said, is my version of a Rum Negro Negroni. Or as my mother calls it. He winced. A Romy Negroni. Her lips quirked. Cute. Thanks. So are you. She tilted her head and gave him an admonishing stare, but the effect was ruined by the smile tugging at her mouth. Are you going to flirt or tell me about this drink? His grin was lightning cruelty, quick and just as exhilarating. Why not both? But then he lifted one of the glasses, his agile fingers turning it as if it were a prism catching the light. A Negroni is an aperitif meant to spark the appetite, he explained. It has equal parts sweet, bitter, and spirit. Usually sweet vermouth, Campari, and gin. I make this with a dark rum driver mousse and chinook, a passion fruit liqueur from the Dominican Republic. I don't think I've ever had a Negroni. I'm more of a rose all day kind of girl. His brows drew together. Then why not order that? She gave a little shrug. I wanted something different tonight. He nodded slowly, and she felt the weight of his simmering gaze like an embrace. He held his glass up in a toast. Toast to something different. She repeated the word softly, unable to look away from him, but inside she made another toast. Here's to New Ava and trusting the universe. She lifted the Negroni to her nose to cover the flush rising in her cheeks. She inhaled first, identifying the citrus notes of passion fruit and orange, orange, the caramel and oak of the rum, and a slight floral aroma. Then she took a small sip. The cool liquid melted over her tongue, sharp but smooth, and she let out a hum of pleasure. Thanks to the tasting, she could recognize the flavors, appreciating the balanced blend of fruity and tart. Better? Roman asked. Ava lowered her glass. Us much. Thank you. His grin expanded. I'm glad. He opened his mouth to say something else, but his watch buzzed, startling him. Excuse me. For one moment, he squinted at his wrist as he typed something on the screen. Ava sipped her drink and readied herself to say goodbye. Roman had turned her night around, but the man was a CEO. He definitely had more important things to do than sit around flirting with her. But instead of making his excuses, Roman returned to her side of the bar. Moving his jacket, he perched on the stool and angled his body to face her. From all appearances, he seemed to be settling in, making himself comfortable. You said you're here for the teachers conference difference? He asked. She toyed with her name necklace, the one Abuelo Willie had given her as a high school graduation present. I am. So why are you alone at the bar instead of having dinner with your colleagues? She started to give her reasons. Because Damaris wasn't there yet? Or because the thought of the group dinner didn't appeal. But the phrasing of his question Jen, paired with the kindness in his eyes pulled the truth from her instead. In a quiet voice, she said, my divorce was finalized today. Ah. Understanding dawned over his features, and she caught the way his eyes flicked to her bare left ring finger. She couldn't stop herself from touching the pad of her thumb to where her engagement ring and wedding band used to say sit before she'd sold them. Is this drink in celebration or lamentation? Roman asked, his tone mild. She huffed a humorless laugh and fiddled with the condensation gathering on her napkin. Definitely celebration. I'm well rid of him, Ava H. His eyebrows creased with real concern. Are you all right? At that simple question, something inside her snapped. No, she whispered. I'm not. And then the messy knot of feelings came tumbling out. It's over. And I'm glad it's over. But I have no idea what to do next with my life. Life. Which somehow feels worse than ending a 10 year relationship. What does that say about me? About my marriage? Her voice rose as she picked up steam. Plus, my job sucks, my family is mad at me, and I can't even order a drink. She gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth as if to stem the avalanche of oversharing. But the damage had been done. Done. I'm so sorry. I don't know where all that came from. There was nothing judgmental in his expression. I don't mind. Embarrassment all but dripped from her pores. You're too easy to talk to, so don't stop, he suggested. I'm a good listener. Adios mio, she muttered and took another sip of the Negroni. You must have somewhere you need to be. One corner of his mouth turned down in a half grimace. The only thing waiting for me is reheated leftovers at my desk while answering emails. That can wait until tomorrow. I'll go if you want me to. But if you don't, take pity on me and join me for D dinner. Her lungs swelled at the implication that she would be doing him a favor by eating with him. It was laughable. In the end, it was the vulnerability shining in his brown eyes that convinced her. I don't, she said, surprised at her own boldness. Want you to go, that is. Then I won't. He said it simply, like it was easy for him to stay, even though she knew it probably wasn't. Is that a yes for dinner? It's a yes. Then in a quiet voice, she added, thank you for coming over just before you did. I was thinking. What? He asked when she trailed off. Channeling New Ava, she said, said, I was thinking that I didn't want to be alone tonight. He studied her face for a moment, not saying anything. Then he glanced down at her left hand on the bar. He covered it with his own, moving slowly, as if giving her time to react. He slid his fingers around hers and gave them the gentlest squeeze. You don't have to be at his touch. Touch. Desire curled in her belly, sending a thrill through her system. How long had it been since she'd felt attraction for someone? Too fucking long. For just