Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Ruby

In the middle of the afternoon, we get a visitor—Miguel’s boss.

Miguel lets him in while I watch from down the hall, from my studio doorway. Miguel warned me that Mr. McIntyre was coming so I wouldn’t be caught off guard. I suspect the man’s here to talk about my father’s visit.

Shane McIntyre is a good-looking man, in his late thirties, I’d guess. He’s tall with short brown hair and a trim beard. His eyes are a surprisingly bright shade of blue. He definitely looks the CEO type, dressed in a dark gray suit with a white dress shirt and a matching gray tie.

He nods to me, giving me a warm, friendly smile. “Hello, Ms. Foster. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hi.” I look from Shane to Miguel, who are standing side by side. “I’m sorry my father was so rude to Miguel this morning. I think he sees everyone as a servant he can boss around. I assure you it was nothing personal against Miguel. He’s been wonderful.”

Shane gently elbows Miguel. “That’s why I chose him for your case.” The man smiles again, and it’s clear he’s making an effort to put me at ease. “Miguel was once my wife’s bodyguard—before she was my wife.” He chuckles. “Before I even met her, in fact. So, yes, I know how wonderful he is. My wife reminds me of this all the time.”

Shane winks at Miguel, who elbows his boss right back. It’s clear the two men have a good relationship.

“Stop,” Miguel says to his boss. “You’re going to make me blush.”

Shane laughs, and then addresses me once more. “Miguel’s caught me up to date on the events that have occurred since he arrived. We’ll catch your stalker soon.”

Feeling more at ease, I come forward and join them in the living room. “I appreciate your support, Mr. McIntyre.”

“Please, call me Shane.”

I notice Shane is careful to keep his distance. He doesn’t offer to shake my hand, which I appreciate. “Well, I’ll be going now,” he says. “I just wanted to stop by, say hello, and assure you that we won’t let your father’s reaction derail our investigation.”

Miguel’s boss lets himself out—without making any comments about the number of locks on my door—and Miguel secures the door after he’s gone. I don’t even have to ask him to do it. He just knows.

Miguel turns to face me, and for a moment we just look at each other. I’m struck yet again by how handsome he is. I’m struck by the fact that he doesn’t seem to possess an ounce of vanity, even though he’d have every right to.

And then it dawns on me. I’ve never considered that fact that surely he has someone in his life. Someone that amazing would have to, and yet he’s stuck here with me twenty-four-seven. That’s not fair to him or to his partner. “If you need to leave for a while, go do something, or go see someone, it’s totally fine, you know.”

He looks confused. “I don’t need to go anywhere.”

“Don’t you have someone—like a girlfriend or, you know, someone—to go home to?”

He laughs. “Oh, no. There’s no one.”

I find that hard to believe. This guy must have women throwing themselves at him all the time. “There’s no one?” How’s that even possible? He’s—well, he’s pretty amazing.

Smiling, he shakes his head. “I have friends, yes. Lots of them. But I’m not dating anyone, if that’s what you mean. I work long hours. I don’t have time to meet women.” He laughs. “It’s a common problem in my line of work. We hardly get any free time. Several of my friends ended up falling in love with their clients, and now we joke that McIntyre Security is actually a dating service in disguise.”

“Your friends fell in love with their clients? Is that allowed?”

“Well, Shane can hardly get on his people for doing it when he did it himself. He fell in love with one of his clients, Beth, and married her. They have two young children now.” He looks thoughtful. “Speaking of my friends, I was wondering if I could invite a couple of them over for a visit. I thought you might like to meet another young woman your age. What do you say?”

The air leaves my lungs in a rush, and I feel lightheaded. “I don’t know. I’m not sure how I’d feel about having more strangers in my apartment.”

“You’re doing fine with me here, and I’m a stranger. Or at least I was. I’m not a stranger anymore, am I?”

“That’s different. You’re—” Before I can say another word, there’s a knock at the door. I automatically flinch.

“Miss Ruby,” says a muffled voice through the door. “It’s me, Leo. I’m here with your groceries.”

I start toward the door, but Miguel says, “I’ll get it.”

