Shoe Strings

how he could put the tire
back under the car without getting filthy and decided to use it as another
excuse to swing by and see Angelita again.   Of course, if the evening went as he hoped, he wouldn’t need an excuse.   
    She answered the door wearing a flowing skirt, form-fitting
top, and another pair of heels that showcased her fabulous legs.   Her hair was down and, much to his
delight, her makeup looked freshly applied.   There was no doubt in his mind, her
invitation was a date.   “You look
beautiful.”   He stepped inside the
cabin and placed the wine in her hand.   “And you smell even better.”
    She laughed, a throaty chuckle that made his toes
tingle.   “Are you referring to me or
my cooking?”
    Jesse took her comment as an invitation and leaned in to
sniff the exotic scent of her hair.   The silky strands brushed his cheek and he longed to wrap a curl around
his finger and pull her closer.   “I’d say both, but then again, you know I’m partial to Cal’s shampoo.”
    “This is my own variety.”   She moved to the kitchen and motioned to
an open bottle of wine on the counter.   “Would you like some or would you prefer a beer?”
    “Normally I’d say a beer, but I have a feeling whatever
you’re cooking’s going to taste real nice with a glass of red.”
    “You’re a very smart man and a handy one to have
around.   I appreciate the tire.”
    “You’re welcome.” He accepted a half-filled glass.   “I put it next to the stairs.   I’ll swing by later in the week to get
it back in place.   There’s no way
you could lift it back under the car.”   He held up his hand when she looked ready to pounce.   “That’s not male chauvinism, just the
plain truth.”
    She considered his answer as she set a tray of marinated
artichoke hearts and mushrooms between them.   “I’m not going to argue with you, not
after watching you change the tire.”
    She moved to the stove and stirred a delicious smelling
mixture while he plopped a few of the mushrooms in his mouth.   “So, what’s for dinner?”
    She smiled as she turned toward him, a woman clearly
comfortable in a kitchen.   She
became more attractive by the second.   “It’s called Moqueca de Camarao, better known as shrimp stew.   I hope you don’t have a shellfish
allergy?”
    “I haven’t found a food I don’t like or that doesn’t like me
back.”   He moved to stand behind her
at the stove, leaned over to see the stew, and to gauge her reaction to his
closeness.   “Looks as good as it
smells.   Is it Spanish?”
    She didn’t back away so much as shift slightly to the
side.   “Brazilian.    One of the few recipes I know by
heart.”
    He knew she had exotic blood and hearing her mention Brazil
had images of her topless in a thong bikini swimming through his mind.   He’d bet she looked really good
topless.   “So you’re from Brazil?”
    “Brazilian by blood, American by birth.”   She moved by Jesse and started setting
the small dining room table.
    He leaned against the counter and handed her the napkins and
silverware she’d already laid out.   “Does your family live in Atlanta?”
    “My father does.   My mother’s dead.”
    “I’m sorry.   My
mom died, what…”   He looked at the
ceiling, blew out a breath.   It
seemed like just yesterday, but it had been over a decade since she’d
passed.   “Almost eleven years ago.”
    “I know.   Your
father speaks of her often.”
    “She was the best.   They had an incredible marriage.”   He stabbed an artichoke heart with a toothpick and decided on
another.   “Of course, I guess all
kids think their mom’s the best.”
    Angelita placed two birch and twig pillar candles Jesse had
gotten Cal for Christmas a few years ago on the table and stepped across the
counter from where Jesse stood.   She
sipped her wine and lifted her dark eyes to his.   “I wouldn’t know.”
    “What do you mean, you wouldn’t know?”
    She waved her hand in front of her face as if to dismiss her
answer.   “It’s a long story.”
    And one he had to hear.   “We’ve got all night.”
    She joined Jesse in the kitchen and turned the fire on under
the rice.   “We have about twenty
minutes until dinner.   Would you
like to sit on the porch?”
    “I’d like you to tell me why you didn’t know your mother.”
    Her hand paused as she reached for her wine.   “Why?”
    “Because your eyes got all sad when you said it.”   He