Craving Perfect (10 page)

Elena stood over a silver mixing bowl, stirring together two cups of flour, three teaspoons of baking powder and a pinch of salt, like she’d done a hundred times before. The spoon scraped against the sides of the bowl and filled the inside of our pink stucco house with a hauntingly rhythmic tune.

As usual, Pop sat silently in his bedroom either pretending to read or staring at a faded photograph of
Mamá
that had probably become worn around the edges from fingering it every day, every hour. When he wasn’t holding it, he slipped it inside the family bible. I hoped the smells wafting from the kitchen would coax him out of his room for a little while.

From time to time, Elena glanced over at me as I studied at the kitchen table. I knew her well enough to know something weighed on her mind.

“Saw you talking to Grace today.” She tried mock nonchalance but I knew her better than that.

I exhaled, forcing myself to concentrate on
Commercial Litigation
. In my periphery, Elena added shortening to the bowl while my eyes glazed over case law, mostly because I thought about Grace too, more than I wanted. And if only we had more than one table in the whole house where I could study. I really should have stayed at the library.

Elena gave up waiting for me to answer her. “Anyway, I really like her. She’s nice. Pretty, too.” She poured a half cup of steaming water into her mixture. “Not like the girls you usually date.” She smirked.

“Uh-huh,” I mumbled before I remembered to turn a page in my book.

“Anyway, I think you should ask her out.” She removed the mixture from the bowl and placed it on a lightly floured surface next to the kitchen sink.

I looked up from my book and leaned against the back of the metal kitchen chair. “Oh, you do, do you?” I teased. Elena never gave up when it came to my mostly nonexistent love life. But she was always trying to set me up with
Mexicanas
, so this was a first.

“Sí, I do. I really do,” Elena said, unfazed. She picked up the dough with both hands and began to knead it. “I think you two might have a lot in common.”

“But you don’t even know her.” I rolled my eyes before pinching the bridge of my nose. My eyelids burned.

“I know enough, believe me. I’ve got two eyes. I see how you’ve been looking at her lately.” She chuckled to herself. “And don’t even try to deny it.”

My fingers froze on my nose.

Elena stopped kneading the dough and wiped her forehead with her apron. The kitchen had become warmer than usual. “She’s special, Carlos. I can tell these things. She just doesn’t know it.”

I replaced my surprise with more nonchalance. I shook my head and chuckled. “How do you know all this,
hermana
? Since when did you become a…a psychologist?”

Elena pointed her spatula at me. “You’re going to have to trust me,
hermano
. I know these things. And no one knows you better than me.” Her chin lifted. “But hear me on this—a girl like that won’t wait forever.”

My nostrils flared. “But she probably already has a boyfriend.”
And she stares at Max Kramer every morning
.

Elena signed. “Nope, she doesn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“I overheard her talking to her sister. She was trying to fix up Grace with one of her boyfriend’s friends.” Elena sniffed triumphantly when my jaw dropped.

My mouth snapped shut. Then I swallowed back some unexpected jealousy. I lowered my eyes to my book but concentrating was impossible, especially with that zinger.

Elena returned to her bowl.

Finally I blurted, “Well, did she?”

A tiny smile lifted her lips. “Did she what?” Her eyes blinked wide with innocence.

“Did she date the dude?”

“Who?”

I frowned at her.

Elena laughed. “No, she didn’t.” She cut the dough in three-inch squares. “But, like I said, Carlos. A girl doesn’t wait around forever. You should ask her out for this weekend.”

“I have a fight on Saturday night.”

She stopped cutting the dough and glared. “When are you going to quit fighting, Carlos? You’re getting too old for that.”

Elena didn’t like that I competed in mixed martial arts fights at the downtown city gym, but I’d been doing it since high school, mostly on the weekends and only when I needed the extra cash. Which was often. And I was pretty good in the ring. My wins paid for some of the extras like the brake job for my truck last month, law books, and the down payment on the suit I needed for job interviews with law firms next summer. The older and better I got, the bigger the crowds I could attract, and that meant more money for my family. Everyone always bet against the older fighter in a ring, especially the regulars, even the ones who’d seen me win dozens of times, but I didn’t care. Just so long as I got paid at the end of the night. In cash. I never got too hurt either, just sore hands and ribs for a few days, or the occasional stitch above my eye. One more year of law school though and I’d be done with the ring for good.

“Well, then ask her out for Sunday.”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I changed the topic. “What are you making?”

Her face brightened. “Sopapillas.”

“We haven’t had those in a while.” It was a relief to be off the subject of Grace Mills and my social life. And I still had to study for tomorrow’s Civil Procedures exam and I’d barely skimmed the book. Tossing back a couple of sopapillas with some powdered sugar and a tall glass of cold milk would improve my concentration. My stomach growled as I watched Elena stir hot oil in the frying pan.

