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“Yes.”
“Let’s just stop then. Clearly neither of us intends to offend the other.”
“Agreed.”
“So, Hope.” Erica brushed her hair off her shoulder and went back to packing up her materials. “That’s her name?”
“Yes. Hope Genavieve Garza.”
“Lovely.”
He grinned. “Thank you. Picked it myself.”
She returned his smile, but knew she needed to get the conversation back to its core. “About Hope’s quinceañera.” She sighed, reluctant to take the job, but equally hesitant to turn him down flat. He seemed like such a nice man, a concerned father. She admired him for that. “I don’t accept that kind of assignment, I’m afraid. Weddings, sure. Parties, meetings, festivals. But quinceañeras involve all kinds of traditions I know nothing about.” She shrugged. “My family has been in this part of the country for generations. We don’t celebrate any Mexican holidays or traditions.”
“My grandmother can help you. She lives with us.”
“Maybe she should be the one to plan it.”
He shook his head. “She’s in her late seventies, Erica, and she has multiple sclerosis. With the fatigue and pain, it’s all she can do to make it through some days.”
Erica didn’t know what to say, so she simply nodded. Tomás Garza certainly had a full plate. She studied him, chewing on her bottom lip. Something told her to tread lightly with her next question. She knew it would come off sounding like one of those lame, thinly veiled come-ons if she wasn’t careful. “Doesn’t Hope’s mother want to plan the event?”
A tension-buzzed pause stretched between them. “No.” Something in his shuttered expression warned her not to probe any deeper. Erica sighed. “Listen, I appreciate the offer. But I am up to my ears with the festival, not to mention several weddings over the next few months. Plus…the truth is, I’ve never planned a children’s event.”
Undeterred. “Doesn’t mean you couldn’t.”
“No, but—”
“Besides, she’s a young woman, not a child anymore, much to my chagrin.” Tomás cringed and raised his eyes heavenward.
Erica laughed softly at his morose tone. “I’m sure she’s an amazing young lady. That doesn’t change the fact that I don’t plan young people’s events, or that I’m overbooked.”
He moved closer, body taut, gaze intent. “I’ve seen you in action, Erica. Busy or not, I know you could pull this off, or I wouldn’t have asked.” He paused, watching her.
She pressed her lips together, saying nothing.
“I can pay you.”
Doubtful. “I’m expensive, Tomás.” She cocked her head apologetically. “Far too pricey for a girl’s party, anyway.”
“Try me. Name your price.”
Aha, so this was her out. The man was an artist, a single parent who also cared for an elderly grandmother with health concerns. Once she quoted him her exorbitant fee schedule, he’d swiftly realize she wasn’t worth it, and she’d be off the hook. Calculating her usual charges for planning a large wedding, and throwing in a mental surcharge because she’d be forced to work with teenagers, she arrived at a sum.
Erica crossed her arms and leveled him with a cool, all-business stare. “I would have to work Hope in between my other responsibilities. Evenings, weekends. Sporadically. You might even have to bring her to Santa Fe a few times.”
“No problem.”
“Five thousand dollars.” She let that sink in. “Plus all expenses, including my travel.”
He blinked once but didn’t balk. She watched his Adam’s apple rise and fall slowly. “Done.”
She frowned, arms dropping to her sides. “Excuse me?”
“I said, that’s fine. Five thou plus expenses. You’re hired.” He offered his hand for her to shake.
Instead, she clasped her own together and implored him to be reasonable. “Tomás, do you realize how much this party is going to end up costing you? For one evening’s entertainment? What about…her college tuition? What about—?”
“Let me worry about that.”
She felt trapped, panicked by the thought of what she might have gotten herself into. She couldn’t afford to take on another responsibility, and she didn’t want to spend the next four months dealing with adolescent angst. Her heart raced as she struggled to come up with alternatives. “But…you don’t need someone with my qualifications to plan this. This is a family event.”
“So’s a wedding. You plan those.”
“B-but…I’m a stranger.”
“An event planner,” he corrected. “Which is why I’ve come to you.”
“What about asking family? An aunt, or—?”
“No aunts.”
