Marc ducked his head, a pleased smile playing on his lips. “It’s myabuela’srecipe. I’m glad you like it. And,” he added with a smirk, “be sure to save some room for dessert.”
After dinner, Mia excused herself to play in her room, leaving Marc and me alone once more. The conversation shifted, turning more personal as we snacked on cookies and coffee and shared pieces of ourselves.
“I’ve got to say, I’m impressed by your dedication to your students,” Marc said softly. “Maybe I was too young to notice, but I don’t remember my teachers caring as much when I was a kid. But it’s clear how much you care about them, especially Mia.”
Marc’s compliment lingered in the air. “I hadn’t always wanted to be a teacher,” I confessed, warming my hands on the steaming mug. “I studied business management in college. The plan was to work with my father at his business—financial services and all that. But I was interviewing at other places too, just to see if something better was out there, Houston or San Antonio, away from the family.” I took a sip, savoring the warmth as it traveled down my throat. “But nothing clicked. There was always something not quite right, and all the jobs meant leaving Blanco Springs.”Why was I sharing all of this?I wondered, yet I couldn’t stop, not while Marc was looking at me like that. “While I was sending out resumes and going to those soul-sucking interviews, I picked up a few substitute teaching gigs to pay the bills.”
“Oh?” Marc quirked a brow, grinning.
A smile crept onto my face as I set my cup down. “Yeah. Something just clicked. The first time I walked into a classroom, those kids looked up at me with such curiosity and… hope.” My hands animated the memory, reaching out as if to grasp the moment again. “I helped this one little boy understand subtraction that day, and when it made sense to him, his face lit up like it was Christmas morning.” I leaned back in my chair, lost in the recollection. “From that moment, I was hooked. There’s this undeniable magic in those ‘aha’ moments. It’s addictive.”
Marc’s gaze was steady, his eyes reflecting the passion in my story. “It sounds like you found your true calling, even if it wasn’t what you originally planned.”
“Every day brings something new,” I told him, then paused, wondering about this man sitting across from me. “What about you?” I asked, curious to learn more about his background and interests. “You and your brother—was working on cars a family tradition or just a shared hobby you both enjoyed?”
Marc leaned back, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips. “Our dad owned a garage when we were growing up. Alonso and I spent countless hours there, learning the ins and outs of engines, transmissions, you name it.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Alonso, he took to it like a fish to water. The guy’s a natural born mechanic.”
“And you?” I prodded gently, sensing there was more to the story.
Marc’s gaze drifted, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his mug. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed working on cars. But for me, it was always the outdoors—plants, trees, getting my hands dirty in the soil.” A wistful sigh escaped his lips. “I dreamed of starting my own landscaping business one day.”
I tilted my head, studying the man before me. “What stopped you?”
A flicker of pain crossed Marc’s features, his jaw tightening. “My ex-husband. He didn’t think working with plants was a ‘real’ job. Wanted me to have something more stable, respectable.” The words carried a bitter edge. “So, I took a job as a warehouse manager for a logistics company. It paid the bills, but…”
“But it wasn’t your passion,” I finished softly.
“No, it wasn’t.” Marc’s eyes met mine, a glimmer of determination shining through. “But I’m grateful for the skills I learned from my dad. And now, working with Alonso at the garage, it’s like I’m honoring that part of my history, you know?”
I nodded, understanding the importance of family and legacy. “It’s amazing that you have that connection with your brother, that you can support each other.”
“Alonso’s been my rock through everything. I don’t know what I would’ve done without him.” Marc loved his brother, that was clear. It made me glad they had each other.
As we sat there, the warmth of the kitchen enveloping us, I took stock of this man before me. He cooked, baked, grewheirloom tomatoes and fixed flat tires—not to mention that he was sexy as hell—yet some fool let him go. None of that made sense to me.
Marc had faced so many challenges, had sacrificed his own dreams for the sake of his family, and yet, he remained resilient, focused on building a better life for himself and Mia.
In my five years of teaching, I’d met with a lot of parents, and while all of them loved their children deeply, I don’t think Marc knew quite how special he was, the incredible sacrifices he’d made for Mia’s health and happiness.
Then he turned the conversation back to me. “So, you’re a local boy.”
I snorted, leaning back in my chair. “Yeah, but my parents—well, my dad and his wife—they don’t live here anymore. They retired about an hour down the road. My sister moved too, when she got married.”
“You see them often?”
“I talk to my sister every couple of weeks or so. But—” I shook my head. “I don’t really get along with my dad. He never forgave me for not going into accounting. I don’t know, maybe it’s just me being a kindergarten teacher that bugs him. Though we had our troubles even before I jumped careers.” I caught Marc’s eyes, searching for a hint of understanding. “You know how it is. Growing up, I was a disappointment to him, like no matter what I did, it was never good enough. The whole coming out thing only made it worse. I guess I just wanted to find my own path, even if it meant drifting away from them.”
I froze, the weight of my words hanging in the air between us as I realized this was the first time I’d explicitly mentioned being gay in front of Marc.
Marc’s expression softened, and he leaned forward slightly, his eyes filled with understanding. “Ken,” he said gently, “I get it. I’ve been there too.”
His words wrapped around me like a warm blanket, and the tension in my shoulders eased as I met his gaze, seeing the genuine empathy there. “Yeah?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Marc replied, nodding. “Coming out wasn’t a walk in the park for me either, but my parents never stopped loving me.”
I didn’t know Marc’s parents, but I immediately liked them. “I always thought my dad would come around,” I admitted, my fingers tracing the edge of my coffee mug. “But he never did. And now… well, we don’t talk much.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he murmured.
