I pull into her driveway, taking note of how rundown the place looks. The once-pristine ranch-style home now shows its age. The yard is overgrown—practically a jungle—and the exterior is in need of a good pressure washing, probably even some paint. Judging from the state of the house, Dave was too unwell to care for it for a while.
I gesture to the scene before us. “Clearly you do.”
Seraphine sniffs, and she unbuckles. “I’ve been busy.”
She reaches for the door handle but I stop her. “Busy with what?”
“I don’t really see how it’s any of your business.”
Disappointment has me shaking my head—though I’m not sure who I’m more disappointed in: me for basically shaming her for how she’s dealing with the loss of her father or her for burying her head in the sand.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” She gets out of the car, but I holler after her before she has a chance to swing the car door shut. “Just know—it doesn’t make you weak.”
“What doesn’t?”
“Asking for help.”
Chapter Six
Mateo
It’s been two weeks since my fairground rescue, and as loathe as I am to admit it, I haven’t stopped thinking about Seraphine since. Damn bewitching woman has me under her spell.
So much so that I’m not even a little bit ashamed of my plans to fish for info from Simon when he stops by the shop this afternoon.
Until then, there’s a lift kit with my name on it.
Countless hours later, my stomach rumbles, and I break to find food.
“Brother!” Arrón hollers from halfway across the garage as I head to the sink to scrub my hands. “You about done?”
“Not quite.”
“It’s been six hours.”
I glance up toward the giant clock on the wall in disbelief. I worked straight through lunch, and Simon will be here shortly.
“Chinga tu madre!” I rack my brain trying to catalog the contents of the fridge in the office. I didn’t bring a lunch and don’t have time to go anywhere.
“¿Qué pasa? What’s wrong, brother?”
My stomach grumbles, answering Arrón for me.
“You’re in luck.” He grins.
I quirk a brow, gesturing for him to explain.
“I ran by Jefecita’s and she made enchiladas de mole.”
“And you saved me some?” I’m already salivating, just imagining the taste. Nobody—and I mean that—is a better cook than my mother.
He pinches his thumb and forefinger together. “Un poquito.”
I crack a smile. “Better than none.”
“I’m a real fucking saint.” Arrón smirks, miming a halo over his head.
“Yeah.” I turn and walk past him. “Saint Dipshit.”
“Talk all the shit you want, Mate, but I could have eaten it all.”
“Too true,” I concede, holding the door to the office open for him.
The second I step foot into the room, the familiar scents of Mamá’s kitchen greets me, causing my mouth to water.
“Is there rice?”
“Does a cow have spots?”
“Hell yes.”
At the small corner table, I tear into the container Arrón brought, readily forking a mouthful of spicy-sweet goodness into my mouth. I groan in delight as I clean my plate. “Fuck, that is good.”
“You kiss your mama with that mouth, Mateo?”
I turn toward the new voice, smiling ear to ear. “Simon—funny man.”
“I’d like to think so,” he says, pulling up a chair to the table.
“And I’d like to see you talk like that in front of Jefa.” My brother laughs to himself. “She’d tear you up.”
“Nah, she loves me too much.”
“Whatever, everyone knows as the oldest, I’m her favorite; you’re just the middle child.”
“You lie and you know it,” Arrón says with a chuckle, running a hand over his head.
“Yeah, Silvi is her favorite for sure,” Simon adds. He’s only been around them a handful of times, and even he knows our little sister wears the proverbial crown.
“Truth. The baby and the only girl.” I pop the last bite of food in my mouth and turn to Simon, focusing my attention on him. “What’s good with you?”
“Everything, man, but I gotta odd request for you.”
“How odd?”
“I want to give Willow a custom Power Wheel for her birthday, and you’re the man for the job.”
Arrón and I both break into matching grins. “How custom?” he asks.
“Lift it a little, a brush guard bumper with a play wench, paint, decals, basically the works.”
My brother and I are both howling with laughter now. “Eres un loco hijo de puta.”
“Crazy?” Simon asks. “Definitely. As for being the son of a bitch—jury’s still out.”
I freeze, worrying we’ve offended him, until he cracks up as well.
“So, can you do it?” he asks through his laughter.
Arrón mutters his questions back to him under his breath while I answer aloud. “We can do it. When do you need it?”
After we hammer out the details—from design to deadline—Simon asks, “Y’all think she’ll like it? Right?”
Arrón claps him on the back. “Man, any kid would.”
“I can’t believe she’s going to be three.” His voice is wistful—the kind of voice a father reserves solely for his daughter.
“Desi will be seventeen her next birthday. My pollito is almost grown.”
“If it’s any consolation, she’s a good kid. You’ve raised her right.” Simon’s eyes brighten. “Just the other day, there was a new kid—a transfer—and she was lost. Desi not only walked her to her class but drew her a map and highlighted the best routes. Like, she’s just… a good kid.”
My eyes burn, but I force a smile. “It’s all Imani. She’s her mama through and through.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, brother. You do your part.”
We shoot the shit for a little more until Simon’s phone trills in his pocket.
“Hey, Goldilocks, everything okay?” A pause. “Again? Have you tried calling… yeah, no, I know. You want me to ride out and check on her? You sure? Okay. Love you.”
He sighs as he tosses his phone down onto the table.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, man, it’s just… Seraphine has Mags crazy worried.”
I clear my throat and prop my elbows on the tabletop, going for nonchalant. “Worried how?”
“She hasn’t been to work since her dad passed. She’s acting out—lashing out. Magnolia and the girls are obviously concerned. Hell, I’m concerned. Something’s gotta give, but the girl is as stubborn as a mule.”
“Did you hear about the fair?” Arrón asks, unknowingly baiting my hook for me.
Simon’s brow furrows. “No…”
I give him the bare bones, not wanting to tell her business behind her back. However, the little I divulge is enough to have Simon smoking mad. “What the fuck?” he growls, shoving his chair back from the table so hard it nearly topples when he stands.