Blossoming Flower (Wildflowers Book 1) Page 9

  “It’s late,” Collin says, pulling up in front of the main house. He shifts the truck into neutral to allow it to idle. “You should get some rest. I’ll be out at the stables in the afternoon.”

  Flor notices the time on the dashboard. 11:20 p.m. “It’s still your birthday.”

  “Not for much longer.”

  “Forty minutes is enough for one birthday drink,” she offers.

  He smiles, but it’s too polite. “Thanks, but I need to get this trailer unhitched.”

  Flor smiles back sweetly. “I’d like to take you out for a real birthday dinner,” she insists.

  Collin opens his mouth to protest, but she cuts him off. “Just say ‘yes’. It would be rude otherwise. I missed going to the market this weekend, and it would be nice to eat something other than food from a diner or the boardinghouse.”

  He looks out the window.

  “It’ll be totally casual,” Flor assures him. “We can go wherever you want.”

  The cowboy nods, her persistence haven broken through his fatigue and what’s left of the walls she’d managed to penetrate this weekend.

  “Excellent. Tomorrow night at seven work for you?”

  Again he nods, putting the truck into gear.

  Taking her cue, Flor climbs out of the truck. “Good night, Collin.”

  Convoluted relationship status aside, Flor can’t help but be a bit excited. After the long drive, she decided that if she can’t be with him, she’d be happy to have a friend, something she didn’t appreciate when she first left Belle Grove. The past few years of keeping people at a distance to avoid being hurt have ended up hurting her more than she could have anticipated at the time. Mistrust breeds more mistrust, and Flor now realizes that she’s tired of hiding. Opening herself up is difficult since so much of her past is wrapped up in the life her family led before her father’s empire crumbled—the private jets, drivers, vacation homes and endless travel. But there’s more to her than those superficial experiences, and he doesn’t have to know that part of her life to know her. And that very idea brings her a profound sense of peace.

  Flor watches until the taillights disappear into the darkness. She heads toward the gate to the house and stands under a motion-sensitive light so she can find her key.

  “Where were you this weekend?”

  Flor jumps at the sound of the voice, her heart drumming quickly in her chest. “You just scared the shit out of me,” she says, nearly out of breath, her body shaking from the adrenalin.

  Paco appears from behind a tree, his beautiful face eclipsed by the darkness.

  “You make it a habit of hiding behind trees and scaring women?” Flor grips the small can of pepper spray she keeps in her bag.

  “Not really. I came by yesterday to see if you wanted to go into town for a drink. When you weren’t home, well, I thought I’d try again tonight.”

  “It’s after eleven. A bit late now, don’t you think?” Flor rifles around her bag with her other hand to find her keys. Her heart continues to pound against her chest. Why he’d be so presumptuous as to show up late and unannounced at her home makes her more uneasy.

  “Eleven isn’t late where we’re from,” he replies. “The night is just beginning.” His attempt to establish any kind of intimacy through their shared Latin heritage disgusts Flor. She doesn’t bother to respond. Why should he presume to know anything about me? She wonders. Unless . . . . Too exhausted to think, she quickly dismisses the thought.

  “I didn’t realize you had plans to spend the weekend with Collin.” Paco nods toward the driveway.

  “We were delivering a horse,” Flor explains. “Although it really isn’t any of your business.”

  Paco raises an eyebrow and smiles seductively. The disturbing atmosphere of the moment makes him look more sinister than attractive. Her fingers hit the cold metal of her key chain.

  “You’re right. It’s not my place to meddle. I’ll leave you to your night,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets. He makes to leave but then stops.

  Flor remains still, unsure of the Argentinian’s motives. Nothing about him troubled her before, yet his uninvited presence outside her home crossed a huge line for her.

  “Did you say you were delivering a horse?” He asks, turning around facing her.

  The young woman nods. “It was a mare I’d been working with. We took her up to Montana.”

