Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set by Gigi Blume (ebook reader with highlighter txt) 📕

“Tell me all about Naked Man,” she stage-whispered. “Is he keeping his hands to himself?”

“We’re just friends, Mom.”

“Well, don’t let him slip through your fingers,” she chided. “I had a Latin lover like him once. Before I met your father.” She sighed, and I wasn’t sure if there was a hint of regret in her words. I didn’t want to know.

“It was my third year of college,” she said dreamily. “I spent a summer abroad in Zihuatanejo.”

“You need not say more, Mother.” I stacked the plates and dessert forks to take outside, but she didn’t budge. She leaned on the kitchen counter, lost in a memory.

“My friends and I would take the water taxi to Ixtapa Island almost every day. He was the driver. One day, I scraped my leg on a sharp piece of coral, and he came to my rescue. He was so beautiful standing over me with the sun glistening off his back—so tan and sculpted.”

“I don’t want to hear about this.” I would have plugged my ears if I thought it would help.

“We spent all our free time together after that,” she went on, ignoring me. “He knew a little English, so our communication was limited, but who needs words when there’s the language of love, am I right?” She wagged her eyebrows, and I shook my head, trying to jostle the vision from my brain.

“I really really don’t want to hear about this,” I pleaded. “Please, just stop.”

She sobered immediately from the high of reminiscing, and her face fell into a serious frown.

“Then one day, I found out he had a secret love child.”

She came to me and took me by the shoulders with a hard stare. “Make sure Jose doesn’t have a secret love child before it gets too serious.”

She nodded once in finality and retrieved the pie from the refrigerator.

“It’s not going to get serious,” I said. “And his name is Jorge, not Jose.”

She waved her hand at me in dismissal. “Same thing. Jose is just the diminutive of Jorge.”

“No, it’s really not.”

“Would you rather I continue to call him Naked Man?”

She gathered the pie and the serving utensils in her arms and flurried out of the kitchen. I pondered her admonition with amused reflection. She was, in her own quirky way, giving me the best motherly advice she knew how to give—to learn from her mistakes. Lord knows she had made enough of them and therefore, had lots of sage advice to give. I didn’t have any fears about Jorge, though, because I wasn’t in the market for a man at this time of my life. At least I did everything in my power to convince myself of that. But when I walked him to his car, I seemed to forget what I did or didn’t want.

“You sure you don’t want to stay and sit through three hours of baby photos?” I joked. “Mom hasn’t finished scaring you off yet.”

He laughed, his face brightening with an expression of contentment. “I actually like your mom. She can show me your baby photos the next time I come to visit.”

The next time. There would be a next time. Was I reading too much into his words? I smiled awkwardly and hugged my hands over my bare arms. The weather was finally cooling down, and the ocean breeze washed a brisk chill through the air. He was responsive to my actions as he always seemed to be, and he gathered me in his arms, rubbing warmth into my back.

“You’re a tiny thing,” he whispered. “You’ll catch a cold.”

He released the embrace just enough to look me in the eyes. His face was the most perfect thing I’d ever seen. I found myself examining each of his features individually, amusing myself with the idea they couldn’t possibly be real. He was the type of handsome that was so remarkable it made me feel extremely uncomfortable. He was a freshly frosted cake—no, he was fondant, and I was cheese wiz. I pressed my lips together, suddenly self-conscious of my teeth, what my breath must be like after Dad’s garlic mashed potatoes. What would I do if he tried to kiss me? Was that even what I wanted? I still didn’t have those butterflies.

He caressed his fingers over my chin, and I thought for a moment that was what he wanted. The mashed potatoes couldn’t have been so bad. I did have wine to mask the garlic, after all. But he didn’t draw any closer to me in the electric moments as our eyes met. If anything, he inched just a little bit further away. I felt like an idiot. What made me think a guy like Jorge would be into me? I was cheese wiz.

“I have to go,” he said at length. “Can I call you?”

Whoa! Those were some serious mixed signals. Did he like me or not? I decided I didn’t want him to like me at this point. I didn’t have time for games, and so I shrugged and played aloof.

“Yeah, whatever,” I said. Yep. Totally not playing games.

He smiled and stepped closer to his car.

“Great.”

He slung his keys around his fingers. I could tell there was something more he wanted to say. I wasn’t about to prompt him. He was way too complicated. Maybe my mother was right. Maybe he had a secret love child.

“Beth,” he began. There it was. Secret love child. Or he was gay. Or he was artificial intelligence—like DATA from Star Trek, only cuter. I knew he was too beautiful to be real. Whatever his confession, he had a hard time verbalizing it. After a pause of several seconds, he sighed and said, “I didn’t want to bring this up, especially after I’ve had such a nice time tonight.”

What? What could it be?

“It’s the garlic mashed potatoes, isn’t it?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “No. Those were awesome. It’s…”

“Yeah?”

“It’s Bing.”

“Bing?” Now, I was really confused. “What about Bing?”

“He’s a great guy, don’t get me wrong,” he replied quickly.