A Fresh Start

Chapter 10

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Ranger's POV

Am I familiar with Miami? Silly question. I watched curiously as she spread all the brochures across the table, like a croupier fanning a deck of cards. She grinned at me.

"You didn't answer my question," she side-eyed me, before nudging me, with eyebrows raised. "But, you smiled, so I take that as a yes."

Damn, she was so natural and unpretentious. She had no tickets on herself which surprised me. Well, she is an attractive young woman, not even wearing any make up. She was confident and self-assured and seems to know what she wants. Not seeing any evidence of rings, I surmised that she was single. That moment when she nudged me I felt a tingle, and, by her minuscule reaction, so did she.

I had to laugh. She is also quite perceptive and observant.

"Well?" she persisted. She wasn't taking that as an answer. So forthright. I kind of liked that. No nonsense. That's a change.

"Okay. I'll give you this much. I grew up here in Miami, in my teenage years."

"Ah. Sent here to behave?"

How the hell did she figure that? She read my momentary surprise.

"Pfft. If you were a girl, being sent away, so to speak, was probably to hide an unplanned pregnancy. But, seeing as you are definitely all male, I'd say you got up to some mischief."

I laughed at her clever deduction. I can't believe I am already sharing personal details with someone I barely met, just 24 hours ago. She has this uncanny knack of connecting and engaging conversation.

"Like you, I am from New Jersey, originally from Newark." There. That should be enough. I hoped. She nodded.

"Trenton, then New Brunswick. Now Miami."

Hm. Concise and to the point. Given her earlier comments, yesterday, about a fresh start and new beginnings, I thought it best not to broach that subject any further or deeper. There was obviously more to tell with the move away from Trenton.

Deflecting attention back to the tourist brochures, I watched as she arranged them swiftly. I figured out what her sorting choices were. The Not Likely pile included the museums, zoos, gardens and art galleries, as well as the lighthouse tour and other historical places. Satisfied, she did a final check of the discard pile and nodded her head in approval as she shuffled them into a single pile, before putting them aside. Clearly, she was not interested in those kind of activities, presently. Looking at the remaining brochures, they were all outdoor activities. She hummed as she continued to sort and rank them quickly.

"Hm. That's better," she said, smiling at me, pleased with her selection.

I smiled to myself noting that the remaining ones were snorkelling, Florida Keys, boat rides, but then she shoved the air boat to the centre pile for later, or just a maybe. She grabbed the jet skiing brochure, and read through the snorkelling one, but then lingered with the Little Havana Cultural tour. She licked her lips in some parts. My guess is those were the parts describing the Cuban cuisine. She quickly wiped her mouth. I can't help but be intrigued and amused by her.

She sighed. I waited and watched as her shoulders slumped slightly, reading the tour times and lengths of the sessions closely. The costs didn't seem to bother her. She put the tour guides aside.

"You know. I don't really want to go on some guided tour with a bunch of other tourists. That has never appealed to me. But, I do like the sound of this one," she remarked, holding up the brochure. "How far is it? Do you know? Can I walk from here? Do you know much about this Little Havana place?"

"Yes. I totally get that, with being part of tourist groups, following the leader. Not my kind of thing either. There's no fun in that. Little Havana is a Cuban American enclave. It's exactly as they say here in the brochure," I said as I pointed to the descriptions about Cuban and Latin cultures.

"You know more than you're telling me."

It was a statement and her stunning blue eyes looked directly into mine. There was no heat in her gaze, but she didn't back off. I felt like I was being assessed, analysed, like she was staring right inside my head, but then she smiled.

"Hablas Español?" (Do you speak Spanish?)

"Si." I grinned at her, surprised by her switch so smoothly to Spanish. I had to laugh.

"I think you already figured that out, Babe."

"Meh. That was easy. So, tell me more."

Here I go again. She has me so disarmed, so easily, and I find myself sharing more about myself with her, willingly. No one, certainly not any woman, has come so directly to the point on a personal level so early on, other than family. Conversations like this were rare. To be honest, conversations never really ventured into this territory before.

