Hi! Thank you for reading! I'm still working on my Christmas story but I feel like the one I'm doing now will be either a one shot or two shot getting released on Christmas eve and Christmas day but I wanted to have one to release everyday in December leading up to Christmas eve/day so I will be working on that!

Tris

I like being with him. I like talking to him and hearing his thoughts. I like the way he didn't fall all over himself comforting me when I told him about the day Al was killed. Some of the guys I've dated haven't known what to say when they heard how I lost my husband, so they either said too much or not enough.

Tobias got it just right.

It's not easy to talk about that day, but it felt right to tell him.

I like how he looks in casual attire—flip-flops, khaki shorts, a navy-blue T-shirt and those sexy Ray-Ban Wayfarers.

"What's next on our agenda, boss lady?" he asks as we drive away from the condo complex.

"We're basically on hold until I hear back from Christina about the clinic, so how about I give you the two-dollar tour? We can take some photos for Instagram that show you getting to know your new home."

"Sure, we can do that."

It's a perfect Chicago day, if you like it hazy, hot and humid, which I do. "Can we run by my place so I can change?"

"Of course."

I can't believe I'm actually getting paid for this. The thought makes me giggle.

"What's so funny?"

"I was just thinking that it's weird I'm getting paid to play tourist in my hometown."

"That's not all you're doing. You're helping me, which is what Mr Andrews told you to do."

"True, but this hardly feels like work." After a stop at my place, where I change into a casual dress and sandals, we get back on the highway. A short time later, I point to an exit. "Take this one. I want to show you where I come from." I point to the planes descending into O'hare International airport. "We're very close to OIA."

He takes the exit, and I direct him. "I want you to see 4th Street, otherwise known as Little Amity. Of the nearly three million people in Chicago, a lot of people are Cuban or of Cuban descent. You can live here your whole life and speak only Spanish and be totally fine."

"I'm going to have to work on that. My Spanish is rusty."

"I can help with that, too."

As we creep along busy streets, I try to see the neighborhood from an outsider's viewpoint and immediately feel proud of every part of it, including the coin-operated laundromats, massive new-car dealerships adjacent to used-car lots, graffiti, car washes and restaurants offering Cuban and every other kind of cuisine, including Taco Bell, where the drive-through line blocks the street.

Tobias navigates around the cars. "Why would anyone go to Taco Bell when there's all this authentic Cuban food to be had?"

"Great question. Some people were appalled when Taco Bell came to the neighborhood, but as you can see, they do good business."

"Baffling. I'd want the real deal if it was as close by as it is here."

"We've got the real deal at Prior's. It's the best Cuban in town, in my humble opinion."

The streets are full of stores and restaurants. There's everything from a brand new CVS pharmacy to a Goodwill thrift store to a Cuban coffee shop to nightclubs. Cubans love their nightlife.

We pass a park where a group of men are gathered around a table, intensely engaged.

"What're they doing?" Tobias asks when we're stopped at a light.

"Playing dominoes. It's very popular in Cuba—and here."

Little Amity is a juxtaposition of the past and present, sleek and decrepit, coexisting in a mishmash of culture and vibrancy. I love every inch of this place that made me. "When my friends and I were young, our only goal was to leave this neighborhood, but most of my friends came back here."

"There's no place like home."

"That's for sure."

We drive by high-rise apartment buildings with balconies and down streets full of pastel-colored houses with stucco exteriors and metal security gates. "There's a massive block party here in March every year called Chicago Carnival. It's so much fun. It stretches from 14th to 28th Avenue."

"That sounds fun. I love all the music."

"It's always loud on this street. You'll hear everything from traditional Cuban music to Pitbull. Did you know he grew up around here?"

"I didn't."

"He got his start playing on stages in this neighborhood. See that place over there?" I point to a yellow building with a counter open to the sidewalk. "That's Los Fruteria, one of the oldest fruit stands in the country. The lady who works there has been pressing the sugarcane for more than fifty years. They're known for a drink called guarapo. It's pure sugar, so some people call it diabetes in a cup."

