Apples & Oranges (The This & That Series) (16 page)

I looked around. So this was Demo’s hood? That made sense. The craftsman houses were all older, decades older than my own, and most of them had wide porches on the front with pitched roofs. Mature trees hung lazily over the streets, where kids were chasing each other with popsicles in the twilight. Wives sat on their front steps watching the kids, while
their husbands bent under the hoods of their beat up trucks, wielding a wrench while sweat soaked the underarms on their shirts.

This was definitely Demo’s type of neighborhood. It was like a picture out of a modern-day Norman Rockwell painting—if Norman Rockwell paintings had featured kids on rollerblades with iPod buds in their ears.

A crowd had gathered around a cement stage just beyond the playground. “What’s happening there?”

Demo reached up and plucked a bright orange flyer from behind his visor. “Shakespeare festival.
Spokane Youth Theater. My niece, Eleni, is playing Helena in A Mid… summer… something or another.”

I looked at the flyer. “
A Mid Summer Night’s Dream
, oh cultured one. Candace made me see this play in college. She was always dragging Brian, and Lexie, and me to these types of things. Your niece is one of the leads? How old is she?”

             
“She’s fifteen.” Demo turned off the truck.

             
“Wow. When I was fifteen, I was too obsessed with designer handbags and sucking face with boys to focus on Shakespeare.”

             
He looked at me through the corner of his eye. “Don’t tell me that. I don’t want to have to kick a teenager’s ass today.”

             
Snickering, I went to open my door. “So you brought me to see your niece in a play?”

             
“Yup. Hey, wait. Lemme get that.” He got out and crossed around the front of the truck to open my door. Holding his hand out to take mine, Demo explained, “My family is a huge part of my life. Almost everything I do is centered around my family. Always has been.”

             
A pang of jealousy tightened my chest. “That’s the exact opposite of my family. Almost everything I do has absolutely nothing to do with either of my parents at all. It’s always been that way.”

             
His eyes softened. “That’s really sad.”

             
I half shrugged, and let him pull me out of the cab. “I survived.”

             
Demo’s arms enveloped me. “Nobody deserves to grow up without a family.” He pressed a kiss to my temple, then pulled apart, keeping his arm around my shoulder. “I like you, Marisol. A lot.”

             
I grinned up at him. “I like you, too.”

             
“Then you should get used to spending time with a family.” He waved to someone, and led me to an empty bench at the edge of the crowd. “Because my yiayia already loves you, and as soon as the rest of my clan finds out I’m dating someone, they’re gonna be on you like white on rice.”

             
I settled down next to Demo, and squeezed his thigh suggestively. “Oh, so we’re
dating
now?”

              He tried not to smile. “I dunno. Maybe.”

             
“All this and we haven’t even slept together yet?”

             
He put a finger to his lips. “Shhh, my sister’s right over there.”

             
“Well, I’m serious.” I giggled. “Did you pass me a love note in second period that I missed? Did it say to check yes or no?”

             
“Stop bustin’ my chops.” Demo nodded at someone who settled down next to us, while a smile tickled the corners of his mouth. Good Lord, he was gorgeous.

             
“Fine.” I lowered my voice as music started to pipe over the rickety speakers set up on either side of the stage. A girl who had to be Demo’s niece—because her dark hair and deep chocolate eyes were clearly a family trait—peeked around the edge of the curtain to scan the crowd. “So after this play… are you going to take me home with you?”

             
Eleni spotted Demo and waved excitedly. His grin widened, and he waved. “Nope,” he said quietly.

             
I got closer to his ear, electricity buzzing through my body. “Then are we going back to
my
place?”

             
The curtains opened and the park crowd started to applaud. Demo leaned in close—close enough to kiss me—but remained a centimeter apart from my lips. “Nope.”

             
“What? Why?” I swallowed back the urge to jam my tongue down his throat. Neither the place, nor the time, no matter how much I wanted Demo. And believe me,
I wanted him.

             
The music died down, and a spotlight focused on center stage. Demo cupped my chin, and gently made me face him. His dark eyes were warm and crinkled at the edges. “Because you, Marisol, are worth more than that.”

Chapter Fourteen

             
“Ta da!”

             
I looked up from the cookbook I was flipping through—rather violently, if I did say so myself—to find Lexie standing before me with a dolma in her hand.

             
“Tried again, eh?” I asked, slamming the book shut and shoving it across the stainless steel table. “I don’t know why we promised that family an authentic Greek feast. We can’t even pull off cheap Americanized gyros. We suck.”

             
Lexie’s shoulders drooped. “Whoa there, Negative Nancy. What’s with the ‘tude?”

             
“I don’t have a ‘tude.”

             
She stuck the stuffed grape leaf under my nose. “Yes, you do. Here. Take a bite.”

             
“Fine.” I huffed and took a bite, chewing for a good long while before swallowing and looking up at her. “The cinnamon tastes great. And is that a hint of mustard powder I detect?”
              She nodded happily. “I think I may have nailed it.”

