Chapter 7

• I have felt pity for years, ever since almost everyone in St. Augustine pitied me when my mom and brother died in a car accident while I was a high school student. Pity made me feel vulnerable, like a zoo animal, as though people were only observers of my sorrow.
• And now, as much as I want to take the rolled-up newspaper to Miguel's head and tell him I don't need his money, I have to keep my composure.
• He's the last hope for the paper.
• With a loud voice, Miguel exclaims, "I have an idea."
• He would be the last person in the world I would choose to disclose my vulnerability to, yet I can't even look him in the eye, I'm so embarrassed. "Tell me."
• However, I don't.
• Rather, I fix my gaze on his sleek, black wingtip shoes and ponder their price.
• "I would like to provide my analysts in Miami with a list of some of the documents I have. Amelia might be able to start collecting those this afternoon. You can show me around the paper and we can catch up while she's doing that. Tori, do you think we have a lot to discuss? What is the sound of that?"
• I'd walked away from Miguel years ago, and now that we're sitting in the same room, I'm pleading with him to save my newspaper. The realization that I'm in the helpless situation of needing Miguel hits me like a kick to the gut.
• If I'm not careful, I may easily end up begging for more things.
• When we're exploring the advertising department a few hours later, I turn to face Victoria.
• "May I buy you a coffee?"
• "I don't drink it much anymore."
• "That is amazing. You used to be such a coffee lover."
• Her words, "I've changed a lot," are direct. "I drink tea."
• I wag my eyebrows. "Really?"
• She takes a swallow. "Yes." She adamantly narrows her eyes.
• "We can go across the street to the café if you'd like a cup," she says as soon as she notices the moment of astonishment on my face.
• I give a nod. "Lead the way."
• When we leave the building, we don't say anything. Victoria falters a little on her heels as we wait for cars to pass on the curb. I place my hand on her elbow to steady her. This is an instinctive gesture, performed without conscious thought, much like breathing.
• With a cute little grunt, she regains her balance. With each step, her tan legs divert my attention as she confidently walks along the open street. I suppress a smile. I only need to touch her once, and she's falling apart immediately.
• The café exceeds my expectations in quality. Something rustic and southern, similar to the one her father used to take us to years ago, was what I had anticipated. When I was a young Cuban boy, I was treated like a stranger in a place where servers in uniforms with beehives snapped gum and called customers "honey." They looked at me with curiosity, attention, and yes, mistrust.
• However, this café attempts to be more Miami-style. sleek and minimalist. I'm feeling good about the atmosphere when I notice Victoria smiling at the man behind the bar.
• The man says, "Hey, beautiful."
• My first impulse is to approach Victoria and wrap a protective hand around her waist. But now that she's not mine, I make myself move to stand a few feet next to her. I clench my teeth together.
• Victoria approaches me and gently places her shoulder against my arm. "What would you like, Miguel? My sweetie?"
• Every time she calls me Miki, I get a little tingle in my chest. I pull my American Express Black Card out of my wallet. It's a treat for me. Tori, it's a pleasure, too."
• "I'll, um, I'll have a double espresso." She gives me a little smile as she peers up at me through her eyelids. "For old time's sake."
• I don't look away from her. "Same," I reply. I smile at Victoria, and we avoid eye contact with the man behind the counter who declares her beautiful. For the moment, it makes no difference who else is there in the room.
• The fact that her gaze is returning to mine is all that matters.
• I believe she is, at least.
• "There's a lot of unused space in this building."
• Victoria gives me a fierce look. "I informed you. When workers retire or depart, we haven't been able to fill their positions. We lack the necessary funds."
• After we finished our espressos, I felt more alive because caffeine was suddenly rushing through my veins. Or perhaps it's because of Victoria. She turns to face me, her eyes beseeching.
• We might require a vacation. I need to catch up on a few things and check a lot of emails."
• Everything can wait, I'm sure of it. You know how far I've come, Victoria? Today, I would like to visit the entire building."
• She takes a whole three seconds to inhale before balling her fist. "Okay." She pulls open a door with her hand unfurled. "This way to the press room."
• I trail behind her into the stairway, which smells even more like mold and stench than her office does and has no air conditioning. I observe buckets filled with tea-colored water in the corners of the staircase landings as we down three flights of stairs. I pause next to a bucket and gesture.
• "Is there a leak in the roof or something?"
• Halfway down the next step, Victoria looks up, frowning. "Not at all. They are absorbers of moisture, regarding the humidity. They're failing in their duties. Or they must be modified. I'm not sure. Muttering under her breath, she heads back down the steps.
• She yanks at the door at the bottom with her hand on it. It remains closed. She murmurs, "Dammit,"
• I say, "Let me try," and I reach around her. Because she doesn't move, my arm just barely touches her torso.
• I make a tug on the door. "Not at all. It isn't bending. Are you in possession of a key?"
• Muttering curses to herself, she unzips her purse. She complains, "I have too much damn stuff in my bag." I suppress a smile. She has always had a large amount of rubbish in her purse.
• The stairs are dimly lit, casting a yellow hue that makes us both appear worn out. Or perhaps just being with each other has exhausted us. An individual can suffer greatly from sexual tension.
• She stumbles on her heels as she rummages through her purse. I grab her by the upper arms, thinking she's ready to fall. She tenses up, and I realize I ought to let her go.
• However, I am unable to.
• I refuse to.
• Rather, I pull her a few inches nearer, putting her back up against my front. I can see the familiar freckle behind her ear and feel her warmth because she's so close. I feel like I could sense her heartbeat, or maybe mine. It is difficult for me to distinguish between her and me when we are this close.
• She lets out a shaky breath. "Miki."
• I swallow and for a split second let my nose brush her hair. I am unable to resist. She has the same, sugary, sweet scent. I can almost taste her when I close my mouth.
• "Fafa. I'm alright. Her arrogant tone makes me feel like I'm being needy, which is something I never do. Not until it's with her. With a strong twist of her wrist, she releases herself from my hold while holding the keys. I move away from her, feeling my face burn with shame at being weak. I stay chilly for the remainder of the afternoon, staring at her like two carnivores in a little cage while I ask her question after question about her failing newspaper.