Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
“Yes, sir.” The clerk almost bows at me. Then she takes the tags off Irina’s dress and while she’s doing this, Irina tries to put her trainers back on.
“No. You need shoes. Pick a pair.”
Irina has given up her opinions about the shopping because she doesn’t even argue. Just walks over to the nearest shoes and points. “These. Size six and a half.”
A few minutes later everything has been sorted and we’re heading south on Ocean towards Sixth. I didn’t recognize the name, but I do know the restaurant because I followed Irina here while I was stalking her that week.
She looks good in her dress. Even though she’s small—almost a whole foot shorter than me—her legs go on forever, again giving off a ballerina vibe. And she’s very tan, so the white dress is a pleasing contrast against her darker skin. Especially her face. Because this extra darkness to her skin tone makes those blue eyes pop.
When we get to the restaurant it’s packed with people. But Irina smiles up at me and grabs my arm. “Come on, we don’t have to wait.” She pulls me through the crowd at the door.
Inside there is a mob of people near the cash register. It’s not a fancy place. But it’s not a diner, either. It’s certainly not serving diner food. Platters filled with rice bowls and steaks go by as I wait behind Irina as she talks to an older woman near the bar, which divides the restaurant in half. The older woman looks up and meet my eyes with a scowl. But then her attention is drawn back down to Irina and she nods at her.
Irina turns, takes my hand, and leads me past the bar and into a whole separate section in the back of the restaurant. It’s on the side that faces the alley, and it’s open on all sides, like a patio, with just a little fence and a whole lot of potted palm trees to segregate it from the outside world. The floor is just wooden deck planks and the roof is pitched like a tent.
It’s quieter here. Only half of the tables are filled. And when all the diners start saying hello to Irina, I realize this is probably some kind of ‘friends and family’ section, reserved for special guests only.
Irina and I end up at a two-seater table, facing each other. She’s smiling, and when another older woman comes up to us, she points to me. “This is my boyfriend, Eason. Eason, this is Estafania. She’s Romero’s wife. Oh, Romero is part-owner.”
“And the cook,” the woman says. Everything about her is Cuban except her accent. Which… doesn’t exist. It’s just perfect American English. She’s scowling at me in exactly the same way the other woman did. “Boyfriend, huh?”
I plead guilty with my hands, but decide to say nothing.
“Hmm.” Estafania looks me up and down, her scowl deepening with each passing second. And then she breathes out a sigh of resignation, adjusts her attitude, and smiles at Irina. “What would you like tonight, honey?”
“Oh, we’re gonna need a menu, Estafania.”
I get another disapproving look from Estafania. Obviously, Irina does not need a menu, so this menu-reading stuff is only for my benefit. For some reason, I think this offends her.
She forces a smile, grabs two menus off a nearby table, and hands them to us. “I’ll be back in five.” She says this sweetly, but she’s not looking at me, she’s looking at Irina.
Once she’s gone, I let out a breath. “I don’t think she likes me.”
Irina snickers. “Oh, she hates you. They all hate you.”
“Why? That doesn’t even make sense. They don’t even know me.”
“They don’t need to know you. You’re my boyfriend and you have a neck tattoo!” She’s full-on laughing now. “You never had a chance, Eason. They will never approve. Their new mission in life is to break us up.”
“What? Then why the hell did you bring me here?”
“Because it’s practice, remember? I’ve never brought a boyfriend in to meet them. Ever. And then I come in here with you!” She covers her whole face and laughs into her hands, like she just made the most spectacular joke.
I’m ready to get pissed off about this, but when she pulls her hands down and reveals her face again, she’s so happy—so delighted that she’s having fun with these people who so obviously love her—that I smile too. I’ve never seen happy Irina. Everything about her is different right now. She looks so much softer than she usually does. The dress, the smile, the laughter. It almost turns her into a whole different person.
“You had better read that menu quick. Because Estafania is not messing around.” Irina is still chuckling. The joy she’s getting out of this seems disproportionate, but whatever. “If you make her come back a second time, she’ll just never come back at all.”