“Or…or a friend, or—”
“Erica—” he took her hand between both of his “—all I have wanted for the past fourteen years is to make my daughter feel special. Cherished. Can you understand that?”
“Sure, but—”
“I want memories of this night to resonate in her soul for the rest of her life.” His eyes searched her face. “You’re a professional. From you, I’ll get perfection. As close as possible, at least.”
She couldn’t argue that. In fact, he’d managed to shoot down her arguments almost quicker than she could launch them. She bit her bottom lip.
“I said I’d pay your five-thousand-dollar fee. What’s the problem?”
Cornered. Erica hung her head and thought about it logically. What was the problem? She’d gambled naming that fee, and he’d called her bluff. The only stand-up response was to accept the assignment, especially considering the man hadn’t a single qualm about paying. Five thousand dollars would be a great boost to her savings. She’d be several steps closer to striking out on her own. How hard could it be, after all, to plan a quinceañera? She peered at the man standing before her, so still, anticipating agreement, she could tell. She had to give him credit for sticking to his goals.
What the hell, it was his money, and if he wanted to hand it over, she should be willing to take it. She could easily earn five thousand dollars planning a wedding, so she shouldn’t suffer a moment of guilt for demanding the same for this job. A quinceañera was nearly as elaborate, and her time was at a premium. Feeling better about it, she took his hand. “Okay, Tomás. You’ve got yourself a deal.”
He released a breath and clasped her hand between his. “Thank you. So much. You won’t regret this, Erica.”
She laughed. “Remind me of that when I’m going nuts trying to plan this festival, all the weddings, and Hope’s party.”
“Can I…” he swallowed “…do you need the money up front?”
“No. I generally take payment the night of the event.” She didn’t miss his look of relief. The guilt tried to resurface, but she pushed it away. The man had agreed to pay. “I’ll need your approval for expenses, though. Those I’ll bill as they occur.”
“No problem. And listen.” His tone lowered to a gentle, almost conspiratorial purr. “Go wild. If I have to assume a little debt for this thing, I’m okay with that. Just make it—”
“Perfect?”
He smiled. “Too much to ask?”
“Well, it’s a tall order.” She wish he’d keep those off-limits dimples to himself. Gay man or not, they made her stomach flop. “But I’ll do my best for your daughter, Tomás.”
“That’s all I’ve ever tried to do. I wouldn’t ask more from you,” he said, his words soft and…slightly troubled?
They spent the next few moments exchanging phone and fax numbers, addresses and e-mail information—conduits to modern business function.
Feeling calmer, or at least more resigned, Erica extracted her PalmPilot from her briefcase. “I’d like to meet Hope as soon as possible.” She consulted her planning calendar. “I’ll be heading to Santa Fe tomorrow morning, but I’ll be back next week. Monday. I’ve actually rented a place here just until the festival is over.”
“You’ll be spending that much time here?”
“I’ll be back and forth, but I do want to keep a close eye on the site.” She shrugged. “Short-term rental was cheaper than a hotel, and more convenient.”
“Well, that’s great. It will be nice having you close.”
Her stomach tightened, and she chose to ignore the comment. “What works for you, dinnerwise?”
He seemed to take her lead, turning all business. “Monday?”
She shook her head. “Actually, that’s my moving day, so probably not. Tuesday?”
“Hope has a softball game that evening. Wednesday?” he offered. “Dinner. At our house, so Ruby can meet you, too.”
Erica glanced up sharply. “Ruby?”
“My grandmother.” He grinned. “She says it makes her feel younger to be called by her first name, so we humor her.”
“Sounds like my kind of woman.” Erica looked forward to meeting her. “Wednesday looks clear.” She glanced at the business card he’d given her, which listed an address in Rociada, AKA out in the boonies.
He seemed to read her mind. Again. “If you’d like, I can pick you up.”
Not good. She always preferred to have her own transportation at hand, her own escape hatch, if you will. “Thanks, but I’ll drive. Just give me good, clear directions.”
“No problem. Six too early? We’re more than happy to work our dinner hour around you.”
She smiled genuinely at his consideration, thinking how nice it would be to know someone in town. And now that she knew his preferences, it would be easier to kick this unexpected and futile attraction she felt. “Six it is. Thank you.”
