Of Magic & Scales

Without so much as a may I, my small Portuguese friend and employee grabbed the glass from my hand and took a long swig of my beer. “Are you going to sit here all afternoon watching the hot guys walking by?”
“And what’s wrong with that?” Cristina spoke flawless English but enjoyed confusing me with spurts of Portuguese once in a while. She pulled up another chair and placed her feet on the seat, her legs crossed at the knees. “What exactly did you call me just now?”
“A dog salivating over a steak.” She took another swig before I could retrieve my beer. “Don’t you have more important things to do with your life, Aiden?”
I wiped her foam mustache with a finger. “Not really. Why do you think I moved here from Virginia?” She blinked her eyes at me, pretending not to know what I was talking about. “Easy living, sunshine, and hot, half-naked guys.”
Cristina laughed, her face turned to the sun. She had skin the same color as the cork in a wine bottle, a honeyed brown made darker since the early spring weather replaced the cool air of winter. “You’re something, Aiden. You have no other dream or ambition? Just basking in the sun and ogling sexy men?”
Not quite correct but part of the truth. “Are you jealous?”
The skin crinkled around her green eyes as she turned her gaze to me. “Only if you flirt with guys I have my eyes on.” She spotted a couple of newly arrived customers and hopped to her feet. “Customers. Unlike you, I have some interest in making a buck here and there. I enjoy having a roof over my head.”
As she walked away, I yelled, “No need. You can always sleep on the beach.” I heard her humph from inside the shop and I laughed. I loved messing with her. The truth was, I was not as shallow as I liked everyone to believe, but after the many complications of life in the US, where magical beings seemed to vie for my attention, I was enjoying a truly relaxed, noncommittal, and peaceful new existence.
I dropped my head until it rested on the back of the chair, slid my bottom forward, and closed my eyes. A nap might be in order. The store didn’t get busy until later in the evening when the ocean breeze cooled the air to an even more pleasant temperature and all the locals, who had been at work all day, came out to play. Portuguese were night people who enjoyed socializing outdoors until late in the evening. I often had to turn off lights and lock the door with customers still sitting on my chairs outside.
“Can we get any service in this joint?” The low, deep voice startled me from my semi-sleeping state. I straightened up on the chair and looked at the stranger through my dark glasses. He was sitting a couple tables away from me, looking as menacing as he was handsome. “Where’s the fucking waitress?”
The dark man spoke English with an American accent, and I had never seen him before. I’d remember if I had. He was impressive, all dark and broody, muscles bulging out from his T-shirt sleeves, and brown eyes narrowed in annoyance. His lips were pressed into a mere slash as he scanned the area looking for Cristina.
Reluctantly, I stood up and walked to his table. “Could you please refrain from cussing out my staff?”
His eyes, sheltered by strong eyebrows and thick eyelashes, lifted to mine. Damn! Amazing eyes. I shook my head and focused back to the matter at hand. This guy had just insulted Cristina, my only employee and friend.
“Are you the manager?” he asked, his gaze never leaving mine as he crossed his arms, emphasizing his already impressive biceps. Was that a tattoo peeking from underneath the white sleeve?
“I’m the owner.” You hot idiot, you. Focus, Aiden. “And I don’t appreciate you referring to my server that way.”
He sneered. “I’ve been sitting in this empty esplanade for five whole minutes, and she hasn’t even acknowledged my presence.” The tip of his tongue popped out from in between his lips for a second, and I shifted my weight from one leg to another, hoping the movement would discreetly rearrange my manly parts inside my jeans. “Not much of a business man, are you? How do you expect to make a profit if you ignore your customers?”
I didn’t care how sexy the guy was, I was not about to allow him to question my business expertise—which, admittedly, was not the best—or the efficiency of my staff. “Listen, sir…?” Really? Was I really trying to find out his name? My last foster mother was right; I should wear a hat more often. All that sunshine was baking my brains.
With something akin to a low growl, the stranger stood up, revealing his full length. I gulped. Holy Mother of God, the man was huge. With his shadow totally covering me, I wondered whether I’d be able to stare up at him—in all his six-feet-plus height—without looking like a munchkin.
“Naël Fouchard,” he muttered in a low, sexy voice. Where was a cold shower when you desperately needed one? “And who may I be talking to?” he asked, looking down on me both literally and figuratively. With a smirk, he added, “So I can report you to the Better Business Bureau.”
“Ah, there is no such thing in Portugal.” Jesus, could I sound any lamer?
He laughed, a booming sound that reverberated inside me. “Whatever equivalent they have over here.”
My legs were like chocolate melting in the sun. I wanted to hate this presumptuously rude man, but my traitor body had other ideas. “Be my guest.” Oh God, did I squeak? “Cristina is busy in the back, but I will gladly take your order, Mr. Fouchard.” Very gladly indeed. Do you want me wrapped in a bow to go? That could also be arranged. Stop. This man is obnoxiously rude, so stop lusting over him.
“Uma bica e um pastel de nata.” The man could speak Portuguese. Color me impressed. My Portuguese was rudimentary at best, but I knew the café-related words well enough to know he meant an espresso and a custard tart. I was about to walk away to fetch the man-god his order when he wrapped his big hand around my forearm to stop me. “You still haven’t told me your name.”
I was sure he heard me swallow. Electricity ran from the spot his fingers were pressing on my skin to my groin. “Aiden Mercer,” I coughed out. “At your service.” He released my arm and laughed. Conceited prick. He thought I was into him—which I totally was—but that didn’t mean I wanted him to know it. “I’ll get your food.” I made my escape as quickly as my jellied legs could carry me.