Tobias laughs. "I'll pass on that."

"It's so good. They roll cigars over there. Best cigars you'll ever find."

"I'll pass on them, too. I know too much about what smoking does to the body."

"Keep that to yourself around here if you value your life. We're very serious about our cigars."

"Will do," he says, chuckling.

I direct him to take a few turns that lead to a two-story pink stucco house. Out front are colorful flowers in the window boxes and an ornate white security gate with gold accents.

"Home sweet home." I note that my father's Ford pickup truck and my mother's Mercedes coupe are in the driveway. Any minute, however, they'll be heading to the restaurant for the rest of the day and night. A trickle of sensation works its way down my spine as I imagine them catching me here with Tobias and his Porsche.

"This is where you grew up?"

"Uh-huh." I'm relieved when he slows the car but keeps inching forward past the house. "We moved here when I was two. Al's family lives three blocks that way."

He starts to speed up.

"Wait. Stop." I point to the chickens and rooster starting across the street, oblivious to the possibility of certain death. "You have to watch out for them around here. They're all over the place."

"Good to know."

"You'll see chicken art and statues everywhere in Little Amity."

I show him the Elementary School I attended as well as the dance studio that was like a second home to me through high school, and the Supermarket. "I briefly stocked shelves there when I was so fed up with my parents that I didn't want to work at the restaurant anymore."

"That must've gone over well."

"Yeah, not so much. They were more hurt about me quitting the restaurant than they were about me not speaking to them."

"What'd they do to deserve the silent treatment?"

"They refused to let me officially date Al until I was sixteen."

"Oh right, the waiting period."

"It was torture! We were in love!" I laugh at my own foolishness. "The drama was exceptionally high during those years."

"I can only imagine," he says with a low chuckle.

"My parents have old-fashioned values that didn't sync with my teenage mentality. We butted heads a lot, but I always did what they told me to do. As much as I wanted to rebel, I couldn't bring myself to actually do it."

"Such a good girl," he says, smiling. "Was it just you? No siblings?"

"No I have a brother. My mother had nine miscarriages before he arrived. And then me 10 months later. We were her miracles. He travels a lot for work, he researches things for science."

"Oh my goodness!"

"That's probably why I didn't go totally wild and defy them when I really, really wanted to. So there we were, their miracle babies who became a less-than-miraculous teenager. I look back at it now and cringe at how awful I was to them."

"We're all awful teenagers."

"You were, too?"

"Oh God, yes. I was horrible. If my parents had any inkling of the crap I used to do . . ."

I'm immediately intrigued. "Like what?"

"I smoked all the pot, drank all the beer, slept with all the girls. And I was a total jerk to my parents."

Hearing he slept with all the girls, I want to claw their eyes out. That's a totally normal reaction, right? Yeah, I know. Ridiculous. "You were a typical bad boy."

"In every way except for one—I got straight As without really trying."

"Ugh, you were that guy? I hated that guy! He ruined it for the rest of us."

"That was me," he says, laughing. "A total fuckup in the rest of my life, but because my grades were perfect, my parents couldn't do much about the rest."

"That's a good position to be in."

"I quite enjoyed it."

"Where'd you go to college?"

"Full ride to Cornell undergrad and Duke medical school."

"Wow, that's impressive, but I suppose you don't get to be a brain surgeon without having a pretty good brain of your own."

His lips quiver with amusement. "It does tend to help. School was always easy for me, until I got to med school and discovered my lack of study skills was going to be a major problem. It was like hitting a brick wall going ninety miles an hour."

"It makes me feel better to know you got your comeuppance."

He laughs. "I totally did. In a big way. I nearly flunked out after my first semester. I was a disaster until one of my classmates took me under her wing and made a real student out of me."

"Is that all she did with you?"

"Oh no, we fucked like rabbits between marathon study sessions."

