This Old Heart of Mine Page 8

  “No. It’s not for me. I’m fascinated by people’s stories, but I’m not talented enough to write them down. I’ll leave the words to people like you.”

  His smile fades. “You want to know one of my stories, Ava? I’m a poet who has lost his words.” He looks across the street, but not before I catch the dull glint of shame in his eyes.

  “Where did you lose them?” I ask, gentling my tone.

  He turns back to me. When he speaks, his voice is so small that I have to lean closer to hear it. “The same place I lost myself.”

  The pain underlying his words makes my heart hurt. I try to think of words that might offer him some comfort.

  “Maybe your words aren’t lost. Perhaps you’ve just misplaced them. I mean, they have to be in there somewhere, right? It’s like when you hide something in a safe place, but it’s so safe that even you forget where it is. Have you ever done that? It happens to me all the time,” I ramble. “Wait, was that a smile?”

  “No comment.”

  “Have you always been a man of such few words?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see what you did there.”

  “Good.”

  Laughing, I shove his chest, jolting a chuckle out of him. We walk on for a block in silence.

  “I get the impression you think more than you say, though.”

  He glances at me out of the corner of his eyes. “You are very astute. I guess you could say I absorb people.”

  “Like people-watching?”

  “No, not observe, although I do that, too. Absorb. Their energy, their emotions.” He waves his hand through the air, trying to illustrate his point. “They become a part of me.”

  “Oh, I see.” With his accent, the two words sound similar. The image of absorbing people into your soul is hauntingly beautiful. “Even the bad?”

  He nods. “Even the bad. To feel deeply is to feel everything. You don’t get to choose which emotions stop at your skin and which make it all the way to your bones. Every emotion is marrow.”

  I stop walking. “Um, how can you say your words are lost when you come up with stuff like that? I bet you could make my grocery list sound poetic.”

  Gabriel seems startled by his loud burst of laughter. Blinking hard, he looks down at me with wide eyes.

  “In fact, here.” I reach into my purse and pull out the piece of paper in question. “Read this.”

  Gabriel takes it from me. Unfolding it, his eyes crease in the corners as he scans the page. His whole body shakes with amusement. “You want me to read this?”

  “Yes.”

  “But this is not poetry.”

  “I’m sure you can make it into poetry. Especially with that accent.”

  He looks up from the paper and arches his eyebrow. “You like my accent, mariposa?”

  I flush and adjust my purse strap. “No comment. Now, let’s test this experiment.”

  He smiles. “You are an interesting woman, Ava Malone.”

  “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

  “Okay. What do I win if you’re wrong and I don’t make this sound poetic?”

  “You want to wager? I didn’t have you down as a gambling man.”

  “You’re corrupting me.”

  I grin. “No one has ever accused me of doing that before. It’s refreshing to be the devil on someone’s shoulder instead of the angel for a change. The halo was getting boring.”

  “You prefer to have horns?”

  “Hmm. There are pros and cons to both. The horns help me stand out, but they’re hard to co-ordinate an outfit with, you know?”

  “Ah, I see. That must be a nightmare for you.”

  Fighting laughter, I sigh. “It really is. Okay, let’s see. If I win, you go grocery shopping with me and help me carry my bags.”

  “And if I win?”

  “What do you want?”

  He thinks about it for a minute, before his eyes light up. “For you not to speak next time we run.”

  “Deal.” We’re both grinning as we shake hands.

  “Okay, here we go.” With a dramatic flourish that makes me giggle, Gabriel stands straighter and clears his throat. “Bananas, apples, tomatoes, salmon, olive oil, toilet paper—”

  “Stop. The toilet paper proved it. Get your biceps ready. We’re going shopping.”

  Even his laughter sounds like poetry.

  Gabriel looks so out of place in the grocery store, like a wild animal in a cage.

  “How long have you lived in America?” I ask, placing Finn’s favorite potato chips in the cart.

