“I know this is weird. But I don’t regret coming here.”
She lowered her voice into a soft tone that hopefully only he could hear in case her parents were listening. “I just don’t want to get used to you again. It’s so easy between us. I’m going to miss you now, when you leave.”
Jaime stared at her. “Alma, I—”
She placed her finger on his lips, silencing him. “Good night, Jaime.”
Alma stepped away. But he pulled her back to him. His hands cupped her face. Was he going to kiss her? Did she want him to?
He leaned in and she closed her eyes. His lips pressed softly on her forehead.
“Good night,Alma.”
Chapter Thirteen
Jaime watched Alma drive away from her parents’ home, which was bizarre since he was used to being the one who’d leave.
The night had been pleasant, better than he had expected, but still made him uneasy nonetheless. He was getting closer to Alma, and he was learning more about tequila—but was he falling for her too?
He walked back into the house. Señora Garcia was waiting for him with a kind smile on her face. Jaime’s heart tightened a bit. He almost never saw his own mom, nor did he even want to. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d made him a home-cooked meal, and smiles were few and far between, though the judgment was rampant.
Señora Garcia handed him a fluffy folded-up blue towel. “This is for you. I have your room all prepared.”
“Thank you, Señora Garcia. For dinner and for offering to let me stay here.”
“You’re welcome, mijo.” She paused and pursed her lips.
Jaime knew that look—he’d seen her daughter make it many times. “Do you have a question for me?”
She clasped her hands in a prayer position. “Yes. I do. Why did you come back up here? It was for Alma, yes?”
Jaime exhaled, loudly enough that she could hear. He had actually come up to Marin to see Alma, but not to get back together with her. So a yes wouldn’t be a lie, would it?
“I did. I wanted to see her.” All true.
Señora Garcia hugged him. “I knew it. I just knew it. I told Juan that you would return. He didn’t believe me. I even lit a candle.”
Jaime forced a smile. A candle? Was Señora Garcia doing some Mexican candle magic love spell on him and Alma? He didn’t even understand what that entailed, though Enrique had dragged him once to a curandero in Escondido. That Mexican soothsayer had been a trip. The guy had reeked of sage and weed and wore a ridiculous colorful serape. Enrique had forced Jaime to get a reading done, but the curandero didn’t speak a word of English, and both Enrique and Jaime were too embarrassed to admit they didn’t understand anything that he’d said.
“What kind of candle?” Jaime leaned gently against an old grandfather clock Alma’s father had won onThe Price is Rightin the eighties. He must’ve watched that VHS tape of her father winning at least twenty times when Jaime came over to her parents’ house.
“A love candle. Ven a mí.”
Jaime stared at her, completely lost. His brain searched his high school Spanish knowledge for clues but came up empty. “What?”
“Return to me. But not tome—to Alma.”
Great. Fucking great. Here Jaime thought he’d had some control over this situation, but apparently this entire idea of coming to Marin, which he’d thought originated while he was drinking tequila in La Jolla, had been all destined by some type of bruja-ha.
Should he ask her more about her little love spell? Did he evenbelieve in this stuff? No. Definitely not. But he would still tell Enrique and ask him to explain. Later.
He needed to clarify his intent. “I don’t want to mislead you—I did want to see Alma. I came up here to see her. But it wasn’t to get back together with her. I wanted to learn more about tequila. I’m sorry.”
She cupped his face with her hands. “That is what you told yourself. To make it easier on you if it didn’t work out. But I believe you were guided back to her by that fake reasoning. Because you two are meant to be.”
Her eyes were so hopeful. He couldn’t crush her. “Maybe.”
“Not maybe, mijo. Definitely.”
