Pollo Mole Poblano, chicken drizzled in a creamy, delicately-spiced, chocolate sauce, is so delicious it makes a person forget their worriesandtheir name. El Torero serves the best in town. I’d layer it on top of everything—warm tortillas, poblano pepper, brussels sprouts even—if they sold bottles of their special blended sauce.
Food obsession aside, Diego’s done his part in easing my fears. Brief, sporadic phone calls are our new norm whenever he’s out of town. Things are going his way, he says. He’s no longer on the receiving end of any bare-knuckled fists, though my gut tells me he might be on the giving end.
Loreto is quiet, whatever nefarious business Marifer and Ignacio are involved in hasn’t spilled into the streets. Not anything I’m aware of anyway.
The spice in my dinner isn’t the only sizzle at the table. A flirty conversation between María and Eduardo is underway. My friend has Eduardo completely captivated, the seductive skills she honed on my brother on full display.
I couldn’t be more thrilled.
It’s a night of small pleasures, and I embrace them all, whole-heartedly.
“So how are rehearsals going?” Veronique, who’s sitting beside me, asks. “Has he caught you in the ten-point jump yet?”
I shake my head. “We’re getting closer now that he’s fully recovered from his injuries.”
“Will you’ll be ready? Nacionales is in August.”
“The comeback is always greater than the setback, or so they say.” I offer a subtle nod toward my partner. “Every day, we’re making progress.”In more ways than one.
“So, you’ll stay in Loreto if you’re offered this scholarship?”
“That’s the plan.”
“And if you aren’t?”
“Acceptance into the program shouldn’t be an issue. The primary dance instructor, Señora Margarita Rivera, has already approached me about my dancing. I’ll work something out with the school, like paying partial tuition and the balance in installments. Business is going well so they’ll know I’m good for it. Tuition is expensive but I’ll find a way.”
She raises an eyebrow, skeptical of my optimism.
I sigh. “In other words, we have to win this contest. If we don’t ... Diego wants to ship me off to Copenhagen.”
“Denmark? That’s random.”
I laugh. “You forget my mother was Scandinavian. Her older sister lives in Denmark. But, same as you, Mexico is in my blood.”
She makes a face. “Stay here? You’re kidding, right? My dream is to travel abroad. Shop in London, paint in Brussels, and kiss a sexy Parisian in Paris. We could rent a flat in Frankfort. You could dance and I’ll study cubism. It would be an adventure.” Her excitement is contagious, and I can almost imagine us conquering Europe together. But then I go and speak without thinking, ruining the moment.
“Rome,” I say without thinking, without considering the whys and more importantly, the whos. “I’d perform at the Teatro dell’Opera di Roma, drink espresso from little cups, dance all night at a disco, and kiss an irresistibly attractive Italian before the strike of midnight on New Year’s.”
I stop, aghast, trying to shake off the vivid mental picture of the man I imagine kissing.
She clasps her hands together. “You’ve thought about this.”
“No.”Yes, I have. Even when I shouldn’t have. All the more reason to win this scholarship and be done with these silly fantasies.“I belong in Loreto with my brother. But how about asking María?”
“And have her bring home a Parisian boytoy one night and a Roman playboy the next?” She nods her head toward our friend in question. “Would you look at that?”
“It’s sweet.”And too good to be true.
“Don’t you think she’s too much for him?” We watch as Eduardo’s ears turn red from whatever María is doing with her hand beneath the table.
“You have a point.”
Suddenly, the restaurant grows conspicuously quiet. It’s hard to describe it, but the energy in the room changes lightning fast. Conversations lag, bodies tense, and everyone’s attention swings toward the entrance.
“He never goes out in public like this,” Veronique, who has turned in her chair, comments.
Hayden. It has to be.