             
“Maybe—” I stopped talking as soon as I saw that the leaf itself was rubbing off on Lexie’s fingertips. “Aw, hell. I think you overcooked them.”

             
“What?” She looked down. “Shit. I was afraid of that. That’s what I do every time.”

             
“I’ve tried shortening the cooking time, but then the rice is tough.” I chewed my lip. “But when I precook the rice, it turns out sticky and mushy.”

             
“Blech.” Lexie made a face. “We need yoyo’s help. Seriously.”

             
“Who?” Snickering despite myself, I polished off the last of the mushy dolma. Once I’d finished chewing, I asked, “You mean Yiayia?”

             
“That’s the one.” Lexie tossed the rest of her grape leaves in the trash. “I think you need to appeal for her help.”

             
“Again?” I rubbed my eyes. We’d been doing prep work for a tea party all day, and if I made one more finger sandwich—without seeing a call or a text pop up on my iPhone soon—I was going to put my head in the blender. “Lex, I’ve already explained this to you. Until Yiayia considers me part of her family, I’m not getting a single recipe.”

             
“Well, weren’t you out sucking face all over town with her grandson just last weekend?”

             
I closed my eyes. Holy sexual frustration, yes I had been. After Demo’s niece’s play, we’d wound up walking along the trail next to the river until midnight, stopping only to kiss until we were dizzy. When I’d asked Demo—again—to come into my house for a nightcap (a “nightcap” meaning crazy jungle sex in at least three of the rooms in my house) he’d politely declined, then driven off into the darkness.

             
That was four days ago. I’d not heard from him since. And I was
pissed
about it.

             
“I highly doubt making out with her thirty-eight year old grandson justifies my earning Yiayia’s two hundred year old family recipes.” I stomped over to the sink to wash the green mush off of my fingers. “Besides, even if it did, I wouldn’t feel right about taking them anyway. Not after being ditched by Demo.”

             
“Ditched?” Lexie followed me to the sink. “Wait, wait, wait. You said that he wanted a relationship with you. You said that you guys were…” She held up her hands and made imaginary quotation marks in the air. “Going steady now.”

             
My cheeks scalded. It was more humiliating to be caught caring about a man I’d never even seen naked than it was to be caught getting freaky in a broom closet at a Bar Mitzvah we were catering.

             
And yes. That’d happened. Once. Maybe twice, but I digress…

             
“Screw going steady,” I snapped. “The bottom line is, I’m not going to screw some poor old lady out of her family recipes because she’s got some pipe dream that I’m going to make an honest man out of her grandson.”

             
Lexie shook her head. “You’re going soft.”

             
“I am not,” I hissed, avoiding her eyes.

             
“Baloney!” She barked, turning off the water, then grabbing my shoulders. She forced me to look at her. “A year ago… hell, even a month ago, and you would have screwed Yiayia and the entire Antonopolous family out of not only their recipes, but possibly even their virtue, too. What gives?”

             
I pressed my lips together as tears pricked the backs of my eyes. When Candace cried as we watched the last Twilight movie, I threw popcorn at her and proclaimed she’d reached an all time personal low. When Lexie had baby Ian and proceeded to cry every time someone looked at her wrong because of her surging hormones, I threatened her with a restraining order and told her to go on
Dr. Phil
.

             
I wasn’t exactly a crier. No.
I never cried.

             
Lexie’s eyes widened, and her grip on my arms loosened. “Mar? Are you crying right now?”

             
I shook my head, and a few tears spilled over. “No.”

             
Lexie froze. “Ohmigosh. I had no idea. I mean, I knew you liked Demo and his family, but I didn’t know you… you know,
liked
them.”

             
“Well, the joke’s on me.” I wiped my eyes on a nearby towel. “Because he hasn’t called me since our date.”

             
“Now, a month ago, you would’ve called that the perfect out.” She tilted her head at me. “But now you’re sad?”

             
Nodding, I wriggled away from her hands. “I know, I know. I’m a total loser. The next thing you know, I’ll be collecting cats, cross stitching pictures of Wills and Kate, and planning my imaginary wedding to Gerard Butler.”

“
Oh, so you’re planning on becoming Aunt Dory?” Lexie grinned, referring to her aunt—Candace’s mom. Her mom and Lexie’s were seriously as crazy as they came. “As long as you aren’t wearing wedding dresses all the time like Mrs. Havisham, I think you’re okay.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Listen, maybe Demo has a perfectly relevant reason for not calling you. Maybe he knows you’re a recovering commitment-phobe and wanted to give you some adequate space between dates.”

I threw the towel in the air. “It’s taken me thirty-two years to actually want a commitment from someone
. The last thing I need right now is space.”

“Well, then, why don’t you call him?” She looked down at a plate of macaroons I’d made for the tea party. “Or better yet, why don’t you go see him? You can take these. You know, a way to a man’s heart is through his—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it before. Through his stomach.” I stared down at the pistachio macaroons with a frown. “You know, the only route I’ve ever taken in the past is through his zipper.”

