“She’s okay. Desi actually called me, and I got there before anything happened.”
“Mateo, man, I don’t know what to say—how to repay you.”
I wave my hands in front of my chest. “No repayment necessary.”
He paces a few laps around the office, muttering to himself before turning to me. “You might change your mind after what I’m about to ask of you.”
A strange combination of interest and dread mingle within me. “Which is?”
“Could you maybe like… check on her?”
The dread turns to some other emotion—one I’m not too keen to name. My friend here doesn’t know it, but he’s basically just given me the keys to the kingdom. Regardless of the fact that nothing will ever be between the two of us, a few heated looks and banter never hurt anybody.
“Check on her how?” I ask, making sure to keep a neutral tone.
Simon scratches his chin. “I don’t know, it’s just… she won’t let Mags in. She barely even answers her calls, and you’ve sort of already been there for her. Maybe she’ll be more receptive to you?”
My lips twitch with a smile, but I school my features before it can surface. “If you think it’ll help.”
Arrón sits silently, his phone in hand. To anyone else, he looks wholly engrossed in his screen. But I know him; I know he’s listening to every word Simon and I exchange. Just like I also know, the second we’re alone, he’s going to give me shit—like he’s been doing the past two years—for being attracted to her in the first place.
“I honestly don’t know, but it can’t hurt to try, right?”
Simon looks so hopeful, as if my intervention could somehow change everything for Seraphine. I’m not exactly sure that’s true, but I also know I’m going to try my damndest to get through to her. I’m going to rally around her fine ass until she rejoins the land of the living, even if I have to drag her out of limbo myself.
The path she’s on now leads to nothing but destruction, and if Simon thinks I can help, maybe I can. Our chemistry and harmless flirting aside, at this point, I don’t think my conscience will let me not try, at the very least, to get through to her.
I sure as hell would want someone to step in and help Desi—though, preferably without thinking about her sexually.
I shake off the bout of nausea that rolls through me at the thought of anyone thinking of my daughter the way I think of Seraphine, take a cleansing breath, and turn to Simon. “I’ll give it my best.”
Chapter Seven
Seraphine
I fight the urge to cry as yet another debt collector calls. Apparently, Dad fell behind on the mortgage for the shop and put the house—our home—up as collateral. I know toward the end, he wasn’t thinking clearly, but still, I find myself angry.
So very angry.
He could have at least told me, because now, it’s on my shoulders, and a heads-up would’ve been great.
But since luck’s rarely on my side, he never thought to mention how dire the finances were before ending his life.
I need money—and fast—if I want to keep a roof over my head, not to mention Dad’s shop. Which means I need to start looking for a new job, seeing as I’m too chicken shit to show my face back at the salon after ghosting them for the last three weeks.
The worst part is, I know they’d welcome me back with open arms, and I still can’t bring myself to do it. Magnolia, Myla Rose, and Azalea have all left me countless voice mails and texts, all of which I’ve ignored.
The thought of talking to them—people who know and love me—makes it hard to breathe. Every time my phone dings, it’s like my blood turns to sludge in my veins.
I’m pretty sure Simon’s been by a time or two—or at least I assume it’s him knocking on my front door—I wouldn’t know since I hide in my bedroom whenever anyone knocks.
Hiding from all of my problems is proving a poor coping tactic, but I feel stuck.
So damn stuck.
It’s like I’m in quicksand, and the more I try to figure everything out, the deeper into the pit I seem to sink.
“You can do this.” I pace the length of the living room, trying to pump myself up to call Dad’s lawyer. He’s been trying to reach me since the day after Dad died, but like everyone else, the thought of talking to him makes me feel like I can’t breathe. “Just pick up the phone and—”
I freeze at the sound of someone rapping on the front door, hoping they’ll give up after a few seconds. But this time, the pounding keeps on.
“Seraphine, open the door!”
I know that voice… but why would he be here? Especially after three weeks of radio silence.
I creep over to the window and peek through the blinds. Sure enough, smack dab in the middle of my porch is Mateo Reyes, in all of his brooding glory. He’s standing with his arms crossed and a frown on his face, looking as handsome as ever.
“I know you’re here. Your car is in the driveway.”
Still, I don’t acknowledge his presence.
“The lights are on. Open the door, mariposita, or I’ll open it for you.”
I balk at his empty threat, half tempted to do as he says, if only to yell at him.
“You asked for it.” I hear him mutter before the sound of the lock disengaging meets my ears.
“Oh my God!” I shriek as he flings the door open and steps into my home completely uninvited. “What are you doing? Get out!”
He pauses just over the threshold and takes me in, his dark eyes eating me up in a way that has shivers rolling down my spine.
“Put some clothes on.”
I’m wearing the same shorts from the fair but with a bralette instead of a shirt. It’s a perfectly acceptable ensemble to wear in the privacy of my own home, and really, it shows no more skin than a swimsuit would. Still, I fight the urge to cover myself. If this brute of a man thinks he can bust into my house uninvited and then boss me around, he’s wrong.
“Don’t like it?” I wave my hand up and down my body, showcasing the expanse of skin on display. “Then. Don’t. Look.”
Mateo growls low in his throat, like a wolf about to clamp its teeth around the throat of its prey. “Not liking it isn’t the problem,” he says so quietly, I question if I heard him right.
“Why are you here?” I ask, hands on my hips.
“To talk.”
“So, you busted my door down?”
He scoffs as he steps fully into my house, closing the door behind him. “Didn’t bust nothing. I used a key.”
“Why do you have a key?”
He tosses it to me. “It’s the spare from under your mat. Get a better hiding spot.”
All I can do is stare as he moves past me into the living room, sinking down into the center of our small couch. With his legs spread wide and his arms draped across the back cushions, he looks like a regal king, one I’d be all too willing to worship—you know, if I didn’t kind of want to stab him.
“You’re insane.”
“Be that as it may, you need a dose of reality, and I’m here to deliver it. Now, have a seat.”