"My grandparents emigrated from Cuba. I am a second generation Cuban American. My parents live in a Cuban neighbourhood in Newark. Now it's your turn."

She chuckled. "Fair enough. I am Hungarian-Italian, my father being the Italian American. His parents emigrated from Italy. Hungarian comes through from my maternal grandparents' side of the family."

I nodded. I didn't figure on the Hungarian part. Italian was evident, but she was fair-skinned. The sun agreed with it, yet she was being careful in the sun. So, not olive-skinned like many Italians are. Perhaps she's more Hungarian. I am fascinated by her curls. They're the sort I would love to run my hands through. Dios. Where did that come from?

"Hey. I lost you there for a minute. Where did you go? You like my hair?" She chuckled as she ruffled her curls lightly, with a cheeky grin.

Madre Dios! She's a mind reader. Did I feel a blush coming on? She has me figured out. Okay. Time to step up to the plate, Manoso.

"You know," I started, deliberately ignoring her remark, with a nudge of my own, "I could be your personal guide and show you the highlights of Little Havana. I have personal experience and used to be a frequent visitor. I even worked on some of the stalls and often did shopping for my Abuela there. She liked to be part of the scene. It is a rich cultural environment, with so many things to do, as you can see by the brochure." She was smiling at me with an intrigued expression.

"And, to sweeten the deal, I will buy you some lunch, sampling the wonderful flavours of genuine Cuban cuisine. Do you like spicy food?"

She smiled a gorgeous smile and licked her lips at the mention of flavours.

"Yes. I do like spicy food. You would do that for me? A perfect stranger? Well, Carlos, you make a convincing sale. You have a deal. It would be really nice to have a personal tour guide like yourself, who knows his way around." I couldn't help but smile. The double entendre was not lost on me either.

"Alright. Today? Like after you clean up, meet me down here in the lobby in an hour. There is no rush, we can just stroll around at our own pace, lingering when and where you want. Let's just wing it."

"That's really nice of you. Thank you. I'd really like that. That gives me time to shower and change. I'm looking forward to that." She paused, a smirk on her face. "By the way, your stalker cougar has moved on. She left as soon as you sat beside me."

Before standing, this time she sipped the last of her coffee then pushed it away. Picking up all the brochures, she smiled and walked towards the elevators. She seems to be aware of her surroundings. I hadn't even given another thought to my stalker cougar. Thank goodness she has moved on. Permanently, I hope.

I left a tip on the table for our waitress before walking to the stairs. I felt good and pleased with myself. This is a first for me. I barely know Stephanie yet already I'm taking her on a personal tour. I am looking forward to it, spending time with her and showing her around. She intrigues me. This is not my usual modus operandi. It's like a date, a casual date. To be honest, I have never done anything this spontaneous before.

Both of us arrived at the same time, ten minutes early. Hm, punctual and keen, like me. I had arranged with the valet for my car to be ready for our little excursion into Little Havana.

Stephanie looked at the car and back at me, looking over the rim of her sunglasses. "Funny. I figured you for an American car driver. A Porsche turbo? Hm." She nodded her approval with a cheeky grin. "Nice wheels." I opened the door for her, tipping the valet, so I could admire her lovely long legs as she sat down. She wore a tank top with a nice skirt, like a crossover, shorts and skirt combined. It was very practical, as were her shoes. Sunglasses was a sensible choice and also a small cross body bag for her phone and purse. Practical in every respect.

I smiled at her as we buckled in at the same time and drove in the direction of Calle Ocho, SW Eighth Street, the heart of Little Havana. I could tell she loved the rumble of the engine. I had a plan.

My parking karma was good, finding a free parking space, even at this time, making me smirk smugly. We walked towards the Cuban domain. Her eyes were wide taking in the colours and sensations as she turned a slow 360 degrees.

"What's down there?" Stephanie asked when she saw the sign Maximo Gomez Park.

"This is Domino Park," as we walked through the arched gateway. "It's famous and very popular with the old men especially, many of whom live on their own. They come here every day to escape the loneliness and enjoy the company of people and chat, drink Cuban coffee, and play dominoes. It's very competitive." Stephanie watched and listened with interest, smiling at their conversations. Of course, she understands and speaks Spanish, not just a little it seems. It was crowded, and without thinking I grabbed her hand, pulling her close to me. She smiled, both of us enjoying the connection.

