More Than Words(3)

“Hey,” he said. “Is it something I can help with?”

Nina took a deep breath. She tried again. Paper napkins. Plastic spoons. Wooden toothpicks. Her mind was clearing. She opened her eyes and blotted tears with her fingertips. “I’m sorry,” she said, turning to face him. “It’s my dad.”

For a moment, Rafael didn’t speak. He just put his hand gently on hers, as if to say: I’m here. I understand. It wasn’t something she’d expected. Nor was the callused skin on his fingertips, tough like a guitar player’s. There was so much they didn’t know about each other. Still, the warmth of his fingers made things better. She gave him a brief smile.

“I really am sorry about that,” she said, fumbling in her purse for a tissue. “My father just texted, asking me to step in for him, to give a speech because he isn’t sure if he’ll be able to, and—it caught me off-guard.”

“I was a mess when my father was sick,” Rafael said. “I’m impressed with how well you’ve kept it together these past few months.”

Nina knew his father had died of congestive heart failure five years before—she knew his whole biography—but she’d imagined him handling that heartbreak with the same pragmatism he seemed to have used to get over his divorce. In the months she’d known him, Rafael had been all facts—and passion about how he could make the city better. But emotions—those had been locked away, kept secret. Or maybe just saved for people outside the office.

“I hate being a mess,” she told him.

He nodded sympathetically.

“Something like this,” he said, slowly, “it makes you see the world through a different lens. I think it’s hard not to fall apart when your view of life is shifting.”

She looked at him, amazed. He’d put into words a feeling she’d been trying to explain to Tim for weeks. “It’s part of every decision I make now. I try to forget about it, but it’s there, sharpening my focus, narrowing my choices.”

She finally found a tissue and used it to dab at her eye makeup. Then realized there had been a box of them sitting in the car door all along.

“My sister was pregnant when my father was dying,” Rafael told her. “And she told me that every decision she made about my niece—from her name to what her nursery looked like—was filtered through the idea that my father might not be around to meet her. It’s why my niece’s name is Emilia.”

“Your father was Emilio,” Nina said.

Rafael nodded. “My sister always loved the name Tiffany. If my father hadn’t been sick, I’m sure my niece would have been named Tiffany. It’s just one small example, but—” Rafael shrugged. “I’m sorry you have to experience it,” he said. He took her hand in his again and squeezed, the pressure saying, without words: I get it. I’ve felt it. His eyes said so, too.

“I’m sorry you had to go through it twice,” she said, thinking about his ex-wife.

“My mom’s still around,” Rafael answered.

Nina smiled. “I know,” she told him. “I meant with Sonia. Someone else in your life who disappeared, who you lost.”

Rafael looked at her for a beat, as if weighing her words, as if weighing his own. “I hadn’t thought about divorce like that before,” he said. “But you’re right. The grief, the shock, the untangling of emotions. It’s not all the same, but a lot of it . . . you’re right.”

“I guess both of our perspectives on life are changing right now.”

“I guess so,” Rafael said, and he squeezed her hand once more.





3



By the time Mia met Nina and Rafael in front of the Norwood Club, the warmth that had flowed between them had cooled. But something had changed. When they got out of the car, Rafael waited for Nina so that they walked up the stairs side by side. She felt less like his staffer and more like—well, she wasn’t sure quite what—like a colleague or maybe even a friend.

A tiny blond woman holding a glass of champagne threw her arms around Nina as they walked through the oak doorway.

“Pris!” Nina said, laughing. “It’s great to see you, too.”

“Everything okay?” Pris whispered into her ear. “I heard your dad hasn’t been in the office very much this week.”

“It’s all fine,” Nina lied, hugging her friend back. “He’s been working from home.”

“Oh, good,” Pris said. “I’ll tell my dad. He has an empty spot at a charity poker tournament on Wednesday and was hoping your dad could join.”

Nina nodded and turned to Rafael, who’d been quietly watching the two women. “Pris,” she said. “This is Rafael O’Connor-Ruiz. Rafael, Priscilla Winter.” Then she remembered Jane’s rule. “Priscilla and Brent are about to head off to Cannes for the film festival.”

Rafael stuck out his hand. “Thank you so much for hosting this fund-raiser,” he said, his face lighting up, that megawatt grin in place.

Priscilla smiled back. “Oh, our pleasure!” she said. “When Nina tells us a candidate is worth supporting, we listen.”

Nina cringed. She’d been unmasked. Rafael looked at her and raised an eyebrow but then turned back to Pris. “So tell me about this trip to Cannes.”