  Paco chuckles. “Luis and Raul are the ones who usually make the deliveries, Flor.” The condescending way he says her name grates on her.

  The Brazilian stares back, the implications washing over her in waves. There could be a number of reasons Collin wanted to deliver the horse with her. But she wasn’t about to discuss this with Paco. She parts her lips to speak but nothing comes out. He steps forward to close the distance between them and boldly reaches out and runs his thumb over her bottom lip.

  “Be careful, Flor. You’re young and inexperienced. Those qualities make you very attractive. Such a danger to you, though.”

  The young woman swallows the last bit of her fear. Finally she mutters, “Good night, Paco.”

  “Buenas noches, bella.”

  Chapter 28

  “This place is awesome.” Flor takes in the small restaurant that’s sandwiched between a bank branch and pharmacy. Twelve two-person tables fill the space along with a bar in the front that seats ten. By all accounts, it reminds her of many restaurants in New York’s Lower East Side, tight and crammed. Strewn about are random photos and maps of Mexico hanging on the copper covered walls. The vintage pendant lights reflect off the metal giving the space a warm and homey feeling. Even on a Monday night, the place is packed, the sound of laughter and conversation drowning out the music coming from the speakers hidden in the upper corners of the room.

  Flor had to coach herself into containing her excitement. Being away from the ranch, in an actual restaurant instead of a diner, reminds her of how long it’s been since she’d had a really enjoyable meal. Nothing in the towns around Belle Grove remotely resembled this place. They were acceptably average, which is something she taught herself to appreciate. And in her effort to economize and stretch out every dollar from her trust, she denied herself the pleasure of well, enjoying such simple pleasures. This unassuming place in the middle of town was so much like Belo Horizonte in that it was an unexpected treasure in an otherwise ordinary place.

  Flor is so absorbed with the scene that she doesn’t notice a man approach them. Dressed in loose fitting jeans, a white tee shirt, and San Francisco 49er’s cap, with full tattoo sleeves on both arms, he grasps Collin’s right hand with his left and pulls him in for a hug. He’s shorter than Collin by several inches but his wide, stocky frame shows his strength. “Hey brother, long time no see.”

  Flor turns to the source of the voice and glimpses Collin smiling. It occurs to her then that it’s the first time she’s seen a remotely happy expression on his face. Before Collin can introduce her, his friend’s eyes grow wide. “Who’s your chica?” He asks. “You’ve been holding out on me, bro.”

  “Eddie, this is Flor. She’s working out at the ranch this summer.”

  She extends a hand, but he leans in to kiss her right cheek. “Mucho gusto,” he says, his Spanish rapid and clipped. “Flor. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

  Flor smiles politely, slipping her hands into the back pockets of her dark fitted jeans. She and Collin are in virtually matching outfits, dark jeans and dark tops, his a navy tee and hers, a Rag & Bone beater tank Poppy insisted she buy along with black leather Louboutin flats. She’s met with this compliment often and responds the same way each time. It’s not that she doesn’t know that she’s beautiful, but why should it matter? It shouldn’t be what defines her. However, his wide dark eyes and open face show a man with such a great sense of humor and friendly demeanor that she dismisses the thought. “Encantada de conocerte,” she replies.

  Collin’s friend looks from Flor to Collin and back again, searching for a
n answer to an unspoken question. Obviously Collin hadn’t mentioned her to his friend, which only reinforces just how private he is. Flor can’t blame him since she isn’t any different. Breaking the brief but awkward silence, Eddie slings his arm around Flor’s shoulders and leads her to a table in the back with the word “Reserved” scrawled on a torn piece of paper. “Best table in the place.”

  He catches Flor looking around. “Trust me, it’s the quietest 3x5 space that I have.”

  “It’s not that,” she says. “This place is absolutely charming. Did you design it yourself?”

  Eddie shakes his head. “I had plenty of help from my family and friends.” He squeezes Collin’s shoulder.

  “You’ve got the New York vibe down perfectly,” Flor insists.