"I hope you don't mind," I half apologised. But, damn, it felt nice, holding her smaller hand in mine. Mine? Yes. Where did that come from? Why was I feeling so possessive about her? She nodded and squeezed my hand. Good, she was okay with that.

After watching the domino battles with their fierce but friendly repartee for a while, we walked to where we could watch the cafécitos preparation, with long lines of strong Cuban coffee in little cups to sample. She coughed with a chuckle, "Woah! That is strong coffee. Hot and sweet. I didn't expect that sweetness. I need something different sweet now."

"It's the Cuban version of an espresso, the foamy part is the finesse, called espumita, which is the sweet contrast to the strong coffee. It is an acquired taste. I know just the right thing, a perfect accompaniment."

Watching the making and deep frying of hot churros nearby, really did whet her appetite. We sat down for another coffee and enjoyed some hot crispy churros as we watched the people passing by. She enjoyed the Café con Leche, a milkier version, while I had another Cafécito. It was getting busy. I also ordered a chilli chocolate dip to dunk her churros in. She hummed in delight as the sugary cinnamony churros teased her taste buds, then the chilli hit and she laughed at the combination of flavours. "These are like doughnuts! But so much crispier. Yum. Good choice, Carlos." I liked her laugh, so light and melodic.

I like how she enjoyed the flavour sensations, with her face so open and expressive. We watched the cooking process some more, after we finished, then moved on after she bought a boxful to take back to the hotel. This time she reached for my hand. It felt all kinds of good, and right.

When she was offered a cigar to smoke she shook her head and laughed. "But, I will buy two," she replied to the smiling vendor. "My father will enjoy these."

I bought a box of cigars, giving the vendor my business card, and the hotel card, for delivery, including her two cigars and the box of churros, before we moved on. We strolled along, looking at the colourful rooster sculptures. She was curious about them and the variety of designs.

"Why all the roosters? Is there a significance in Cuban culture?"

"Yes, in Cuban culture they are an important symbol. They represent strength and power. But it's not exclusively a Cuban thing. It's a Caribbean and a Latin American thing."

All the while as we walked, the tantalising sound of Cuban music played all around us. When she stood still, her hips were moving to the rhythm. My eyes lit up. I had an idea that would be fun. She watched the dancers joining in. Before I could stop myself, I grabbed her in an open hold, looked at her for confirmation. I was rewarded with a huge grin and a nod, as she rearranged her crossover bag and was ready to dance. I twirled her twice on cue to join the salsa dancing.

It was exhilarating, dancing with someone who knows how to follow but also knows the moves. She was an accomplished salsa dancer. Yes, I have danced with accomplished dancers before, but there was something alluring about Stephanie. She knew the sexy moves, moving her arms and dancing flirtatiously, flicking her hair up with one hand. I was grinning. She has done this to me so easily. Her joyful laughter was so effervescent which had me laughing along with her. As the tempo changed to a slower rhythm, I spun her for a couple of twirls before gently pulling her in to a closed hold, while we had a chance to catch our breath. Besides, I wasn't ready to stop, and neither was she, as it seems. I nuzzled her hair when she was in close, sniffing the subtle fresh fragrance. This, dancing with her and spending time with her, felt so … wonderful. I realised that she was very calming as I felt the last of the post mission bad juju disappearing.

I didn't let go of her hand. She was flushed but radiant. "That was so good. I haven't danced salsa in ages, especially Cuban salsa. You, Carlos, are a good dancer. I bet that was part of your upbringing," she chuckled as I bought two bottles of water and unscrewed the lid for her.

Further up I found a table in the shade and ordered some croquetas and empanadas for us to share. We sat and people watched, dipping into conversations. Locals and tourists and interstate visitors whom she tried to identify by their accents, but soon had me playing the game as well.

