“Your criticisms are nothing more than a reflection of yourself.”
“Say what?” I cock my head to the side as I look at her.
Desi shrugs and kills the engine. “I’m just saying, you taught me everything I know.”
“You little shit!” I reach over the console and ruffle her hair, knowing sure-fire it’ll rile her up. She’s got her mama’s curls, and at sixteen, her hair is off-limits.
“Oh my God, stop!” She bats my hand away, laughing. “It’s gonna frizz!”
“Who cares, pollito? It’s just hair.”
“Easy for you to say—you’re gonna be bald in like a decade!”
“It’s on now!” I lunge for her hair again, but she scrambles out of the truck and hightails it into the safety of the garage.
I flip down the visor and check my hairline in the mirror. I know she was only trying to rile me up, and like the sucker I am, I played right into her plans.
After I pull the keys from the ignition and pocket them, I grab the box of still warm kolaches and head inside.
The sound of boisterous laughter greets me as I enter the building. Somehow, in the two minutes it took me to get inside, Desi, Arrón, and Silvi are playing some deranged version of hide-and-seek, while Seraphine hovers near the coffeepot, looking uncomfortable in her own skin.
Her pinched brow and hunched shoulders light up every protective nerve in me. I don’t like seeing my girl look so miserable in a place that should bring her peace.
Fuck—did I just call her my girl?
The revelation has me ready to turn around and run back to the truck. But I’ve never once hidden from a problem, and I don’t intend to start now. So what if my body yearns for her—craves her even. I am a grown-ass man who knows impulse control.
I can want all I want, as long as I don’t act.
Of their own volition, my feet carry me toward her. “Are you hungry, mariposita?” I ask, my voice low.
She glances up at me from beneath her sooty lashes and licks her lips. “I could eat.”
Dios mio, this woman! I hold the box out in front of me, as an offering and a barrier. “Kolache?”
She pops the top and moans as the smell of smoked sausage wafts upward. Camshaft, rocker arm, hydraulic adjuster, intake valve… I start calling engine parts in my head, in a desperate effort to hang on to the impulse control I was just patting myself on the back for.
“Exhaust valve and piston. Mateo, are you quizzing me again? Do I need to name some more parts to earn my breakfast?”
“Didn’t realize I was speaking aloud,” I grind out the words, caught between arousal and embarrassment. “Please, just take one.”
Seraphine gives me a questioning look before shrugging and grabbing a kolache. She takes a bite and does this happy little wiggle as she groans. “So good! Should I make some coffee?”
I glance past her to the old Bunn coffee machine. “Does that dinosaur still work?”
“That coffee maker has been in this exact spot since before I was born. It will probably survive the end of the world.”
We share a private laugh. There was a reason Dave restored his projects to period—he liked the past and largely lived in it. God knows, this shop is a testament to that.
“You gonna share the wealth?” Arrón yells, breaking up our moment.
Seraphine smiles and shoos me away, looking determined to get that Bunn up and running. Now if only I can get her determined to attack life in the same way.
Chapter Eleven
Seraphine
Mateo lingers for a moment after his brother calls out to him. He runs his deep brown eyes over my body, warming me from the inside. The way his lips quirk up makes me think he likes what he sees, which is something I am not ready to think about, even if I did pick this outfit with him in mind.
Though, if I had known his family and daughter would be here with us, I’d have probably gone with something a little more modest. Not that there’s anything wrong with my cut-offs and loose-fitting crop top. They’re comfy, and I don’t mind them getting dirty, but still, I feel like I have a flashing neon sign over my head that reads desperate.
So, I turn away and start a pot of coffee.
My reprieve doesn’t last long, thanks to this dinosaur’s crazy-fast brew time, and before I know it, the entire Reyes clan is surrounding me, all vying for a cup of joe.
“First cup!” Arrón hollers.
But his sister—who I’ve yet to be formally introduced to—knocks him out of the way. “Brains before beauty.”
The younger Reyes brother waggles his brows. “So, you admit I’m prettier than you, Silvi?”
“Oldest and wisest goes first,” Mateo says.
Desi worms her way to the front. “Pretty sure it’s women and children first—both of which I am, so scoot back, losers.”
I can’t help but smile at their antics. You can tell they’re a close-knit family with a lot of love between them.
“Everyone knows the brewer gets first dibs.” The words fall from my lips without much thought, as if bantering with them is something I’ve been doing all my life.
“She’s got a point,” Arrón concedes, but Mateo clutches his heart like I’ve fatally wounded him. “Mariposita, why you gotta do me so wrong? I even brought you breakfast!”
Laughter spills from my lips as I pour myself a cup of caffeinated nectar. “For that little guilt trip, you can go last.”
Desi and Arrón crack up, while Silvi glances between her oldest brother and me, a small smirk playing on her lips.
“You wound me,” Mateo declares while hauling himself to the back of the line.
“Your ego can handle it,” Desi shoots back as I pour her a mug.
“Watch it, pollito, or you might end up grounded.”
Desi laughs, knowing her dad is full of hot air, but Silvi rushes to her defense. “You can’t ground my niece for teasing you. I will not allow it.”
Mateo reaches around Arrón and tugs on the end of his sister’s ponytail. “Oh, yeah? How are you gonna stop me?”
Silvi’s brown eyes twinkle with mirth. “Mamá.”
“You wouldn’t!”
The youngest Reyes sibling grins, looking every bit like a mischievous little sister. “Bet.” She and Desi bump hips and knock their mugs together before making room for Arrón.
“You know she would, Mate. Remember when we wouldn’t let her come to the ballpark with us, so she threw a baseball at the television and told Jefecita it was us?”
Mateo barks out a laugh from deep in his belly. “Devious little shit. Mujer diabólica.”
“Did you just call me a devil woman?” his sister asks. Her voice is hard but she’s smiling.
“Damn straight.” He takes the mug I offer him and winks. “Now, put away your pitchfork and grab a paintbrush.”
I collect all of the mugs while the guys get the paint ready. I’m halfway through washing them when I feel someone watching me.
“Oh, hey,” I turn, surprised to see Silvi standing there. At about five foot, she’s petite but with attitude in spades. Her skin is a flawless golden-tan and her black hair, though tied up in a ponytail, spills down her back.