  “He should. Eddie had his own restaurant out there for a while,” Collin says proudly.

  His friend pulls out a chair for Flor to sit, and Collin takes his place across from her. The owner places two small menus printed on recycled paper in front of them. “I’ll let this fine man tell you my story. I have other customers to seat. Then I’ll be back with your drinks.”

  Before they could tell him what they want, he’s already back at the bar greeting more patrons. Flor glances down at the simple menu, the name Xicano written in the same print as the “Reserved” sign on their table. “He writes out his menus by hand?”

  Collin nods. “Eddie believes that every detail of this place has to come from him, even the menus.”

  “He’s lucky he writes clearly then,” Flor offers, perusing the simple choices of vegetables, sopes and tacos.

  Collin chuckles. “Probably the only thing he learned in school. That and how to fight.”

  “So that’s how you know him?” She sets down the menu, unable to decide since everything looks appealing. Much like the man across from her.

  “I’ll never forget when he showed up for the first day of school. He used to get all his clothes from his older brother so everything was two sizes too big. There were only twenty kids in our class, and he was the only Mexican, and the only one who didn’t speak English very well.”

  “That made him an easy target.”

  “Yup. But if you ask Eddie, he’ll tell you that he loved school.”

  “Why’s that?” Flor folds her arms on the table.

  “He said it was better than working the fields, which is where everyone else in his family was pretty much everyday of the week.”

  “Why didn’t he work the fields?”

  “He was too slow. Although one night, drunk on tequila, he confessed that he was slow on purpose. He really hated it out there.”

  “I’m not sure if getting my ass kicked in school everyday is better than field work.” Flor stops short, realizing that she probably has it backwards. “Or maybe not. There had to be another reason.”

  Collin nods and his lips curl into a smile. “It made him who he is today—proud of his heritage and his people. At first his poverty made him ashamed, but standing up for himself at school made him proud of what his parents were sacrificing in order to give him a better life.”

  “Hence the name of the restaurant,” Flor finishes.

  “You done telling lies about me?” Eddie places two glasses in front of them, each one about a quarter full of an iridescent liquid. Holding up a glass of his own, he says, “Feliz Cumpleaños. Happy Birthday, to the best white brother this Chicano has ever had.”

  Collin touches his friend’s glass with his and Flor’s. “Thank you, guys.” They all take a sip, the mix of dry, earthy and fruit flavors going down smoothly.

  “What is this?” Flor asks, noting the hints of papaya and pineapple and roasted red pepper.”

  “Only the best mezcal for you and my friend. I found this distributor down in Oxnard who gets this great Tobalà. Drink it slowly. A bottle of this costs a small fortune, but is totally worth it.”

  “You have a chance to look at the menu?” He asks.

  Flor picks up the paper in front of her. “It all looks fantastic. What would you recommend?”

  “Your mom in the kitchen tonight?” Collin asks.

  “Hell yeah. She cooked some beans this morning and her salsa ranchera.” He turns to Flor. “My mom makes this incredible salsa that will make you cry you never had anything so good. It’s served with the chile rellenos tonight.”

  “I thought you did the cooking,” she responds.

  “Every night but Sunday since we’re closed and Mondays. It’s Madre Monday here. That’s why it’s so crowded. Locals know she’s the best cook within a hundred miles of this one horse town.”

  “Eddie’s being modest,” Collin says, handing the menu to his friend. “This place is always busy. His mom taught him how to cook. Then he went to New York and made a name for himself. Fortunately for us simple folk, he’s returned to regale us with his real world education.”

  “You flatter me,” the young chef replies.

  As soon as he disappears into the kitchen, Collin finishes telling Flor the story. “Eddie dropped out of high school when he was fifteen. He was always bored and hated homework. One night he texts me to say he’s on a bus going to New York. He figured since he was busing tables here for less than minimum wage, he might as well go and do it somewhere where the color of his skin would matter less.”