I laugh so hard I end up with tears in my eyes. "The way you say things . . ." I wonder what it would be like to fuck like rabbits with him. The thought makes my face flush with heat and embarrassment as a tight knot of desire settles between my legs. I cross them, hoping to quell the sensation, but that only makes it worse.

He flashes a sexy grin that has my skin prickling with awareness of him. "I'm told I have a way with words. But seriously, she saved my ass. We were together through med school, until we got residencies at programs on opposite sides of the country and went our separate ways. Long-distance relationships are hard enough, but throw in two residencies, and it became impossible. We're still friends, though. She reached out to me after the disaster in New York. A mutual friend told her what was going on."

"That was nice of her."

Nodding, he changes the radio and lands on a news station. "News travels fast in medical circles."

I sing along to the song in Spanish, adding some hand gestures from my dance training.

"Are you fluent in Spanish?"

"Sí. You can't grow up with my family and not speak the language."

"I took years of Spanish, but I suck at comprehension."

"Glad to know you suck at something."

"I suck at a lot of things." He waggles his brows suggestively. "And other things, I'm really, really good at."

Dear God, I want to know about those things. I want to experience those things. I want to—

Stop it. Be professional and stop lusting after your colleague. Do your job.

I have a sudden moment of inspiration. "Turn the car around and go back."

"Go back where?"

"I'll show you when we get there."

"You're the boss." He finds a place to turn around, and we retrace our path to the park where the men are playing dominoes.

"Park there." I point to a rare open spot on the street. "Come with me." Tobias follows me to the gathering of men. "Excuse me." I recognize some of them from Prior's, especially Mr. Perez, who brings his wife, Eva, in on Saturday nights. They range in age from sixty to ninety, and all of them know who I am and who I lost. Such is my life after working at the restaurant since I was old enough to roll silverware into napkins.

I tell them, "My friend Tobias is new in town and doesn't know how to play dominoes. Would you mind if he watches?"

"Not at all," one of the men replies, moving over to make room for Tobias on the picnic bench. "Have a seat."

Tobias sends me a questioning look.

I give him a nudge forward. "Roll with me."

He walks around the table to take the open seat.

Speaking in both English and Spanish, the men start giving him pointers, rules and advice, arguing about the best strategies and generally confusing the hell out of him. Thankfully, Mr. Perez translates for Tobias.

Despite his initial reluctance, Tobias gets sucked in, asking questions and fully participating as I suspected he would. The game is loud and spirited, dominoes clicking against the table with rapid movements that have Tobias struggling to keep up. I suspect that doesn't happen to him very often, and the faces he makes are comical.

I pull out my phone and start taking photos, moving around the table for better lighting and angles.

He throws his head back and laughs at something one of the men says about another's idiocy, giving me the money shot.

Many minutes later, he resurfaces from the game, looking around until he finds me with the phone. I'm aware of the exact second he figures out what I'm doing and why.

He flashes a warm, private smile that lights me up from within. Every part of me is aware of him and how he makes me feel just by smiling at me. Despite the fact that we're surrounded by people, the connection between us seems intimate somehow.

"We'd love to share the photos I took on Dr Eaton's Instagram account. Would any of you object to being in the photos?"

"You're a doctor?" one of the men asks.

"I am."

"What kind?"

"A pediatric neurosurgeon."

They're obviously impressed. They tease him about doctors they've seen on TV and begin to ask about their own medical issues, one of them showing him a mole on his arm.

"You should get that looked at," Tobias says.

"See?" the man says to one of his friends in Spanish. "I told you it was bad!"

"No objections to posting the photos?" I ask again, needing to be certain.

"Nope," Mr. Perez says as the others shake their heads.

Tobias stands to leave. "Gentlemen, this has been very educational. Would you mind if I stopped by to play with you again sometime?"

"Anytime you want. We're here most days."

Tobias shakes hands with each of the men, which impresses them. For some reason, it matters to me that they like him. "I'll be back."

