“You come here often?”
She laughed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think that was a pickup line.”
Maurice spluttered.
She nudged him with her right shoulder and laughed. “I mean the walk. Being outside.”
“Walks in Chicago in the winter probably aren’t all that great.”
“I’m used to it, used to working outside.”
“Me too.”
“Yeah? What do you do?”
Maurice’s pace slowed, causing Monique to turn around. He was suddenly somber.
“Monique, I…”
She held up a hand. “You don’t have to share.” Shrugging again, she said, “We just met. And we’re just walking. So, let’s walk.” She tugged on his hand.
They took several steps, and Maurice did not let go.
Old San Juan’s streets were narrow enough that they had to step close to let people pass, but wide enough that there was no excuse for how close they’d been walking. She kept thinking about raising her camera. It stayed bouncing against her chest.
Maurice’s hand was warm in hers. His hold was just enough.
In silence, they walked hand in hand until a group sped past them on motorbikes, laughing. One of them blew a horn that made an obnoxious honking sound. “¡Tres días!” someone shouted.
Three days until the New Year.
Maurice tugged Monique against him, his hand cupping the back of her head, shielding her. His other arm braced against her back. Her cheek pressed against his shoulder. He wasn’t much taller than her. With him holding her there, it felt like fusion.
The noise faded as the impromptu motorcade passed.
His hands stroked her head and her back as if checking for signs of injury. His arms were strong, and so was his heartbeat. “Are you okay?”
Not in the slightest.Her body tensed, and he let her go.
CHAPTER 9Maurice
The late December evening on the island was beginning to cool, but Maurice couldn’t tell. He would surely combust, leaving only an ash pile where he stood.
But he couldn’t find it in him to worry. He wanted more of this feeling. Of her body near his.
Walking beside her would have to be enough.
Holiday lights strung across the plaza glowed against the increasing darkness. The air was thick with the aroma of frying dough and sugar.
Monique smiled as she snapped pictures of things that his eyes could not immediately see. They wandered past men at café tables playing dominoes and sipping from tiny cups. Shouted conversations tangled with music, laughter, and colored lights.
This had to be magic.
They turned a corner and the bay opened before them, vast and blue and glittering. A cruise ship sat anchored in the distance, its decks strung with lights.
Monique stopped. Raised her camera. Took shot after shot—the water, the mountains in the distance, the ship with its lights.
“Look at that,” she said, voice full of awe. Monique pulled her cell phone out and snapped a few pictures of the green hills behind them. She held up two fingers and snapped a selfie. “I gotta send this to my girls.” Her voice was light with laughter as she took more pictures and sent several text messages.