While eating the empanadas Stephanie rolled her eyes. Madre Dios! What she does to me. Is she teasing me? I was staring at her, quite enraptured when her eyes opened. "You're not eating. Here, try this one." It is so tantalising as she fed me half of the next empanada.

"Carlos!" I stood quickly as Abuela Rosa approached us with a huge approving smile on her face. Not realising that Stephanie understood Spanish, she quickly asked if Stephanie was my novia, (girlfriend) which made her blush. Cute. I introduced Stephanie who stood up politely offering a chair for Abuela.

"Mucho gusto," Stephanie smiled. (Pleased to meet you)

Abuela nodded and was still smiling. "I watched you two dancing. You are made for each other. You dance like your Papi, Carlos," Then she whispered, "I see it, Carlito, she is the one. I know these things. And, when were you going to tell me you were back? Come visit soon. I'll cook your favourite."

Just then her friend and neighbour arrived. With a quick kiss on each cheek for both of us, off she went, waving and smiling at the two of us. Abuela had watched us dancing. She sees things. She knows things. My heart skipped a beat with that premonition. I never thought I would yearn for that kind of connection.

"Sorry. My Abuela Rosa gets a bit excited."

"Are you single?"

"Yes. What about you?"

"Same. Never been married. My mother tried in vain to make things happen. Thankfully my Dad and Grandma intervened."

We both nodded, accepting that as enough information to share. It's what she didn't say that hit hard. Intervened? Now is not the time. Looking at the empanadas, I suggested she try the chorizo with manchego cheese. Her eyes lit up with the spicy cheesy flavours.

We finished the croquetas which Stephanie enjoyed with uninhibited gusto. I had to make myself a bit more comfortable. "Oops sorry, but these are so divine. Good choice."

"Come on, since it's getting so warm now, how about some refreshing Cuban ice cream?"

"Lead on, Carlos. I'm all for ice cream."

Once again, her eyes glazed over as she perused the selection at Azucar ice creams. I had to chuckle with her choice. "Seriously?" She grinned with an enthusiastic nod of her head.

"Birthday cake and chocolate please for the lovely lady, and a lemon lime sorbet for me please."

She smiled as she enjoyed and approved of her choice. "You know, this has been a really wonderful day, with you. I would never have enjoyed it so much on a tour group. Thank you so much. At least you have let me pay for the ice creams," she remarked a slight bit petulant, but still with a smile.

"You were my guest and it was my pleasure. I had a wonderful time. It's been a while since I have taken in the sights and pleasures of Little Havana."

Back at the hotel we had a coffee in the courtyard and then collected our cigars and her churros. I showed her the photos I had taken of her. She was surprised. I was happy to send her a copy of each. Hm. She now has my phone number. Moments later, my phone chimed with an incoming message from Abuela Rosa, a multimedia message. How did she know? As if on cue, she had taken four photos of us dancing, the sheer joy on our faces was wonderful to see. One was quite intense, looking into each other's eyes, a hint of passion as we were so in the moment. It took my breath away. I shared them with Stephanie who was quite taken with the beautiful photos. Abuela is a really accomplished photographer. She has a knack for capturing special moments, and she did that so well with our dancing. I have to admit, I really loved these four photos of us dancing. I sent a reply of thanks with a double heart message.

It was a bit early for a beer. If she doesn't drink beer, I bet she would choose a mojito, or a margarita. Maybe tomorrow. She waved goodbye with another heartfelt thank you, and walked away. I watched her, giving me a sweet finger wave, until the elevator doors closed. I was smiling. She was smiling. I looked at the photos once more, lingering on Abuela's captive shots. We look good together.

I lingered over the ones I had taken, which captured her inquisitiveness with the domino players and the roosters, and her joy in eating.

Another message, from an unknown number. Stephanie. "Thank you, Carlos, once again for making my day in Little Havana so special. I absolutely loved it. Since I have an interview tomorrow morning, would you like to meet for Happy Hour, tomorrow afternoon?"

My heart skipped another beat. Without hesitation, I replied, "Yes, and a light dinner for two?"

"I'd like that. 1700?"

"Sure. 1700 it is, tomorrow."

Oh my. She used military time. I wonder?

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