a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to be impulsive, to do something entirely out of the norm. What would it be like to sleep with a stranger? Hector was the only man she'd ever had sex with, and suddenly it felt imperative that she change that. Pulse racing, Ava screwed up every ounce of courage she possessed and stroked her thumb along Roman's palm. But before she could do or say anything else, a commotion at the entrance of the restaurant interrupted. A group of about 30 people in colorful costumes streamed in, filling the boat booths and taking up the empty seats at the bar. Whatever tension had been brewing between them broke as the volume inside the lobby ticked up from a 3 to a 10. Did you know there's also an anime convention this weekend? Roman asked Riley, and Ava laughed. I do now. The bartender's other one comment suddenly made sense. He turned to her. Do you want to go somewhere more private? Her heart pounded like where he ran his thumb over her knuckles in a soft but somehow companionable caress. The penthouse suite has a great view. We can have a meal brought up. She swallowed hard. His eyes on hers were intent as he waited for a response. Old Ava would have been too nervous to act on the clear invitation. She'd ask for an order of French fries to go, then eat them in her room while watching a movie and working on lesson plans. New Ava is open to new experiences. She sucked in a breath. I'd like that. The corners of his mouth eased with something like relief. Leave before he got to his feet and used their joined hands to help her up. She let him, even though at 5ft 9 inches she had no trouble with high bar chairs. Once standing, she noted that Roman wasn't much taller than she was, maybe an inch or two, but he had a solid build that made him appear bigger. Roman turned to leave, but Ava hung back. I have to pay for the drink, she said. Head, and he gave a pained sigh. Ava, please. Oh, right. But she didn't miss him passing the bartender a wad of cash as they left. Old Ava would have worked up worst case scenarios in her mind, but damn it, she deserved to live a little. After everything she'd been through, she owed it to herself to see where this night led. Still. Still. She pulled out her phone on the way to the elevators and opened her texts. She skipped over the primus of power group chat. As much as she loved Jasmine and Michelle, she couldn't risk this getting back to their grandmother. Which meant her cousins could never know. The thought gave her a pang of guilt, but it was like her mother always said, if you wanted to keep a secret from the family, you didn't tell anyone in the family. Instead, she opened her texts with Damaris and typed quickly. Ava, I trusted the universe. And now I'm going to the penthouse at the Dulce Playa Hotel in Asbury park with the owner, Roman Vasquez. If I turn up dead, tell the police. After hitting send, Ava shoved the phone back into her purse before her friend could reply. There was a 5050 chance Damaris would urge her on or try to talk her out of of it. And either way, Ava was done overthinking things. At least for tonight. And at the end of it, she'd have a new item to add to her list. New Ava does whatever the hell she wants. Chapter 3 Roman hadn't gone to the bar with the intention of picking up a woman. Woman, in fact. He'd been on his way out but decided to check on the recent lobby renovations before heading back to Manhattan. Then he'd seen Ava. She'd caught his attention immediately. How could she not? Tall and beautiful with soft hazel eyes, golden tan skin, spiraling curls, and legs. For days he'd paused for a lingering glance, but definitely hadn't planned on talking to her until he'd seen her poorly disguised grimace when she sipped her drink. After that, nothing in his overpacked calendar could have stopped him from approaching her. The spontaneity felt good. Tomorrow he'd get back to his meticulously arranged schedule, but for tonight, he'd just enjoy whatever was happening with Ava. Shitty drink, lonely night, night, crowded restaurant. He could fix all that. And if helping Ava took his mind off the supremely frustrating conversation he'd had with his mother that morning, well, that was an added bonus. Across the elevator from him, Ava toyed with her necklace a thin gold chain with her name and script. Her eyes were glued to the red digital numbers, counting their journey toward the top floor. He got the feeling she was nervous, so he asked, hungry? Her rigid posture relaxed a fraction. Starving. Any allergies or preferences? She opened her mouth, then shut it and shook her head. Nothing. You sure? Yes. She gave a decisive nod that didn't fool him in the least. Seemed like you were about to say something. She shot him a glance. Well, I don't like olives. He raised his brows. And you were afraid to tell me that because. She blew out a breath. My stepmother is Greek. I'm not allowed to dislike olives, so I don't ever voice that opinion. And yet she totally him. That meant something, but he didn't know what. I promise not to tell her, he said gravely, and she grinned. Roman shot a quick text to the kitchen manager, asking them to send up the most popular items and a champagne bucket. The elevator dinged and the doors opened directly into the most luxurious suite at the Dulce Playa. Taking her hand, Roman led her into the space, watching for her reaction. The rooms were decorated in the Dulce's signature gold and blue color scheme, but with more emphasis on lighter earth tones than the New York City locations, which skewed more toward the deep, rich blue. To the left, a sectional sofa and matching pair of armchairs created a conversation center, while to the right, a glass topped