"We'll be here," Mr. Perez says. "Someone's got to keep an eye on the place." He looks at me and winks. "Me agrada tu amigo, mija."

"Sí, gracias." I keep my response low-key, hoping it won't be all over the neighborhood that I brought a man home.

"That was fun."

"Glad you enjoyed it."

"What did he say to you in Spanish?"

"That he likes you."

"Will he tell everyone you brought me here?"

"I really hope not."

"Would that be so awful?"

"It would make things complicated, and I'm not sure either of us is in a good place for complicated right now."

"True." He sounds disappointed, and I'm not sure how to take that. I'm thankful he doesn't pursue it any further.

When we're back in the car, I open Instagram and log out of my account. "We need to start an account for you. What do you want your username to be?"

"Whatever you suggest."

"How about ChicagoDoc?"

He pulls a face full of distaste. "That's kinda douchey."

"It's taken by another douchey doctor. What if we do TEatonChicagoDoc? We want to make the connection between you and your career."

"If we must."

"We must." I set up the account using Berta0624, the date we met, as the password. For his profile photo, I use one of the pictures I took of him looking contemplative while he listened to the men explain the rules of the game. I post photos of Tobias with the men, using the caption, "Getting to know my new city. Thanks to my new friends in Little Amity for showing me how to play dominoes. Can't wait to go back to play again. #newhome #chicago #littleamity #doctor #pediatricneurosurgeon."

Then I create a story that encourages people to follow him as he discovers his new city. I do all this in a matter of minutes. Not only do I love Instagram personally, but I took an entire class in grad school about using it for marketing purposes.

"When do I get to see this restaurant I've heard so much about?" Tobias asks.

"Oh, um, take a left at the light."

He follows my directions until we arrive at the restaurant on West Street.

"There she is in all her glory." The stucco building is painted a pale yellow with green shutters and window boxes. Both the Cuban and Italian flags fly from either side of the doorway. Above the door, PRIOR'S is carved and painted in gold leaf that my mother touches up on the first of January every year. She also personally sees to the window boxes that change with the seasons. Right now they're filled with purple petunias and pansies.

"It looks really nice," Tobias says.

"They're quite proud of it."

"You should be, too."

"Oh, I am, for sure. They've worked so hard to make it what it is."

"Do they expect you to take it over someday?"

"They do, which is why I'm determined to have a career separate from the restaurant while I can."

"You don't want it?"

"It's not that so much as I don't like the idea of having no choice about it."

"None of your other family members are interested?"

"They might be, but my parents are the owners, so it would be weird for them to skip over me in favor of my cousins or anyone else, or so my father says."

"I can see that. You could always hire a manager, you know."

"I've thought of that. I hope I won't have to think about that for many years yet. My grandmothers will seriously live forever, and my parents are in their mid-fifties. They all scoff at the idea of retiring. Nanna says she wouldn't know what to do with herself if she retired."

"They must really love it if they have no desire to leave it."

"They do love it."

"Do they serve lunch?"

"Yes . . ."

"I'm kinda hungry."

"Tobias. . ." My entire system goes haywire at the thought of walking into the lion's den with him.

There are never parking spaces available on the street, except for right now. He skillfully parallel parks and kills the engine. "I can take whatever they're dishing out."

I'm not sure I can take it. As he reaches for the door handle, I'm frozen in place.

He glances over at me. "It'll be okay. Don't worry."

I laugh. "How can you possibly know that when you've never met them?"

"I've met you. They raised you, right?"

"Yes . . ."

"Then they must be great people, because you're amazing."

I hold his gaze for a long, charged moment before I look down, overwhelmed by his words and the way I feel around him—dizzy, off my game, aroused, intrigued, afraid. The last time I gave my heart to a man, it was broken into a million pieces. I just don't know if I have it in me to go there again. I don't want to spend the rest of my life alone, but sometimes I think that might be easier than risking the safety net I've built around myself since I lost Al.

"Tell me what I need to know about them."