  “Why didn’t he just go to San Francisco? It’s a lot closer.” Flor asks curiously.

  “Too close. He hated California because he felt it got rich off the backs of people like his family.”

  “So it was in New York that he made it?”

  Collin nods. “He told me that the first two years everything he made went to his rent. He paid over six hundred a month to share a studio with three other guys. But Eddie was determined to make it. His break came when a chef he knew left some big place to open something small out in Brooklyn. The rest is culinary history.” He takes a sip of the mezcal. Flor’s eyes drop to Collin’s lips as he licks his bottom lip.

  “So why come back?”

  “His father had a heart attack and died last summer while he was out in the fields. Even though he was doing well, Eddie knew it was time to come back home and support his family.”

  “And what about you?” Flor asks, emboldened by the warm liquid in her empty stomach. “You went to college. Did you ever plan to come back?”

  Collin levels his gaze at Flor, the dark look unreadable to her. He shakes his head. “No, I hadn’t, but I wasn’t as opposed to it as Eddie. Sometimes you think you know what’s best, but life points you in a different direction,” he says cryptically. “And it’s presenting opportunities you may not see at first.”

  “That direction was back home?” Flor asks, hoping she can get a bit more information out of him.

  “Apparently.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms.

  “Did you ever not know what you wanted or where you’d be?” She asks, more for her benefit than his. One thing that still hasn’t occurred to her is where she could settle after vet school. At least graduate school lets her put that decision off a bit longer, but the thought of not knowing is still unsettling. She takes another sip, grateful to forget, even for a little while.

  Collin holds her gaze but doesn’t reply. Eventually he says, “Sometimes you think you know what you want, and on the surface, it makes perfect sense.”

  A long silence falls over them. Flor can hear Manà in the background, her mind filling in the few lyrics that she can’t make out.

  “But?”

  “You wake up and realize that you were living someone else’s dream, but you were too caught up in it that you believed it was your own.”

  “So then what do you do?”

  “You find the courage to do what you have to.” The cowboy leans forward and downs the rest of the mezcal.

  “Is that what you did?”

  Collin shakes his head. “Eddie is courageous. I never said I was like him.”

  Chapter 29

  “
Damn, chica, you love your food.” Eddie pulls up a chair to the table, straddles it, and puts down a plate two with tacos in front of them.

  Flor wipes her lips and drinks some water. “I don’t think I can. Please tell your mother she makes the best Mexican food I’ve ever tasted.”

  “I will if you eat one of these,” he teases, holding up a taco to her mouth. “It’s going on the menu tomorrow so I want you to taste it.”

  She looks at Collin who warns, “There probably won’t be any dessert until you do.”

  The young woman holds Eddie’s wrist and takes a small bite, her eyes lighting up as she chews. “Oh my god, crispy pigs ear. And the peppers with that sauce. It’s amazing.” Flor lets go of Eddie’s arm, grabs the other taco and holds it out for Collin to try. He covers her hand with his and bites into it.

  The tingling sensation from his touch flows up her arm and warms her more than the mezcal. In that very moment, something solidifies in Flor. The feel of Collin’s hand, the relaxed way he took it makes her realize that as much as she hopes they can be friends, the reality is that she likes him too much for it to be possible. The sound of Eddie clearing his throat makes her drop the taco on the plate and look away quickly. No matter how subtle, Eddie could see what passed between them.

  He smiles at her slyly, but it quickly disappears. “I knew you’d like it. You Brazilians love pigs ears.”

  Flor swallows hard. “I never said I was Brazilian.”

  “But you are, right?” Eddie presses. “I can tell by the accent when you speak Spanish. I dated a Brazilian woman when I was in New York. She was so fine. I mean, not as fine as you, but she had this ass . . . .” He holds up his hands as if holding a ball.

  “Eddie,” Collin warns, raising an eyebrow.

  His friend stops and looks at him. “What? I’m paying her a compliment.”

  “By talking about your ex-girlfriend’s ass?”