“
Super classy,” she said with a laugh. She picked up the plate and covered it in plastic wrap. “Listen… trust me on this. Show up at Triple D’s with these and tell him that you missed him. He’ll take one look at you in that dress and melt in your hands.”

I looked down at my sundress. It was hot pink and covered in black polka dots.
Very fifties’ housewife, with a naughty twist thanks to the scooped neckline. “Well, there’s no arguing with you there.” I took the plate of cookies from her. “What about tomorrow? Will we have enough for the tea party?”

She dismissed me with the wave of her hand. “Forget about it. I’ll stay late and make another batch. Fletcher’s going to some sort of
charity golf tournament with Brian in a couple days, so he owes me a night off.”

“Golf, huh?” I raised an eyebrow at her. “Is this what I have to look forward to? Does monogamy and domesticity mean letting my man golf all day while I work? Sounds pretty sexist to me.”

Lexie snorted. “I’m no deprived housewife, Mar. My man will be carrying Ian around in a chest pack all night while he helps Martha with her science project. Then when I get home, I’ll devour him. It works for both of us.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like me!” I laughed.

“Like the
old
you. Before you went soft.” She looked up at the clock. “Now, go. It’s already four-thirty, and you need to get to Triple D’s before Demo leaves for the day.”

“Ha,” I scoffed. “Please. The man lives underneath the hood of cars. Not like your husband, mind you, who spends his days
under a different hood altogether.” I waggled my eyebrows at Lexie to remind her that her husband is a gynecologist. You know, in case she forgot.

“Ugh. Shut up.” She made a face. “
Do you know how many times I’ve wished Fletcher’s job was a little bit more benign?”

Snorting, I hiked my purse up on my elbow, then walked towards the door. “Like Brian? Optometry isn’t nearly as exciting as staring at vaginas all day.”

Lexie shrugged. “I dunno. Candace says Brian has been pretty tired lately. Maybe being an eye doctor is more taxing than we presume.”

“Whatever. Brian’s a
wuss.”

“Leave it to me to finally please my mother by marrying a doctor, and I marry an OB/GYN.” She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.
Lexie’s mom was, how do you say, extremely difficult to please. “If I had another nickel for how many times she’s reminded me that Fletcher sees other women’s private parts all the time—”

“You would have a butt load of nickels by now.” I winked at her. “Okay. I’m out of here. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, bright and early.”

“Hey!” She plucked my phone off of the table. “Seriously. You forget this thing all the time. Take it with you. Then you can text me after you finally talk Demo into bed.”

“Ha!” I took it from her, and pulled the door open. “Like that will happen. I’m pretty sure he’s taken a vow of chastity
and joining a monastery.”

“Give it time, Mar. He wants you. But he respects you. You’re not used to that.”

Respect?
I thought to myself as I walked to my car. As much as I hated to admit it, Lexie was right. Demo and I were so different from each other. He was respectful; I was crass. He was a family person; I’d been alone for as long as I could remember. He was beat up cars and greasy spoon diners; I was filet mignon and caviar. Demo was apples; I was oranges.

Here’s hoping we could make some decent fruit salad someday.

***

             
When I pulled up in front of Triple D’s, it was hopping. There were cars—old and new—parked in the garage, and outside the doors, and Trey was talking with a customer in the sunshine by the front door.

             
“Oh… hey, Marisol! How are you?” he squeaked as I approached. Excusing himself from the customers, he approached me with a nervous smile. “What are you doing here? Was Uncle Demo expecting you?”

             
I held up the plate of macaroons. “It’s a surprise. Is he here?”

             
“Well, uh, yeah.” Trey scratched his head, making his dark curls tumble across his sweaty brow. “I’ll find him for you.”

             
“No, that’s okay.” I patted him on the shoulder. “Get back to work. I’ll find Demo.”

             
“Wait.” He grabbed my arm, smearing grease on my skin. “Yiayia is here. She’d love to see you. Why don’t you wait in the office?”

             
I looked down at the black smudge. “Trey, you’re acting weird.
And
you just got me dirty. I’m starting to get irritated, and irritated Marisol is never good.”

             
Trey snickered. “Did you just refer to yourself in the third person?”

             
“Maybe.” I sniffed indignantly, and stepped around the gangly teenager. “Is Demo in the garage?”

             
“No.” Trey reached for my arm again, but saw my warning glare, and put his hands up defensively. “Look, why don’t you head to the office, and I’ll send him right in?”

             
Narrowing my eyes, I balanced the plate of cookies on one hand and put the other on my hip. “What gives, Trey?”

             
His face paled. “Nothin’.”

             
Okay, I’d seen that look a thousand times before. It didn’t matter if it was Candace’s five year old son, Quentin, a teenager like Trey, or a grown man in his thirties making it… it meant that there was trouble brewing. I’d seen it on my father’s face more times than I could count. The look reeked of guilt, and I loathed guilty men.

             
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, my hand dropping off of my hip. “Where is he? Just tell me.”