Page 38 of Right Up His Alley

By the time we pull into Spare Time, it’s just shy of nine in the morning. The lot is only half awake—just a few cars scattered near the tattoo shop and Mrs. Barnes’ antique shop. Mrs. Barnes herself is already outside, arranging a handful of clearance items along the sidewalk, no doubt hoping to lure in early customers. Like a bloodhound catching a scent, she perks up the second my car door shuts. Her head snaps in my direction, eyes sharp and curious, already locked onto us.

Her pinched expression relaxes when she recognizes us—or, rather, my mother—and offers a friendly wave. My mom thrusts her purse into my chest, stealing the breath from my lungs. “I’m going to say hi. I’ll meet you inside,” she says and shoos me away. Before I can protest, she’s already gone. For such a small woman, she moves with the speed of a viper.

With no other choice, I head inside the alley. As soon as I push the front door open, I’m hit with the strong smell of paint. It’s not as bad as it was yesterday but would still get you high if you hung out here for too long. I keep the doors propped open to allow some fresh air in, hoping it will carry the scent out.

I move farther into the alley, discarding her purse on the front counter and reaching over to turn on the lights. They flicker once before shining brightly with a soft hum. The paint color isn’t as dark as yesterday now that it has had time to dry. It looks even better than it did last night. My chest swells with something akin to pride. I may not share the passion for this alley like my parents or Truett, but I’m still proud of the work I’ve done.

Soft footfalls behind me catch my attention, and my head swivels just in time to see my mom enter the alley. She takes one look at the walls and gasps, her hands coming up to cover her mouth. “Ezra,” she draws out my name with an emotion I can’t quite place. I can only hope it’s a good one, since we don’t have the time or funds to repaint the entire alley if she doesn’t like the color.

Suddenly, I’m nervous.

But my insecurities and nerves fade the moment my mom lets out a half-sob, half-laugh. “Mijo, this is beautiful. The color makes Spare Time feel so much more inviting. Your father would be so proud.”

For a fleeting moment, my mood dips at the thought of my father, guilt settling heavy in my chest. I can’t help but wonder if he’d still be proud of me if he knew the truth—that my heart isn’t really in the alley. Sure, I’ve put in the work. I painted the walls, patched things up, brought it back to life piece by piece… but not out of love for the place.

The truth sits bitter on my tongue. I did it out of obligation, not passion.

He wouldn’t like that. He wouldn’t like knowing that, given the choice, I’d spend every waking hour in the tattoo shop instead of here, chasing something that actually feels like mine. And that thought—disappointing him, even now—presses in deeper than I expect.

“The smell, though, is nauseating,” my mother brings my attention back to her. “Help me get the fans from the storage closet so we can air this place out.”

We kept a decent number of fans because the AC has the annoying tendency to stop working during the summer when the air suffocates you with its heat. I had completely forgotten about them, but they’ll be helpful to get this stench out of here.

In total, we’ve got six fans to work with. Mom grabs two while I take the other four, spreading them out across the alley wherever they might push the stale, chemical-laced air along faster. Each one roars to life on the highest setting, the combined hum filling the space. I prop open the fire exit in the back, letting a thin stream of fresh morning air cut through the lingering paint fumes.

By the time I circle back to the front, the air feels like it’s finally starting to move. Mom stands behind the cash register, head bowed as she studies something on the counter—probably counting through the drawer, taking inventory of what’s left. It’s such a familiar sight, it almost settles me.

Until I notice she’s not alone anymore. A shadow stretches across the entrance of the alley, darkening the doorway before the rest of them even steps inside. I stop short the second I see him, my body locking in place like it’s forgotten how to move. My legs refuse to cooperate, rooted to the floor even as something in me urges me forward.

Because standing in the doorway is Truett.

It’s only been a few days, but the time stretched in a way I didn’t expect, quiet and noticeable in all the wrong places. And now, seeing him here, it snaps back into place all at once. Something tight in my chest loosens, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming fullness I don’t quite know what to do with. I’m still a little annoyed he had to go but relieved he’s back.

He’s wearing that same easy, toothy grin, like he never left, like this is just another ordinary morning. But there’s nothing ordinary about the way my pulse stutters or how warmth floods through me, quick and unrelenting.

I didn’t realize how much I missed the sight of him until now.

And, god—his smile. It shouldn’t hit this hard, shouldn’t send heat curling low in my chest, but it does. Somehow, impossibly, that wide grin of his is the most distracting, unfairly attractive thing I’ve seen in days.

My mom must sense me because she finally looks up and notices me standing there, frozen like a complete idiot. Curious, she follows my line of sight to see who has me so stunned. Her gaze bounces between Truett and me, piecing together the reason behind my weird behavior.

Then, I see the exact moment it clicks. Her lips curve into a knowing smile. And since I’m clearly too stunned to speak, she takes it upon herself to address the man first.

“Are you Truett?” she asks innocently enough, pretending she doesn’t remember him, but I know her too well. She’s fishing for information, a crumb of something to satisfy her curiosity.

Truett looks between my mother and me, taking in our similarities. Same shade of dark hair, same brown skin and hazel eyes. “Yes, ma’am. You must be Mrs. Jiménez. I’m Ezra’s… friend.” He stumbles over the word like he’s unsure if that’s what we are. It’s the exact problem I had this morning because “friend” seems like such a mundane word for us.

“Ezra mentioned you’re helping him fix up this old alley. That’s very sweet of you,” Mom says, closing the cash register and walking around the counter to approach him. She takes him in from head to toe, not once losing the pleasant smile on her face. For a fraction of a second, her gaze turns to me, and she winks. It’s her way of showing me she approves.

If possible, Truett’s smile only grows. Modestly, he shrugs. “This place means a lot to me. I used to come here when I was little. In many ways, Mr. Jiménez was my first teacher. He had such a passion for the sport; it was contagious. I’m sorry about your loss. He was a good man.”

Mom’s smile takes on an edge of sadness, her features softening like they do each time my father is brought up. “A good man indeed. He spoke about you, knew you’d be off doing amazing things.” There’s a haunting look in her eyes, one that only comes after losing your soulmate of many decades. Before she can get too emotional though, she gestures to me. “Thank you for helping my son. I know he’s not the easiest to work with.”

“Mamá,” I hiss. I swear to god, this woman is fueled by embarrassing me.

Unlike me, Truett takes her words in stride. “He’s a tough nut to crack, but once you get to his core, you see just how much of a softy he is.”

I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole. Better yet, I want it to swallow my mom and Truett so they can continue to embarrass me far away from here. And yet, I can’t help but preen at his words, a warmth growing inside me I haven’t felt in a long time.