A New Foundation Rochelle Alers (read aloud .txt) 📖

“I’m making your uncle’s favorite. Puerto Rican lasagna.”

“It’s called pastelón.”

Yolanda waved her hand. “It should be called delicioso, because the first time I tasted your mother’s I’ve always wanted to make it. And this time I won’t get a recipe from a book or the internet because Maria sent me her recipe.”

“You’re kidding? Mami never gives out her recipes.” Sonja’s grandmother had earned a reputation as one of the best cooks in her neighborhood and had passed her culinary skills onto her daughter.

Yolanda flashed a Cheshire cat grin. “I told her Nelson missed her pastelón. I wanted to know if she would send me her recipe. At first she said if he wanted some then all he had to do was drive up and she’d make a pan for him. When I opened my email to find the recipe, I had to assume she changed her mind.”

“Lucky you.”

“If you want, I’ll forward a copy to you.”

“Gracias, Titi.”

Sonja sliced overripe plantains on a cutting board, making certain she yielded four slices per plantain and set them aside to be fried. The mouthwatering aroma of sautéed garlic and sofrito filled the kitchen, and she recalled the times when she’d sat on a stool watching her mother concoct the most delicious Caribbean-inspired dishes, and when older she became Maria’s sous-chef. Sonja had inherited her love of cooking from her mother and grandmother, and she was looking forward to moving into the condo, where she could cook for herself.

When she got the call from Taylor that he was on the George Washington Bridge, Nelson helped her with her luggage, riding the elevator with her to the street level. “Will you get time off for a vacation?”

Sonja stared at Nelson as if he’d taken leave of his senses. She was only moving two—not two hundred—hours away. “Of course. If I decide to come home on a weekend, I’ll call you beforehand.” She did not want to remind Nelson that he played baseball with his retired buddies on Sundays, and when he wasn’t playing ball he spent hours in front of the television watching whatever professional sport was in season.

She spied a gleaming silver SUV with Connecticut plates. “That’s Taylor’s Infiniti.”

Nelson’s eyebrows lifted. “Nice ride.”

Taylor slowed and maneuvered next to a parked car. He tapped a button and the hatch opened. Sonja and the man he assumed was her uncle were wheeling the luggage to the rear of the Infiniti at the same time he got out. He took the handle of the Pullman from Sonja, lifting and placing it in the cargo area with the smaller suitcase and carry-on.

Smiling, he extended his hand to the slender middle-aged man. “Taylor Williamson.”

Nelson stared at the proffered hand, and then took it. “Nelson Rios. Sonja’s uncle. Make certain you take good care of my niece, Taylor Williamson.”

“Tío!”

Taylor noticed the rush of color darkening Sonja’s face. Her uncle had obviously embarrassed her. “It’s okay, Sonja. Your uncle is just trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection,” she snapped angrily. “Not from any man.” Turning on her heel, she walked over to the passenger side of the Infiniti, got in and slammed the door harder than necessary.

Nelson threw up both hands. “What the hell did I say?”

“It must have been the wrong thing, for her to go off on you like that.”

Nelson shook his head. “Tell her I’m sorry.”

“I think it would be better if I don’t say anything to her for a while.” Taylor hadn’t seen this side of Sonja, and instinct told him this wasn’t the time to try to defend her uncle. “And I do want you to know that I intend to take good care of her.”

Nelson nodded. “Thanks, son.”

Taylor closed the hatch, then rounded the SUV and took his seat behind the wheel. He gave Sonja a sidelong glance as he fastened his seat belt. She was so still she could’ve been carved from stone and it was obvious she was in a funk. There was something about her expression that reminded him of Patrick’s fiancée. Sonja was pouting like Andrea.

Well, Taylor mused, he wasn’t his brother and Sonja wasn’t his fiancée. He didn’t have to plea and cajole her to talk to him, and there was nothing for which he had to apologize.

There was just the sound of the radio for nearly a half hour before he detected a grunt.

“Did you say something?”

“I said I don’t need you to protect me.”

Taylor’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I didn’t say I would protect you. It was your uncle asking that I take care of you. Try and see his side, Sonja. He sees you moving out and going away with a man he’s never met and knows nothing about. That’s what I call being concerned.”

“I told him I would call and let him know where I’m staying.”

“Why did you tell him that, Sonja?”

“Because he’d know where to contact me in case of an emergency.”

“Couldn’t he do that if he has your cell number?”

“Yes, but—”

“But nothing,” Taylor interrupted. “Even if he didn’t know your address, he could always track your cell. It’s obvious the man loves you, but you failed to see the pain on his face when you screamed at him.”

“I didn’t scream at him.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Are you saying I should apologize to him?”

“It would behoove me not to tell you what to do. After all, you’re a strong, independent, professional woman in control of her life and her destiny.”

“Now you’re being facetious, Taylor.”

“Am I? Aren’t you all of those adjectives?”

A beat passed. “I am.”

“If you are, then own it, sweetheart.”

Sonja met his eyes. “Do you realize this is the second time you’ve called me sweetheart.”

“Really?” Taylor hadn’t realized the endearment had just slipped out. And he had to ask himself if he wanted Sonja to be his sweetheart and the answer was a resounding yes. She was everything he liked in a woman. Her beauty aside, he was drawn to her intelligence and confidence.

“Yes, really, Taylor. Do