Page 17 of A Coffee Away

The woman smiled back lovingly, then returned to cooking.

My chest swelled. They’re a couple.

She came back, rested her elbows on the counter, and watched Esteban with a grin on her face. “Hon, that man is looking at you like you’re his lunch. If you just met, you’re one lucky guy.”

I turned to find Esteban’s eyes on me. He didn’t look away, and all my nerves caught fire. His blue eyes mesmerized me.

She tapped my shoulder with a beeper. “The wings will take around five minutes to be ready.”

I tried to speak, but the words got stuck in my throat.

She pointed her lips toward Esteban. “Go wait with him.”

I grabbed the beeper and walked to him.

He pushed himself away from the truck, then pocketed his hands. “What did you order?”

I put the beeper in my pocket and shifted my feet. “Wings. You?”

“A bacon-and-mushroom cheeseburger.” He looked around. “Want to sit here or over there?”

The moment he pointed at the truck, I froze. “Fuck. I forgot to pay.” I rushed to the food truck and searched for my wallet.

Esteban grabbed my arm. “Let me.”

My cheeks burned.

I shook my head. “No. It’s enough that you’re letting me stay at your house.”

He let go. “But I want to help.”

I swallowed dryly, pushing away the heaviness that overtook me. “Look, I know you have the best intentions, but I need this. I can pay for my lunch.”

Esteban pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I just…”

I brushed his right arm. He jolted at the touch, and I removed my hand. Maybe I was reading him wrong.

I took out my card. My bank account was the only thing I could call my own, other than my art. I worked part time as a secretary when I was at the university and saved enough money to last a month or so. “I have enough, at least until I find a job.”

He stepped toward me. “Do you have your art? Can you make new paintings if I get materials?”

I frowned. “I’m not following you.”

He grabbed my shoulder. “Can you?”

Can I? I held his stare. “I think so.”

He smirked. “Then we’ll make my room an art studio for you. I can talk to my friends, and you can sell your art in the local galleries. Maybe even get a job in one.”

My whole body vibrated as a new kind of energy rushed through me.

Maybe I can do it—make a life out of my art.

“Do you see it?” Esteban took a step back. His eyes gleamed.

This was something new. This sense of self. “I do. Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?”

Esteban straightened. “I wouldn’t. I already told you. You’re talented. I’m sure you’ll make it out there.”