  “Why? I don’t fit in?” His exaggerated pout makes me laugh.

  “I didn’t say that. You’re just looking around like you’re at the zoo or something.”

  “I would never dream of comparing your fellow American citizens to animals,” he says as we walk past two women fighting over the last box of peanut butter and bacon cookies.

  “Is this one of those times when you’re thinking more than you’re saying?”

  He smirks. “Maybe. And to answer your question, I have been here for almost fifteen years, since I was eighteen.”

  “What made you leave Argentina?”

  He sobers. “It’s complicated. It’s not that I wanted a better life, because life in Argentina is wonderful. But I wanted a different life. Different to the one my father wanted me to live.”

  “What life was that?” I ask, placing another item in the cart.

  “He wanted me to be a carpenter, like all the men in my family before me.”

  “And you wanted to be a poet?”

  “Yes. I remember the first time I read Pablo Neruda’s poetry in school. I was fifteen. It changed my life. For a man to be so soulful and yet still so masculine when talking about love and life…” He rakes his fingers through his hair and shakes his head. “That was the day I realized I also had poetry inside of me.”

  “So, what happened with your dad?” I ask, fascinated by his story and the fact he’s opening up to me.

  He releases a heavy sigh. “Well, working with wood and working with words are total opposites so you can imagine the conflict it caused. It is an understatement to say my father did not approve. Machismo is strong in my culture. He didn’t believe writing poetry was a serious career choice. Especially not for a man.”

  “You wanted to prove him wrong?”

  Gabriel’s eyes grow distant and glassy. “No. I wanted to prove myself right. I wanted to prove that it wasn’t just a hobby for me. Poetry is in my soul. It flows through my veins.”

  “I know it’s not the same, but I can relate to wanting to live for yourself.”

  He gives me an affectionate smile. “I know you can. But your choice did not break anyone’s heart.”

  I think of my mom, how supportive she’s been of my newfound independence, even though it’s hard for her. “Did yours?”

  Memories crease in the corners of his haunted eyes. He looks down at his feet before answering me. “Yes. My father died of a heart attack not long after I left.”

  I place my hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry. He never got to see what you became?”

  He glances at our point of contact. The contrast of our two skin tones is stark under the bright store lights. “No. I’m not sure if it would have made a difference to him if he had.”

  “I’m sure it would have. It takes real courage to choose your dreams over other people’s expectations. Even if he didn’t agree, I’m sure he respected you for it and you made him proud.”

  “Perhaps.” His voice gives nothing away, but I can see him thinking it over.

  “Ugh. This conversation is way too serious for a grocery store.”

  His mouth quirks. “You started it.”

  “And now I’m finishing it.”

  The rest of the shopping trip is spent talking and laughing over lighter topics. Gabriel visibly relaxes and becomes more comfortable with every minute.

  A side of him I haven’t seen before starts t
o reveal itself; one I’m desperate to uncover more of. Whenever he shows it to me, his smile transforms his whole face, making him look young and carefree.

  True to his word, Gabriel helps me carry the shopping bags back to my apartment. Even though Finn taught me to drive last year, I often leave my car at home. I prefer to walk if I can. Having been deprived of it for so long, breathing fresh air isn’t something I’ll ever take for granted.

  “So this is where you live?” Gabriel asks, placing the shopping bags on the counter.

  “Yeah, it’s small but it’s cozy. It means a lot to both of us to have something that’s ours.” Thinking of Finn, I’m grateful he’s out somewhere, otherwise he’d be making this moment even more awkward. I grasp at something to fill the sudden silence. “Can I get you a drink or anything?”

  “No, thank you. I should be going.”

  “Oh. Okay. Thank you for your help, I really appreciate it.”

  “No problem.”

  The silence becomes stifling. I look around the room, anywhere but at Gabriel. He coughs, making my gaze swing to his. His chest expands with heavy breaths, fingers flexing by his side. I’ve not seen this side of him before.

