Page 16 of Twisted Beauty

Zach ignored him. “So Liv, are you an ex-photographer like Kat?”

“Nope, she’s the real deal,” Katie said. “You should see all the gear she brought.”

“You mean that huge suitcase wasn’t completely filled with shoes?” Matt spoke around a bite of chips, grabbing the opportunity to make everyone forget Zach’s stupid comment with his own.

“I don't know about the real deal part,” Liv said, also ignoring Matt, “but I like having my camera with me. Maybe I’ll start a travel blog with my pictures from PV. Make it worth dragging all those lenses through customs.”

“That’s a great idea.” Jana reached for the salad bowl and heaped a second helping on her plate.

“Ooh, I know.” Katie put on a singsong voice, clearly feigning innocence. “Matt is super photogenic. You could use him as your model.”

“Not a chance,” Matt said at the exact same time he heard Liv say, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

He looked up and caught her eye. “Afraid you’ll be too distracted to focus on the scenery?”

Liv smiled, and a tiny dimple formed at the corner of her mouth. “More like I’m afraid you’ll crack my lens.”

5

Matt

Matt swept up the glass fragments from a tiny bottle of myrrh that had smashed to the floor when a group of girls, probably in their early teens, barreled through the magic shop joking about witches and goblins. Not one of them had the slightest respect for the fragile items in El Brujo Loco.

Sure, Tito had all but covered the floor space with display tables, which made it a challenge to navigate. But that was only a problem if you were a self-centered American with a complete disregard for someone else’s property or culture.

Matt sighed. His grandfather was always polite to these types, and seemed genuinely happy to explain the meaning behind each of the unusual items he stocked. Even when his customers snickered.

If Matt hoped to stay away from women like his mother and his ex-wife, Puerto Vallarta was a bad choice. Miles of sandy beaches and modern amenities put it on every top ten list of tourist destinations in Mexico. For at least half the year, every year, there were more Americans and Canadians here than locals.

If it wasn’t for Tito’s faltering health, and his ongoing need for help with the shop, Matt would have traveled much deeper into Mexico by now. Maybe Puebla or Mérida, places most tourists didn’t go.

So why couldn’t he get Liv off his mind? He hadn’t heard a damn thing from anyone in two days, since the barbecue. Maybe Kat and Zach had finally given up. Well, that would be one hell of a relief. He didn’t need to be distracted by a woman he was never going to date.

Olivia Jaye, that’s what Kat had called her. He wondered why that made her mad. The name was about as sexy as she was. Fuck if that long auburn hair hadn’t made an appearance or two in his dreams over the last couple of nights, tumbling over both of their faces as he rolled her on top of him, or spread out across the pillow with that slinky body of hers beneath his.

Christ. If he didn’t drag his mind back to the job at hand, he wouldn’t be able to walk, let alone work. He reined in his thoughts and checked to make sure he’d gotten the last of the glass shards off the floor.

He felt Tito’s firm but shaky hand on his shoulder as he cinched the trash bag closed.

“Mateo, mi hijo, you’re a good boy.”

Matt chuckled. Good thing his grandfather wasn’t a mind reader.

But he was stubborn as shit, and that had Matt worried. So far he’d had no luck convincing Tito to take time off from the shop and rest. And that was exactly why he’d come to Mexico in the first place.

His grandpa turned eighty-two this year and his body had gotten visibly more frail. The wrinkles and crisscrosses in his face had deepened and his body appeared to be a little more hunched and a little less mobile every day. He needed help, he just refused to admit it.

At least Tito’s thinking was still razor sharp. And whenever he looked at Matt, his dark eyes glistened with pride.

“Gracias, Tito. I do my best.” He smiled at his grandfather and carried the trash out to the sidewalk between shops.

The rich fragrance of corn and meat wafted from a taco stand at the corner, and Matt took a minute to breathe it in. How the hell was this his life? By now, he should have been well on his way to running his own kitchen and serving his own brand of authentic Mexican cuisine.

Casa Mateo? Taste of Vallarta? His expertise started and ended in the kitchen. He was shit at coming up with restaurant names.

Damn it, he no longer needed a name. His culinary skills didn’t serve him at all as a shop hand and part-time Spanish teacher. Besides, what did it say about him that he resented a local elderly couple who sold tamales on the street?

A chime sounded from inside the Brujo shop from a sensor he’d installed over the entrance just last week. He was starting to regret that choice. Matt took one more deep, fragrant breath and headed back in, slamming the door on what was left of his dreams.