Do You Take This Daddy?

“I’m just afraid you might puke in my car.”

* * *

Noah would have laughed, but she looked pretty serious. And who could blame her? Luckily, he wasn’t feeling nauseated, just weak and dehydrated. And more than a little foolish. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had more than a single beer. And yet he here was, too messed up to drive, being led around like a child. In other circumstances, he would have been humiliated. But even after seeing him at his weakest, Mollie hadn’t given him a hard time. Sure, she’d laughed at him, but in a teasing way that had him laughing along with her.

She’d walked down those steps and treated him like a friend, not a stranger. He’d grown up always being the new kid, and even as an adult he usually felt like an outsider. His art had opened some doors, but having new money wasn’t the same as fitting in. If anything, he felt even more awkward now, shoved into a rarified world, than he had when he was an army brat, bouncing from place to place. People might be more polite to his face now that he’d made something of himself, but celebrity hadn’t bought him any true friends. Being welcomed and accepted right off the bat, that was something new.

They walked for about fifteen minutes along a gravel path that started behind the Sandpiper and ran alongside the dunes, and although they’d passed plenty of other walkers he hadn’t seen anything that looked like a restaurant. “Where are you taking me, anyway?”

She winked. “Afraid I’m going to kidnap you?”

“Afraid, no. Hoping, yes.”

She grinned. “Sorry, no such luck. But how do you feel about Cuban food?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever tried it, but I’m hungry enough to eat anything.” His stomach growled as if to emphasize his point.

“Well, then, you’re in luck. We’re almost there.”

Another minute of walking brought them to their destination, which was more of a roadside stand than a real restaurant. A simple wooden structure, the walls were covered in a brightly colored mural, except for right above the order window where a menu board advertised the specials. There were a few tables scattered in front, topped with brightly colored umbrellas, and wafting on the breeze was the most amazing smell. “I think I’m about to start drooling.”

She smiled. “Best Cuban food for miles, and coffee that will make you think you’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Looking at her had him thinking he was already there. She’d blown him away from the beginning and it wasn’t a case of beer goggles. In fact, the more he sobered up, the better she looked. She was tiny, at least eight inches shorter than his own six feet, with a slender, birdlike build. But it was her face that captivated him, the bone structure so fine it looked like she’d been sculpted by an artist’s hand.

“I’ll have the ropa vieja, and he needs a medianoche with a side of maduros. Oh, and a colada and a bottle of water.” The man behind the window nodded, writing down the order.

He nudged her to the side, and got out his wallet. “Let me buy, please.”

She motioned him forward. “Be my guest.”

He paid what seemed like way too little and accepted a bag stuffed with food and the bottle of water in exchange. Mollie grabbed a full Styrofoam cup and two smaller, empty plastic ones. They picked a table farther back from the path and sat down facing each other.

‘Okay, so tell me what I just paid for.”

“My company?” At his pointed look, she took pity on him and started opening packages. “I got the ropa vieja. It’s shredded beef, and it comes with rice. Your medianoche is a pork sandwich on a soft, sweet bread.” She unwrapped it for him while she talked. “The name means midnight, because it’s usually eaten when you are out partying and drinking. I figured it would be perfect for soaking up the last of the alcohol. The maduros are fried sweet plantains, and the colada is kind of like espresso, but with sugar.”

Coffee sounded amazing. He reached for it, only to have her block him, putting her hand over the cup.

“First some food and water, then coffee.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of bossy?”

“All the time.” She dug into her food, closing her eyes in bliss. “This is so good. How’s your sandwich?”

He took an experimental bite. The salty pork and pickles vied with the cheese and mustard for top billing in his mouth. “Amazing.” He took another bite, considering. “The bread’s a bit like the challah my grandmother used to make. I like it.”

“Challah? Are you Jewish, then?”

“My bubbe was, and my mom. My dad’s Catholic. One item on a long list of things they disagreed on. I’m the only person I know that had to go to both confirmation classes and Hebrew school. Religion was just one more way to fight with each other without actually getting divorced.”

“Wow. That’s kind of crazy.” She snagged another plantain from the bag. “The weirdest thing my parents ever did was putting up the Christmas tree the day before Thanksgiving one year, instead of the day after.”

“They sound very...sane.”

“If by sane, you mean utterly normal and conforming, yes. I’m definitely the black sheep of the family.”

“That sounds better than the constant fighting at my house. Maybe we should trade.”

Finishing his sandwich, he tentatively tried one of the plantains. Slightly crisp on the outside, soft on the inside, and sweeter than he’d expected. He quickly grabbed another before Mollie could finish off the container.

When he couldn’t fit in another bite, he stretched and looked around. The haze of his earlier imbibing was gone, and he realized that although the restaurant itself was modest, the scenery was spectacular. Dunes stretched for what seemed like miles, and beyond them he could see the deep blue of the ocean. Sprawling trees dotted the landscape, with huge green leaves the size of dinner plates. “What are those trees with the giant leaves? The ones growing right in the sand?”

“They’re called sea grapes. Those big leaves help block any light from the town that might disturb nesting sea turtles. In the summer they grow these berries that look almost like grapes that the birds go nuts for. And of course the roots help stabilize the dunes, so they don’t just blow away.” She poured coffee into the two small cups. “It’s beautiful, but there’s a lot of strength there, too.”

Somehow, he had a feeling the same could be said about her.

* * *

Mollie wasn’t blind; she’d noticed the way he looked at her. She just wasn’t sure what to do about it. She should probably just walk him back to the Sandpiper, then go home and clean her house or something. That would be the practical thing to do. Of course, as the black sheep of he family, practical wasn’t really her speed. Despite her mother’s best efforts to the contrary. No, Mollie believed in going with her gut, and her gut was saying it was way to early to say good night. “How do you feel about a swim?”

He looked down at his faded T-shirt and jeans. “Now? I’m not exactly dressed for it.”

“Not here, back at the Sandpiper. I’m assuming you packed a bathing suit?”

He grinned. “What, no skinny-dipping on the first date?”

Oh, boy. He was cute and he had a sense of humor. And was totally on the rebound. She was in deep trouble. But in for a penny, in for a pound. “I’ll take that as a yes. I’ve got one in the car, so while you get checked in I can duck into Jillian’s room and change.”

“Jillian?”

“Jillian Caruso. She and her husband, Nic, own the Sandpiper. They have a private suite on the first floor.”

“Ah, when I made the reservations, Nic mentioned he’d gotten married recently.” He stood and collected their trash, disposing of it in the labeled bin. “I don’t think I would want to live where I worked, with the public just a few doors away all the time.”

“Yeah, it’s not ideal. But they’re building a separate house on the property, so they can have some privacy. Plus, with the baby coming, they’ll need the space.”

His smile faded at the mention of a child.

“What, don’t you like kids?”

“Actually, I do. Up until a few days ago, I thought I was having one.”

She sat back down on the picnic bench. “Excuse me?”

He rubbed a hand across the stubble on his jaw. “My ex-fiancée is pregnant—she’s due in a month.”

“But it’s not your baby?”