  “Ava, would you like to have dinner tomorrow evening?”

  I struggle to keep my expression neutral. Inside, my pulse is soaring. “I’d like that.”

  “You would?”

  Tucking my hair behind my ear, I nod. Gabriel’s smile brightens up the room for an unguarded moment before it dims again. When he next speaks, he’s become the serious Gabriel I’ve come to know.

  “I’ll text you the details when I’ve arranged them.”

  “Okay, sounds good.”

  “Good.”

  Not wanting another awkward silence, I walk to the door and open it for Gabriel. “Um, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

  He looks over at me in confusion, seeming to register for the first time that I’ve moved position. Muttering to himself, Gabriel walks over to the door and pauses in front of me. I stare up at him, my breath hitching when he places a gentle hand on my shoulder and leans forward, entering my personal space. I hope he can’t hear the pounding bass of my heart. The heavy rhythm echoes in my ears, providing a dramatic soundtrack to this moment.

  Gabriel’s spicy scent surrounds me as his face moves toward mine. I close my eyes on instinct, but when his lips press a soft kiss against my cheek, hot embarrassment floods my body in a rush.

  I take several shallow breaths, before opening my eyes and staring down at the floor. From my lowered vantage point, I watch Gabriel move back several steps and bump into the door.

  “Tomorrow,” is all he says, before turning and pacing down the hallway with long strides, as if he can’t get away from me fast enough. Locking the door, I lean back against it and scrub my hands over my crimson face, trying to erase the awkward scene from my mind.

  I find a small comfort in the fact that I wasn’t the only one acting strangely. Thinking of the many sides of the man I’m trying to know, I can’t help but wonder which Gabriel I’ll be having dinner with tomorrow.

  “Help me. Please.”

  “Where are you going?” Gia asks as she browses through my closet, pulling out clothes before wrinkling her nose and placing them back. As the good friend she is, she answered my S.O.S call after work and came straight over.

  “I don’t know, he just said ‘dinner.’”

  She tuts. “Men. Don’t they realize that there are different types of dinner? I mean, is it a quiet, relaxed dinner at his apartment? Or a fancy dinner at an expensive restaurant?”

  Flopping down on my bed, I cover my eyes with my forearm. “I have no idea.”

  “Okay. You’ve spent time around Gabriel, what do you think he would choose?”

  I keep my eyes shut and think about it. “I don’t think he’d go for anything super pretentious. It doesn’t seem like him. And it’s definitely not me. But he’s also older and sophisticated, so maybe a nice restaurant?” I groan. “Is dating always this difficult?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m beginning to think I had a lucky escape avoiding it for so long.”

  “Woman up, Malone. Deciding what to wear is the easiest part.”

  I sit up and stare at her. “This is the easiest part?”

  Gia’s laughter has her gripping her stomach. “Look at that face. You are too adorable for words.”

  “Oh, so you were joking?” Exhaling, I relax back against the pillows.

  “Hell, no. I’m serious. It’s all downhill from here. You have sweaty palms, awkward silences, and dry small talk to look forward to on your first date. Lucky you.”

  Blood drains from my already pale face. Gia clicks her fingers, making me jump. “Oh, and if you do go to a restaurant, don’t even get me started on the politics of what to order.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, my stomach flipping.

  “Well, think about it. Say he takes you for Italian. You like pasta, right?” I nod. “Mmm. You and me both.”

  “Gia. Focus.”

  “Sorry. Where was I? Oh, yeah. As I was saying, spaghetti is out.”

  “What? Why?”

  Gia raises an eyebrow. If she wore glasses, she’d have slid them down her nose to peer at me. “You think slurping and getting tomato sauce all around your mouth is sexy?”

  “Oh. I didn’t think of that.”

  “Well, you need to. Disney has been lying to young girls since the beginning of time. Don’t be fooled by Lady and the Tramp. Spaghetti is not a romantic first date meal.”