dining table boasted seating for a great Ava let out a low whistle. Do you like it? He didn't know why, but he cared what she thought. She granted him a shy grin. I have to admit, I thought it would be more ostentatious. That pulled a laugh out of him. Yeah, like with a glass bar and big silver unicorn statue. Exactly. She turned her head, taking it all in. But I'm glad it's not. It pleased him that she'd noticed decor in a lot of hotels went either too elaborate or too minimalist. In his opinion. When someone stayed at a Dulce, he wanted them to feel like they were at home, but better. Beautiful and elegant but not cluttered. Clean and spacious, but not cold. Comfortable luxury was a surprisingly hard balance to strike, and he'd spent many hours poring over furnishings and textile samples before settling on the perfect mix of sharp angles and plush fabrics. He was more hands on than some hoteliers he knew, but his attention to detail was what made the Dulce Hotel group a success. And if his legendary attention was feeling a little strained these days, well, that was the trade off for the level of financial security he desired. Roman guided Ava to the glass doors that led out to the deck, which had a private pool and hot tub. Under an overhang. Wooden deck chairs with cushions in gold and blue surrounded a round patio table. Wow. Ava breathed as Roman opened the doors to reveal the last moments of a stellar sunset. Sunset. She drifted over to the railing as if pulled by the sun's gravity. Now that is a view. His phone buzzed before he could reply. It was his assistant, Camille Price, AKA the keeper of the schedule, as his younger sister, Michaela called her. Camille was responding to the cancel the car text he'd sent from the bar. Camille. What's going on? Roman. I'm sticking around the hotel a little longer, having dinner. Camille. Do you want me to reschedule the driver for a specific time? Roman. No, I'll do it when I'm ready to go. Camille. You have an early meeting tomorrow with your editor. Roman. As if you'd let me forget. Camille. That's what I'm here for, Roman. Enjoy your night. I'll check in tomorrow. When Roman looked up from his phone, Ava was watching him. The sunset silhouetted her curves, gilding her with the sun's final rays. Her hazel eyes nearly glowed, and she was so beautiful she made his breath catch. No, he certainly hadn't planned on her, but now that he'd found her, he wasn't ready to say goodbye just yet. So you're a teacher? He asked, standing next to her again as the sun dipped below the horizon. She nodded. Sixth grade. I teach English and social studies. Where? Spanish Harlem. You live in New York? In the Bronx. Good to know. Do you enjoy teaching? Mostly. But. She trailed off, something he noticed she tended to do when she didn't want to say what she was really thinking. He couldn't resist digging further, but she sighed and turned away from the sky, now painted a vivid orange, pink, and blue. Blue. My students are great, but what I really want to do is teach drama. Why can't you? When I was hired, my school's principal promised I could implement a theater program. It's part of why I took the position, to make theater more accessible for New York City kids. They grow up with Broadway in their backyard, but the high ticket prices make my students feel like it's not for them. Them. But it's been five years now and the principal keeps putting me off. He noted her passion and her frustration. It piqued his interest and also made him think of his sister, who could spend hours discussing the ins and outs of Broadway. It was as good a way as any of getting to know Ava better, and he found he wanted that very much. Musicals or plays? He asked, since it was a topic that never failed to get Michaela going. I love musicals, but I'd teach plays too. What's your favorite musical? Oh, that's a tough one. It changes all the time and for different reasons. All right, if not your favorite, what was the first show you ever saw? The Phantom of the Opera, she replied. There was a school chapter trip after that. I was obsessed with the Phantom. It was a joke. But when she hid her face, he had to know more. What, did I just guess? Your secret Broadway crush? Don't laugh, she warned. He schooled his features. I won't keep in mind that I was 12, she said as a caveat. God, I loved the show so much I begged my dad to get me the CD so I could pretend to be Christine. Is that the female lead? The soprano. I used to belt the soundtrack when no one was home and oh God, this is too embarrassing. Now you have to tell me. She put a hand over her eyes like she couldn't look him in the face. I also concocted elaborate fantasies about a teenage phantom who bore a striking resemblance to Anakin Skywalker. Anakin? He broke off and swallowed a chuckle. As in Darth Vader? She pointed an accusatory finger at him. You said you wouldn't laugh. Apologies. He fought valiantly to keep his expression blank and his tone easily. Stephen, I swear I am taking your prepubescent crushes on the Phantom of the Opera and Darth Vader very seriously. She sighed. In hindsight, it was probably the first indication that I have terrible taste in men. She ticked them off on her fingers. Exhibit A, a man who terrorized an opera house. Exhibit B, the scourge of the galaxy. And exhibit C, my ex husband. Husband? A mama's boy who never learned how to use a washing machine or write a check. Roman felt it prudent to set himself apart from these less than sterling examples of heroism. In case you were wondering, he said, I don't like opera, I've never built a Death Star, and I can use a washing machine and write a check. Ava's tone was skeptical. I feel like one of those things is a lot.