“They’re not for us.” Elena plopped several squares into the pan with a large fork. The fat inside the pan sizzled around the dough like a Fourth of July sparkler.

My mouth watered. “Who, then?”

Her back to me, she threw another handful of squares into the sizzling oil. With a satisfied smile in her voice, she said, “You’re taking these to Grace Mills tomorrow and you’re going to ask her out on a proper date.”

My jaw dropped. Again.

She spun around to face me. “And don’t try to wimp out of it.”

For the first time since January, I decided to bag my morning workout. And for the first time in forever, Kathryn didn’t object. That stung a little but it wasn’t a complete shock. Since Kathryn told me the news about Eddie, it was as if we’d forgotten how to communicate.

Weirdly, Eddie didn’t pick up Kathryn for the gym like he normally did. I noticed Kathryn checking her cell phone for messages a little more often than necessary. Something was definitely up between them but I was too chicken to ask her and she wasn’t exactly Miss Approachable. Every time I tried to strike up a conversation, she moved to another room or started fiddling with something, pretending I was invisible. She could be so stubborn, even worse than me. It would have been easier to corral a feral cat.

Alone in the kitchen, I tried to concentrate on my pastry menu with Dad’s old radio for company. Despite the tunes, my mind froze on Kathryn’s news. Trouble was, I couldn’t stand it if she left for San Diego. Somewhere else in Arizona I could handle but moving to a whole new state? She and Eddie might as well move to another planet.

I tapped a pencil against a blank piece of paper. I was supposed to be writing down supplies—more flour, sugar, butter, and a better sister for Kathryn. I doodled a big fat zero. Then I scratched my pen across the page.

A knock from the front door interrupted my self-loathing exercise. I looked up and slipped the pencil behind my ear. I assumed it was Charlie, early. My mood brightened. Having some company would take my mind off things, at least as much company as you could finagle out of Charlie.

It was still dark outside but a black-haired head stood beneath the glow of the front door light, so I hesitated before opening. I peeked through the blind, expecting Eddie.

It wasn’t Eddie.

I unlocked the latch and pulled open the door.

“Morning, Grace,” he said, a shoe-boxed sized tinfoil-covered package tucked underneath his arm.

“Carlos? What are you doing here?” I blinked into the cold air. “I mean, what are you doing here so early?” Technically, we weren’t open for business yet.

The corners of his mouth turned up in a shy smile. “Elena wanted me to bring these sopapillas to you. The only free time I have is before work and I saw your light on. Hope I’m not too early. Or bothering you.”

“Bothering me?” My chin pulled back. “No way.” The only person who bothered me in the whole wide world was Alexandra Summers. At times.

We stood staring back at each other, our eyes not quite knowing where to land. Finally, I spoke. “Would you like to come in for coffee?”

He hesitated. “If it’s not too much trouble, yeah.”

“No trouble. I’d like the company.”

His smile broadened.

So I opened the door wider and Carlos walked inside, the bell jingling overhead. I followed behind him, after I shut the door and couldn’t help but notice how he was dressed. He wore a pair of jeans and a button-down powder-blue shirt that hugged him in all the right places. A soft whiff of something earthy filled the air around him.

Cologne? I didn’t figure Carlos for a cologne guy. Maybe it was all the tattoos.

I looked down at my apron and grimaced. As usual, I was splattered with a kaleidoscope of food stains and grease.

I groaned inwardly.
Callie Collins would be mortified.
Callie would never be caught dead in an apron, unkempt hair, and eyelashes without mascara. I figured Callie probably went to sleep with perfectly applied make-up and designer pajamas, just in case her million-dollar condo burned down and the fire department had to whisk her away in the middle of the night. I could really learn to hate Callie Collins.

“Where should I put this?” Carlos interrupted my internal vanity debate, one that I always lost and felt stupid for having in the first place.

Hence, my brilliant response. “Um, what?”

Carlos raised the silver bundle.

“You really shouldn’t have.”

“Elena made them.”

“Well, she shouldn’t have.” I reached for the bundle and our fingers brushed, just like when he returned my necklace. It felt oddly intimate and unexpected, maybe because we were all alone. My cheeks flushed as though I’d done something wrong. I spun around and placed the package on the table closest to me, anxious to do something. Anything. “Can I peek?”

“Sure.” Carlos walked to the other side of the table.

I pulled back the aluminum foil and inhaled, aware that he watched me. Inside, a mountain of delicate yellow pastries sprinkled with powdered sugar greeted me. For an instant, I forgot that I was uncomfortable. “They’re gorgeous!” I looked across the table at Carlos. “They look like mini croissants.” I lifted the box underneath my nose and inhaled again. “How nice of Elena.”