  “Okay, so no spaghetti. Got it. Anything else?” At this rate, I’m going to need a notebook and pen.

  “If I told you everything, we’d be here all night and you’d miss your date.”

  “How about the basics?”

  “Okay, let me think. Well, it’s not just spaghetti you have to look out for.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No. So many foods aren’t appropriate. Restaurants should have a separate Date Menu. God, I’m so smart. They should pay me.”

  “It scares me how much you and Finn sound alike sometimes.”

  “Please. He copies me.”

  I roll my eyes and change the subject. “So, what are the other foods I should avoid?”

  “Chicken wings.”

  I laugh at the random choice. “Why?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? First, it’s not exactly ladylike to chomp into meat like a cavewoman. Poor guy will probably be wincing and crossing his legs under the table.” We both laugh at the mental image that creates. “And second, same situation regarding the sauce. Except barbeque sauce will look even worse around your mouth than tomato sauce.”

  I grimace. “Good point. Anything else?”

  “Anything with garlic. No explanation needed.”

  “But I like garlic.”

  “Enough to stay single for the rest of your life?”

  She nods when my mouth closes. “Exactly. Leave the garlic until marriage. By then, they can’t escape.”

  “Okay. No garlic, spaghetti, or chicken wings. Is that it?”

  “Those are the main ones, but then there’s the whole politics over how adventurous your order is.”

  “Oh, my God. There’s more? What do you mean?”

  “Well, say he takes you for food with a bit of spice. Like Mexican or Indian or something.”

  “Okay?”

  “Well, do you pick the safe, predictable option that won’t make your eyes water, but is so boring he might think you’re dull, or do you go for the adventurous option that you can’t pronounce, and that has so much chili your eyebrows will melt off?”

  “I like chili, but I also like my eyebrows.”

  “I do, too, since I’m the one who threads them for you. But seriously, don’t be that girl.”

  I frown. “Which girl?”

  “The one who orders French fries in a Chinese restaurant. You may as well just call a taxi home. From what you’ve
described, this Gabriel guy sounds all worldly and creative.”

  “He is.”

  “Well, do you think he’ll be impressed with a woman who orders a garden salad while he tucks into his Ethiopian food?”

  I rub at my forehead. “But isn’t a first date about getting to know each other? If I want to eat a whole plate of chicken wings and he can’t laugh at the mess I’ve made, then maybe he’s not the guy for me.”

  She looks at me as if I’m the cutest thing she’s ever seen. I hold out a hand to stop any further guidance.

  “I’m serious. I appreciate the advice, G, but to be honest, I think it’s silly. Life is short. People should order whatever the hell they want. You might lose the guy, but at least you had a good meal.”

  She smiles, tenderness softening her face. “You’re going to be just fine, Bambi.”

  “You think so?”

  “I do. Make sure you stuff your face full of pasta and order the biggest chocolate cake on the menu on my behalf.”

  I giggle. “Deal.”

  An hour later, Gia and I are laughing and singing along to music as she puts the finishing touches on my look. I had no idea that getting ready could be so much fun. I think it’s to do with the company more than anything else. As great as Finn is, I wouldn’t be able to chat to him about men in between swapping mascara tips.

  “Okay, done. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again until they create a plaque in my honor. I’m an absolute genius.”

  “You’re humble, too.”

  She laughs. “The most humble person in the world. They should give me an award for that, as well.”

  Shiny brown waves swish in front of my face when I shake my head. Walking over to the mirror, I take in Gia’s beautiful creation. Smoky eye shadow brings out the blue in my eyes and compliments the black jersey dress she chose for me to wear.

  Despite the glamorous look, it still manages to be understated and appropriate for whatever “dinner” involves. I also still look like me, which is important, just on a good day. A very good day.

  “What did I tell you? Masterpiece. Leonardo da Vinci, eat your heart out.”

  I lean forward, taking in every inch of my hair, makeup, and outfit.

  “You like it?”