Chapter One
Fernando
I thank the heavens above that I’m done with work for the day. I spent a lot of time today trying to stifle yawns, the meeting could not have been more boring.
But, it’s all good. Because now I have the afternoon off, in preparation for dinner tonight. Yes, it’s for business – but at least there will be good food and entertainment mixed in with the work, and I’m looking forward to it.
That’s why I’m able to stroll down the street in a good mood despite my long morning, taking in the good weather of summer and enjoying the way the lively sellers display their wares along my route. Most of them recognize me by now and won’t try to harass me into buying anything like they would with the tourists, leaving me free to appreciate the handmade and painted items they display.
It’s great to support local artisans, and every now and then I think about buying something; though truth be told, if I was to pick up something from every one of them, I would have no space left in my house. The least I can do is to sometimes make bulk purchases when we have one of our customers fly in their teams from the US or other countries, so we can offer them a gift to take home.
I’m coming up on a small store, run from a tiny hallway-turned-display area, which sells the most exquisite hand-painted pottery in the area when I see a woman browsing the plates set on a wire rack outside. She bends slightly to examine those on a lower shelf, and I find myself stopping in my tracks.
Wow.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me, normally a woman can’t turn my head like this. I’m all about work, and I don’t have time for the nuisance of dating one of the airheads who usually tries to hit on me – all fake eyelashes and hair extensions, thin waists because they starve themselves, nothing real about them. But this girl…
She’s wearing a white dress, hanging slightly loose around her curvy frame, though when she bends like that her ass is highlighted perfectly in the fabric. And what an ass. Round and full, for some reason I get the sudden urge to fill my hands with it, to touch and squeeze. What is coming over me?
I hesitate as she straightens, allowing me a better view of the whole of her body, blonde hair sways to the middle of her back, and the frills around the arms and hem of the dress speak to a certain amount of fashion sense. She’s wearing wedge sandals, and bracelets glitter on her wrists – though they look like cheap charm bracelets, nothing expensive.
The owner of the store, an old man named Jose who tends to exaggerate his frailty as a sales tactic, is badgering her to look at more of his wares in broken English – another of his tactics, he speaks as fluently as I do. His aim is to make people so embarrassed they can’t refuse, or to pretend he can’t understand them when they do.
I smirk as she replies sweetly and agrees to look at more of the dishes, complimenting him on his work. He’s caught another one. But this time, I feel like I might actually want to intervene. Not because I begrudge Jose a sale – but because I’ve so far only seen her from behind, and I already want to get to know this woman.
It seems strange, wanting to meet her when I’ve not even seen her face. But something pulls my steps towards her. Before I even know what I’m doing, I’m there, leaning in the doorway of the store.
“Hey, Jose!” I call out, in English for the customer’s benefit. “Stop your swindle, eh? Let this young lady keep her money in her pocket.”
Jose waves a hand in my direction and mutters a curse in Spanish, which only makes me grin. Then she turns around to look at me, and I catch her eye – and my heart drops into my stomach.
Can it be?
I haven’t seen her in so many years, and when we last met, she was only a child. But I can’t deny what I’m seeing. The sweep of her nose, her plump lips, just like her mother. The eyes like her father’s, the man I knew so well. My best friend. When I lived in the US, we were inseparable; even now, we talk so often, even though we only get the chance to meet in person once a year or less.
And he stopped bringing his daughter along when she was still only a young girl.
But I can see the recognition in her eyes as much as in my own. It’s her. Ashley. I can’t believe it.
I can’t believe how hot she grew up. Her head has those perfect curls, her beautiful face framed by her hair in just the right way. Her large chest straining against the front of her dress, like it wants to burst out. Like it knows we should be naked already.