Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 108862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Shit.
Now I’m thinking of my sweet and adoring neighbors’ nephew with his shirt off.
Former neighbors, I should get used to saying.
They’re gone. Some part of me won’t accept that fact.
Like they’re just on a trip and will be back soon, and Lottie and I can hang out on either one of our porches laughing about all the funny kids playing in the street, or whatever ridiculous story she just heard from the ladies at her book club.
That’s all gone now.
Replaced with an ugly car. Ugly blinds.
A shirtless angry man.
Things are starting to wrap up (i.e. Chad is getting drunk and Lance is dreading the twenty-minute drive home since they live on the outskirts of town halfway to Fairview) when Billy and I are in the kitchen cleaning. “So what’s the story with that situation outside?” asks Billy at the sink, washing the tray.
I fumble with the cup I was drying off, dropping it. “What?”
“That big clunker in the driveway.”
I glance at the window.
The car sits there with its hood up, rag draped over part of the engine, tools on the ground in front of it. The garage is open, light spilling out.
No Diego in sight.
“Lottie and Marcos’s nephew.”
Billy squints at me. “They have a nephew?”
“He’s in from out of town. Watching the place until they get it sold. He’s our age. And a …” I shake my head, not wanting to speak ill of him. Then suddenly I can’t not. “He’s a bit of a dick.”
Billy cracks a smile. “Like, in a hot way? Or …?”
I frown at Billy.
He lifts his sudsy hands. “Just teasing, just teasing.” He peers out the window. “So I take it you met him and it didn’t go well?”
“I even brought him a welcome basket. With your muffins.”
“Oh, that’s who those were for?”
“And he revs his engine at, like, ass-crack-of-dawn-o’clock.”
“Y’know, Tanner was a bit of a dick at first. Now we’re married with kids.”
“And he completely mowed over the flowerbed.”
“Actually, so was Chad with Lance, and they’re a thing, too …”
“And that ugly, ugly car …”
“Maybe there’s a thing about dicks being secret princes …?”
I turn to Billy. “What are you even going on about?”
Billy shrugs. “You always get mad when people don’t let you be nice to them.”
I’m about to argue back, but his words strike me into silence.
Is that what’s going on?
Billy, smiling suddenly, takes the cup from my hand and gives it another quick washing, since I’d dropped it. “Knew it wasn’t a raccoon,” he says, proud of himself.
I let him have his victory.
It isn’t much longer after that we’re on the front porch saying our goodbyes. The night is thick and warm. It’s one of those nights you can really feel the weight in the air. Chad keeps insisting he’s “thoroughly sober” while using poor Lance as a human crutch on their way to their truck. Tanner keeps apologizing about his mom, even though I seriously have no hard feelings, and Billy gives me an extra-long hug. They’re Ethan’s ride, so he heads off with them, still working on the same bag of Twizzlers. Doors shut. Engines on. Laughter trails down the street as my friends disappear.
Just like that, I’ve got my peace back.
Almost.
Diego emerges from the garage and hunches over the hood, a rag over his shoulder, dirty tank top glued to his body from sweat. He wrinkles up his nose as he fights to loosen something with a wrench. Or a ratchet. Or whatever it is he’s holding that I’d likely misname if put on the spot.
I watch him for too long.
His arms tensing as he fights the engine.
Scowling. Gritting his teeth. Then sighing in frustration.
The guy never looks happy. Not ever. Not even for a flicker. Not even when working on this car, doing what he loves to do, and it begs the question, why does he even do it? Where’s the joy?
He gives up. Or succeeds. It looks like the same expression on his face either way.
And he glances over at me.
Eyes locked on mine.
His scowl, too.
I don’t wave back. I don’t smile, either. I’m not sure I have any nice left to give that guy.
But I don’t look away either.
Then he snatches his rag off his shoulder, wipes his forehead, and returns his focus back to the car, wrenching and ratcheting, clicking, twisting, tightening.
And I go inside.
When I close the door, I reach for the lock.
For the first time in years.
Fingers on the deadbolt, ready to turn it.
Why did I have that instinct just now?
I let go, annoyed, then pass by the kitchen window without daring to give Diego another look.
—4—
Diego
I check the address on my phone one more time, then look up.
Wishing Blooms.
Green storefront, old wooden planks stretched apart by giant windows lined with flowers, leafy potted plants, and small wooden trinkets you’d find collecting dust on your grandma’s coffee table. The shop is so small, it looks like it’s being eaten alive by the huge crafts store it’s attached to at the side. Almost walked right past it. What stopped me was the faded logo on its front door—a big blue flower with a pinkish half circle enclosing it like a moon.