“Bueno. Come hungry. I’m a whiz in the kitchen.”
“You’ve got a deal.”
Tomás headed for the door but stopped with his hand on the knob. He turned. “Erica? There is, ah, one other thing you should probably know.”
Uh-oh. His words put her on instant alert. “Yes?”
His mouth spread into a slow smile, almost as though he knew the effect it had on her stomach, almost as though he liked knowing it. “You misunderstood me earlier,” he drawled, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
“Oh? How so?”
“I’m…not gay. Not even a little bit.”
Chapter Three
Tomás’s grandmother, Ruby, kept him company, sipping her nightly cup of green tea, while he washed up the dinner dishes and filled her in on his day just the way she expected him to—starting at the beginning and going straight through until the end. He’d just gotten around to explaining about the business arrangement he’d reached with Erica.
Lamplight mellowed the mango-colored walls to a peachy gold, and the air remained redolent with the smells of chicken and green chile. His daughter was, as usual, cloistered in front of the computer in her room, working on homework—he hoped. She had finals in a few weeks and was a conscientious student. In any case, he had every parental control known to man on the computers in this house, so he didn’t harbor many chat-room nightmares about Hope. He still wished he knew a little more about how she spent her time on that darn thing sometimes.
“So, anyway, she thought I was gay,” Tomás told Ruby, with a rueful smile.
“The event planner?”
“Yup.”
For a moment, his grandmother just grinned. “Well, did she mean happy or homosexual?” She knew full well which.
Tomás snorted.
Ruby sipped, swallowed, then shook her head. “I don’t know what possessed people to change the meaning of a perfectly acceptable word,” she mused, mostly to herself. “It’s confusing for everyone, and homosexual is as serviceable a term as any.”
“You’re missing the point, Rube. A good-looking, single, twenty-eight-year-old woman thought I was—”
“You don’t date. What’s she supposed to think? And I didn’t miss the point, I was just thinking aloud.”
“How would she know I don’t date? Today was the first time I’ve ever seen her in person.”
“It’s the vibe, sonny.” She grouped the fingertips on one hand together and shook them. “You give off a vibe.”
He pondered his reflection in the window over the sink. “Maybe I need a new style. Or a tattoo. Something manly, like a power tool.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. What do you care if she thinks you’re homosexual anyway?”
“I…I don’t.” He wasn’t truly bothered by Erica’s mistake, but it was fun to joke about it. If he’d given it more thought, allowing her to believe he actually was gay might’ve been smart. At least there wouldn’t have been questions. Any time she sensed him watching her or felt his attraction, the attraction he couldn’t seem to overcome, she’d have written it off as her imagination. But, for whatever god-awful reason, he simply hadn’t been able to walk out of that room without making his sexual orientation very clear to her.
“She’s a looker, this woman?”
Sometimes Tomás wondered if Ruby could read his mind. His maternal line had always been a little bit psychic. “Yeah. And a real go-getter.” He tossed a sharp look at Ruby over his shoulder. “She’s also hired help. Period. I hired her for what she could do for Hope, not what you might be thinking I want her to do for me.”
“That would be the day,” Ruby scoffed. “It’s no wonder you have this reputation as a flamboyant homosexual.”
“Flam—” Tomás twisted around to look at his grandmother, who he knew was simply goading him. She always did love a good debate. “You know how I feel about bringing another woman into Hope’s life.”
“Indeed. How could I forget?” His grandmother sighed, running fingers through her artificially magentaed locks.
“Are you saying you disagree with the way I’m raising Hope?”
“Ay-yay-yay, and they say women are bad.” Ruby gazed heavenward, as though pleading mercy. “Men are tiring. Tiresome, too. Here.” She held out her mug. Tomás took it, slipping it beneath the bubbly surface of the sink water. He knew when a subject had been dropped by his grandmother. He also knew she never, ever intruded on his parenting. He appreciated it most of the time. Every now and then, he could have used a dose of wisdom. He was sure his mother would have given advice periodically, were she still alive. Then again, she had been very much Ruby’s daughter.
