Page 6 of Juan

You were a different woman last year. The words played out in Juan’s mind. Though true, what on earth had prompted him to say them out loud?

The image of Amber’s long, lean legs, her dark green shorts stretched tight across her backside as she leaned over the counter, flashed in his head. His breath hitched. On the next one, he shook his head, though. Not a thought he should be having.

With another shake of his head, Juan gripped the urn and made his way to the truck behind the stand. Placing it on the stand, he unscrewed the top, gave the primary barrel a little shake, then opened the tap.

As the pale yellow liquid poured from the barrel into the urn, his mind replayed those few seconds over and over. Had he made her uncomfortable? She seemed surprised more than uneasy, but maybe that would come later when the meaning of the words sank in? But what had he meant?

The obvious, of course. In the fourteen months she’d lived with the Falcons, she’d healed, she’d found her passion in her garden and cooking, she laughed more, had friends. Hell, in two months she’d be leaving to start her new job in Napa. A massive step for a woman who, when they first met, barely left her room and ate only enough to survive.

Try as he might, though, he knew that the obvious wasn’t what he’d meant. Seeing the dude at the stand give her his number, and seeing her slip it into her pocket, had shaken him. She hadn’t given any indication that she was considering taking that next step in her healing process. That she might be open to dating—that she might be open to intimacy again. And the possibility didn’t sit well with him.

Truthfully, it wasn’t the possibility that gave him pause, but the fact that she hadn’t mentioned it. They were friends. Good friends. Wasn’t that something friends talked about?

“I’ll watch that, then fill this, if you want to take more ice in,” Dulcie said, interrupting his thoughts as he climbed into the truck with another empty urn.

Juan nodded. “Four bags enough?” They had to distribute it carefully. They had plenty on hand, but the cooler in the stand wasn’t well insulated, whereas the truck kept it nice and frozen. If they brought out too much in one go, it would melt and be useless.

Dulcie nodded, and Juan moved away from the barrel. “Another guy gave Amber his number,” Dulcie said.

Juan’s jaw clicked as he gritted his teeth. “She’s a beautiful woman, not a surprise,” he managed to say.

“She doesn’t seem that impressed,” Dulcie added.

Juan opened the door of the built-in freezer rather than answer. She was his friend; he should encourage her to take that step if that’s what she wanted. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, though. And he refused to ask himself why. That way there be dragons he wasn’t ready to face, let alone slay.

“Crowd’s good,” he said, stepping out with four bags of ice, two in each arm. “They’ll make their fundraising target. Probably beat it.”

Dulcie shot him a look Juan opted not to dissect. “Probably,” his brother said after a beat.

“I’ll drop these, then come back for that,” he said, nodding at the almost-filled urn.

Dulcie dipped his chin in response, and Juan hopped out of the truck, holding the bags tight for the short drop.

“Incoming,” he said, walking into the stand. A narrow structure had a low shelf along the back wall holding the ice chest, urns, cups, and supplies, and a higher shelf on the serving side.

Without stopping her conversation with a customer, Amber scooted against the counter to make way for him. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her fill six cups with lemonade and garnish before snapping the lids on as he emptied the ice bags into the cooler.

“I’ll go grab the urn,” he said, dumping the last of the four in. “When I get back, we should have enough supplies for a while that I can help fill the cups.”

Miguel nodded and Amber flashed him a smile over her shoulder. “That would be great, thanks. It will probably quiet down when the parade starts, but that’s not for another forty-five minutes.”

Had her smile held a hint of unease? God, he hoped not. The last thing he ever wanted was to make her uncomfortable. Not only were they friends, but they lived in the same clubhouse, saw each other every day. Whatever bug had crawled up his butt, he needed to sort it out. Fix it. If that meant supporting Amber as she ventured into the dating world, so be it. He’d background-check every single one of the dudes, but she didn’t need to know that.

For the next hour, he and Dulcie filled urns, lugged ice, and helped prep cups. By the time the parade reached their part of the street, Miguel and Amber sent them out front to watch so they could do a little cleanup during the break in customers. He’d offered to stay and help, but both had shooed him out, telling him the space wasn’t big enough for the three of them.

Staying close by in case the pair changed their minds, he and his brother took advantage of the breather and enjoyed the day. Friends, neighbors, families lined the streets. Kids with balloons gripped tight in their hands, their faces sticky from treats, bounced and shouted as the colorful floats went by, pulling indulgent laughs from the parents, grandparents, and even passersby.

A very different childhood than he’d had. Thank god. Because this was what childhood should be like—safe, loving, joyful. Maybe not all those things all the time—that was impossible. But enough of all of them that they didn’t even realize how lucky they were to have days like this.

When the last of the floats came into sight, he and Dulcie headed back to the stand. “I’m going to check the ice stock,” his brother said, continuing on toward the truck.

Juan nodded and made his way toward the door, stepping in to find Amber alone, her head bowed over a small piece of paper held between her fingers.

“Another number?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light.

Judging by the startled look on her face and the way she hastily shoved the note into her pocket, he hadn’t succeeded.

She shook her head. “Just a note to myself.”