One Perfect Man. Lynda Sandoval
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Native American pieces, and the effect was stunning. This wasn’t just a house, it was a home. Part haven, part gallery. Erica didn’t know what she’d expected, if anything, but she was impressed.
She glanced over to find Hope studying her with a childlike intensity that caught her off guard. “It’s beautiful.” She indicated the room.
Hope stuffed her hands into her back pockets and turned her attention to the room as though she’d never seen it before. “Grandma Ruby made the quilts. There’s one on my bed, too. It’s a log-cabin pattern.”
Erica couldn’t help the smile that lifted the corners of her mouth. Leave it to a child to miss the significance of the artwork in the room and go straight for the comfortable.
“Is someone talking about me?”
Erica turned at the same time Hope did and saw a small, elderly woman with a shock of almost magenta-tinted hair wheel deftly into the room from the archway behind them. She hadn’t expected Ruby to look so vibrant, but then, she didn’t know much about multiple sclerosis. “If you’re the creator of these fabulous quilts, then the answer is, yes.”
Hope pointed a thumb over her shoulder. “That’s Grandma Ruby. You better just call her Ruby.”
“Well, now. You must be Erica.” Ruby came to a stop just before her and knotted her hands loosely in her lap, which was covered by another small quilt she no doubt made herself.
“In the flesh.” Erica transferred her portfolio to her left hand and thrust out her right. “Thank you for having me.”
Ruby shook Erica’s hand. “Nonsense, it’s our pleasure. Welcome to our home. I can’t tell you how glad we are to have you helping with the quinceañera. Isn’t that right, Hope?”
Erica glanced at the girl, sure she saw something move through Hope’s expression before she bit her bottom lip and nodded silently, a placid smile on her lips.
Interesting. Erica filed that away for later.
“So,” Ruby drew out, “I will admit Tomás has told me a bit about you.” And then she chuckled softly and Erica knew.
Without a doubt.
Tomás had told his grandmother about their little misunderstanding at the Arts Festival meeting. Ugh, she wanted to kill him. Since that wasn’t appropriate behavior for a guest, she tried another angle. “Yes. Well. I’m sure I know what little bits he shared. As his grandmother, I’m counting on you to share a few of his embarrassing secrets, as well.”
Ruby’s eyes sparkled. “You can count on that.”
“What are you guys talking about?” Hope asked, baffled.
Ruby wagged a finger. “Mind your business, young lady.”
“Erica.”
So caught up in meeting Hope and Ruby, Erica somehow forgot that Tomás would be nearby. Her stomach plunged at the sound of his voice in the room, its depth and richness seeming to suck away all available oxygen. She looked toward the archway that led to the dining room beyond, and there he stood. Dressed all in black, wiping his hands on a strawberry-patterned dish towel, guarded laughter and welcome in his eyes.
God, but he was a beautiful man.
She forced a smile. “Tomás. I hope I’m not too early.”
“Not at all.” He tossed the dish towel over his shoulder as he crossed into the room, then wrapped Hope in a playful headlock. “You’ve met my girls?”
“Da-a-ad!”
Erica grinned at Hope then smiled genuinely at Ruby. “I have. We’re all old friends by now.”
“Good. Then let me get you all drinks.” He smoothed those work roughened hands together, and Erica’s gaze dropped to watch the mesmerizing motion. Why was it, with some men, you could simply look at them and imagine the feel of their hands on—
“Wine, Erica? A cocktail? What’s your pleasure?”
Arsenic? These thoughts had to stop. “How about water?” She crinkled her nose. “Sorry to be so dull, but I’m not so sure about those dark, winding backroads after a drink.”
“Backroads?” he teased. “Those are superhighways in these parts, city girl.”
“I’ll get the water,” said Hope eagerly, and they all looked at her. Tomás with raw love. Ruby with pride. And Erica, with a sense of relief. She’d only been there for a few minutes, but if Hope was always so obedient and well-behaved, this job might turn out to be easier and more pleasant than she’d anticipated.
“Thank you, baby,” Tomás said, as Hope bounded out of the room, all exuberance and no grace, like a retriever puppy. He looked at his grandmother. “Rube? How about you?”
“I will go with my great-granddaughter and fetch my own wine, thank you. I’m not an invalid who needs waiting on.” She maneuvered one large wheel until she faced the kitchen and made her way swiftly from the room.
And then they were alone.
Erica fought the urge to avert her eyes, to look anywhere but at this man. She was no high school girl, and this wasn’t a date. “They’re wonderful, Tomás. Your grandmother is a pip.”
“She’s a handful,” he said, but respect and love threaded through the statement. “God love her.”
For a moment, they were both silent, and suddenly Erica knew she needed to say something about her gaffe. Anything. Or else the not saying would loom in the room with them all night long like a giant purple monster he and she would studiously ignore.
Garnering courage with a slow intake of breath, Erica splayed a hand on her chest. The words came in a nervous rush. “Tomás, can I just say one more time how sorry I am to have made the assumptions—”
“Ah, ah.” Tomás stopped her, one palm forward. “We’re past that, Erica. A simple misunderstanding. Let’s just move on.”
She hung her head, grateful…a little embarrassed, perhaps? But she wanted him to know it had been her mistake, not based on him, really, at all. “O-okay. I just…let me say that…you need to know my assumption was never because I thought you weren’t…” She rolled her hand, realizing she’d just dug herself in further, wondering just how many times she’d wished for death since she met this man who stole her composure so easily, so completely, without even trying.
His smile widened. He was enjoying her discomfort, the rat. “That I wasn’t what?”
“Well…not virile.” Her face heated instantly. She held up her hands. “Wait, that didn’t come out right.”
Tomás laughed. “I think it came out fine. It’s good to know my virility isn’t in question.” He blew on his fingernails and buffed them along the collar of his shirt. “Did you have any comments about machismo or handsomeness you’d like to share?”
Then he winked.
She managed, just barely, to roll her eyes. Her throat felt dry and tight, but she injected an illusion of friendly drollness into her tone anyway. “Don’t push your luck, buddy.”
“Bueno. No more joking, okay? I know what you’re saying, even though you don’t have to say it, and I swear to you it’s in the past.”
“Thank God. And thank you.” A little more laughter, and then…silence. And what now? Small talk? She despised small talk. But it was either that or stand there stunned by how absolutely hot he looked with his hair hanging loose. A little bit rebel, a little bit artist. Hey, just because she wasn’t interested in marriage didn’t mean she wasn’t interested in men.
And Tomás Garza was one verrrrry interesting man.
She cleared her throat and forced her thoughts from him before she did something stupid. “Your home is lovely. You’re