“She’ll be happy to hear that. You might even want to try one with your coffee. They taste best with coffee, I think. And a little bit of milk.”

His accent really was adorable. I couldn’t help but smile at him. “Coffee?” I turned. “Well, you came to the right place. Wait here.”

I made a wide circle, this time trying very hard not to brush against him again, and headed for the kitchen for plates and cups.

“Can I help?”

“No,” I called over my shoulder. “Just relax. I got it covered.”

When I returned from the kitchen, Carlos was seated and the tinfoiled box was pulled open in the center of the table.

“Good.” I smiled at the table, the box centered like it belonged there. “I assumed you would have one too.”

Carlos nodded and I handed him a small white plate. “Coffee and milk coming right up.” I darted back into the kitchen, still feeling oddly anxious. Seeing Carlos at my doorstep, before the sun had even risen, kind of caught me off guard. If only Kathryn were around. She’d say something clever and funny and put everyone, namely me, at ease. My shoulders dropped a fraction, considering this. It would be hard when she moved away.

When I returned, Carlos had managed to find the napkins and forks we stored in a container alongside the cash register. A sopapilla waited on each plate.

I handed him a cup of fresh coffee and placed a cold glass of milk on the table, just in case, but almost knocked over the milk trying to do too many things at once.

Between the coffee and the rich smell from the sopapillas, my stomach growled with a combination of anticipation and anxiety.

I pulled back a chair across from Carlos, grateful to sit before I spilled anything. “How do you say it?
Sopapillas
?” I frowned after the word left my lips. It sounded all wrong. When Carlos said it, the word sounded like a flower.

“Sopapillas,” he corrected me. It rolled so warmly off his tongue.

“I’ll keep trying.”

“Your pronunciation is fine.” His eyes twinkled, or maybe it was the reflection from the aluminum foil.

I took my first bite, choosing a corner dusted generously with powdered sugar. Immediately, I moaned with satisfaction. The pastry was light as cotton, like a crêpe, and it melted in my mouth.

Carlos laughed. “You like?”

“Like? I love! I could eat a dozen.”

His eyes twinkled a little more as he watched me over his coffee cup. This time the aluminum foil was nowhere near.

“You’re not having any?”

Carlos stabbed a corner of his sopapilla. “Elena will be happy to hear you liked them.”

“If your sister ever wants to stop by and bake with me, I’d be honored. Maybe we can share recipes?”

“I’ll tell her. She’d like that.” He chewed slowly, still watching me.

To be honest, his always steady gaze made me feel a little uncomfortable. I felt compelled to fill the silence. But then I wiped my lips with my napkin and tasted powdered sugar.
No wonder he keeps staring at you, Grace. Your lips are covered in sugar!
I cleared my throat. “It was real nice of you to drop these by.”

“No trouble,” he said quickly.

There was another knock at the front door.

I turned. “Now that must be Charlie.”

“Charlie?”

“Yeah, he lives around here somewhere. He’s always our first customer.” I hesitated to call Charlie
homeless
, even if it was true. Charlie would be crushed to hear me say it.

“Well, then I better let you get back to work. I don’t want to hold you up.”

“Stay as long as you’d like, Carlos. You and your sister are welcome here anytime.”

Carlos dragged a napkin over his mouth and stood anyway. “There is one other thing I wanted to ask you, Grace. If you’ve got a second.”

From the urgent pull behind his eyes, I stood too. One minute we’re having a nice time; the next minute, it’s like we’re in full fire-drill mode. “Is something wrong?”

Carlos dragged his fingers through his hair and then stared at me for another moment. “I was wondering something…”

“Wondering what?” Another rap on the door.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime.”

My chin pulled back. “Go out?” Not what I was expecting. Or was I?

He swallowed and I could tell from his furrowed brow that my response was all wrong. Dorky, even. But he pressed on anyway. “Yeah, go out. Maybe catch a movie? Have dinner?”

“You mean, like in a group?”
More lameness!

Carlos’s forehead softened. “No, Grace. Not in a group. With me.” His head titled. “As in a date?”

“Oh.” I felt my eyes blink wide.

Someone rapped on the front door again, more urgently this time.

“If you’d rather think about it…or rather not…” Carlos started, his chest deflating slightly.

But my eyes met his and I shook my head. “Carlos, I don’t have to think about it.”

He shoved his hands in his front pockets.

“I’d be…happy to go out with you. On a date.” My cheeks flushed again. “It’s just been a while…”
Since anybody’s asked me out
, I wanted to add. “I’m kind of rusty.” My shoulders shrugged apologetically. “Sorry.”

“S’okay, Grace.” His voice lowered. “It’s been a while for me too.”