Miguel’s already walking to the door and peering out the peephole. Then he unlocks the door, opens it, and there’s Leo from Frank’s Market, holding two paper sacks of groceries in his arms.

Leo’s eyes widen in surprise when he sees Miguel, probably because he’s not used to seeing someone else in my apartment. He glances past Miguel until his gaze lands on me. “Miss Ruby, is everything okay?”

“Yes, fine,” I say.

Miguel takes the bags from Leo, who’s staring at him.

“It’s okay. Miguel’s a friend,” I tell him, hoping to reassure him that everything’s all right.

Leo finally breaks his stare and leaves. Miguel closes the door. I lock it as he carries the bags of groceries to the kitchen.

“Perfect timing on the groceries, right?” I say. “Now you can teach me to make authentic Mexican enchiladas.”

While Miguel empties the bags, I put the items where they go. In addition to the staples I ordered, I find corn tortillas, sweet corn, several varieties of dried chiles, as well as onions, garlic, tomatoes, cilantro, and a lime. The one thing I don’t see is a can of enchilada sauce.

“You’re making the sauce from scratch?” I ask, surprised.

He nods. “Of course. My grandma would box my ears if she found out I used canned enchilada sauce.” He turns on the faucet and washes his hands. “Now, watch and learn.”

Pumpkin hovers at my feet, meowing plaintively.

“I think someone’s hungry,” Miguel says, nodding at the cat.

I grab his bowl, dish out his dinner, and set it on the floor. As usual, he pounces on it.

I pull up a stool so I can watch Miguel make enchilada sauce. It’s quite a production as he toasts several different types of dried peppers in a skillet. After he sets those aside, he toasts tomatoes, garlic, and onions.

My stomach is already growling. “This is going to take a while, isn’t it?”

He grins at me. “Are you hungry?”

I nod guiltily. “Yeah.”

Smiling, he grabs a bowl and dumps in some tortilla chips. “Here, snack on these. This should tide you over until dinner is ready.”

After preparing the peppers, he soaks them in boiling water to soften them. After half an hour of soak time, he adds the softened peppers, tomatoes, onions, and garlic to a blender and purees them. He puts the pureed sauce in a pot, adds some oregano and ground cumin, and puts the pot on the stove to simmer.

While the sauce simmers, he cooks some ground beef with onions and garlic, mixing it with shredded Mexican cheeses before rolling the ingredients into the corn tortillas. Finally, he lays the enchiladas in a baking dish and pours the sauce over the top. “It won’t be much longer now,” he says.

“You make that look so easy,” I say, shaking my head in amazement. “From now on, you’re in charge of cooking. I don’t think my kitchen has ever smelled this good.”

He laughs, clearly pleased by my reaction. “This is nothing. You should try my grandma’s cooking. Have you ever been to a Mexican restaurant—an authentic one?”

I nod. “A few times, when I was a kid. My parents loved trying different cuisines. I’m afraid I was probably too young to appreciate it.”

“My uncle and his family own a restaurant. I used to work there in the summers with my cousins. Their food’s amazing—you should try their tacos al pastor. Or the tacos carne asada. They’re so good. I’d love to take you there.”

My smile falls as my heart starts hammering against my ribs. I shake my head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

He winces. “Ruby, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay, really.” I hop down from my stool. “I think I’ll go work on my painting until dinner’s ready. It looks like you’ve got everything under control.”

He watches me walk away. “I’ll call you when it’s time to eat.”

Dinner is absolutely delicious, of course. No surprise there. The enchiladas are flavorful and tender, practically melting in my mouth. “Mmm, I think your grandmother would be proud of you.”

Miguel smiles as he chews. After he swallows, he says, “I’m glad you like them.”

After we finish eating, we clean up the kitchen together. We seem to have developed a comfortable routine. I’m not used to having help. It’s nice.

“How about ice cream for dessert?” he asks.

We dish up two bowls of mint chocolate chip ice cream and get comfortable on the sofa. Pumpkin curls up between us.

Miguel picks up the remote and skims through the offerings on Netflix.

“The new season of Stranger Things just dropped. Do you want to watch it?”

“That’s the show with the kids and the creepy stuff in the upside down? Sure.”

He smiles. “Yeah, that’s the one.”