We parked right outside of the Dos Hombres café and Luz helped me out of the car as quickly as she could. From the street, I couldn’t really see inside but it looked like the place was packed as always. It had a simple décor, a ton of indoor palm plants, and the best breakfast burritos, banana flan and spicy mochas that one could hope for.
It seemed we had caught the workweek lunch rush, so it took us awhile to actually get into the café and look around. If I didn’t have to lean on Luz – crutches were far too awkward to use than I had thought and I rarely used them – it would have been easy to do a quick sweep of the place.
But even so, he wasn’t there.
“Maybe he’s in the washroom,” Luz suggested hopefully.
Another heavy exhale escaped my lips. We were too late. Derrin was gone. Although there was a chance that he never came here to begin with.
“There you two ladies are,” a rough male voice came from behind us, speaking in broken Spanish. We craned our necks to see Derrin coming toward us holding two hot drinks in his hand. He was wearing knee-length cargo shorts and a grey wifebeater that showed off every single tanned muscle and plane on his body. I had to make sure my mouth wasn’t gaping open.
“Sorry, we’re late,” Luz said, switching to English. “The traffic was really bad.”
I found my voice. “Yeah. Sorry. I thought we’d missed you.”
He gave me a half-grin, something that made his face change from hard and masculine to soft and boy-like. I liked both parts of him. “Like I would leave so easily. I’m used to everything running on Mexican time by now. Mañana and all that.”
“Such the typical tourist thing to say,” I teased him.
“We only say it because it’s true,” he said and handed me my drink. “And you know it. I got you just a plain coffee, by the way. I didn’t know if you were lactose intolerant or on a diet or whatever.”
I thanked him and Luz muttered something along those lines as she took her coffee, while Derrin looked around the café. “It seems there is nowhere to sit.”
“There’s a park around the corner,” I said but even then I wasn’t too keen on the idea of having our date on a park bench surrounded by pigeons. Derrin didn’t seem like he liked it either. His smile sort of froze.
“Oh, look,” Luz said, pointing to the corner. “Those people are leaving.”
“But there are only two seats,” he said.
Luz gave him a look. “Nice try, but you know I’m not staying with you. I agreed to be a chauffeur, not a chaperone.” She eyed me, a hint of warning in them. “I’ll be back here in three hours. Any change of plans – and I really hope there aren’t any – you text me, okay?”
I nodded. She squeezed my shoulder affectionately, raised her coffee at Derrin as her way of saying goodbye and then she was gone.
“Come on,” Derrin said, stepping closer to me. “Let’s get you over there before someone else takes the table.” He put his arm around my waist so my own arm went around his shoulder. His skin was so taught, so warm, it was hard to hide the shiver that went through me. “Not a fan of crutches?” He asked as we hobbled between the tables.
I tried to ignore how close his mouth was to my face, the way his voice shot right through me and right between my legs. “No. Have you ever had to use them before?”
He nodded. “Yes. Broke my leg in Afghanistan. It’s why I was sent home. Tried to use them for about a day until I threw them out the hospital window. It was better to hop around on one foot than to knock over everything you came in contact with.”
I wanted to take that moment to ask him more about the war – something I was very curious about – but knew it wasn’t coffee shop kind of talk.
He eased me down to the seat and I was amazed I hadn’t spilled half my coffee during the maneuver. I was so frustrated being so helpless and awkward these days but I guess it wasn’t so bad when you had a man like him helping you.
“So,” he said, when he adjusted himself in his seat. He leaned forward on his elbows, his eyes staring warmly at mine.
“So,” I said right back. My chest fluttered with anxiety. “Tell me about the war.”
Ah, fuck. So much for “don’t mention the war.” Jesus, Alana, you’re a mess, I scolded myself.
To Derrin’s credit, although his brow lowered, making his eyes seem intense, he didn’t seem offended. “All right,” he said. “What do you want to know?”
“Well, how about how you broke your leg? Trading hospital stories might be fun.” But I regretted it the moment I said it. How could what I went through compare what he did? A hit and run, as traumatic, scary and damaging as it was, was nothing compared to honest to god war.