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But in my thirty years of life on this earth, I’ve never met a woman I could tolerate enough to spend over one evening with, and Isabella Romero definitely will not change that. I don’t dislike all people… but my circle is small, and I like it that way.

Plus, women like changing things. And I like my orderly life… and my organized pantry.

Chapter two

Isabella

I scratch Mo behind the ears as I carry him back over to my house. “Why are you so smitten with Mr. Grumpy Pants, anyway?”

I open the front door to my little rental house, which isn’t nearly as well-maintained as my neighbor’s. But it’s my own, and I love it. Even though my infuriatingly traditional parents didn’t think I should move out until I got married.

I set Mo down and close the door behind me. He instantly runs to the door and starts scratching at it like he wants to go back to David’s house.

“Mo Catson Romero… you’re a traitor.” He plops down in front of the door and rolls over onto his back. I ignore his begging and walk to my small floral couch and sit down. It’s a hand-me-down from my parents, but it’s comfortable.

David’s annoyed expression flashes in my mind. He’d be so handsome if he smiled once in a while. And what’s up with his abnormally perfect family? Are they secret vampires like the Cullens from Twilight or something?

I pick up my laptop to continue the post I was creating for my travel website, Isa’s Itinerary. A documentary about the Inca Empire is playing quietly in the background for inspiration, but I’m too distracted to focus on the documentary or my website.

I can’t help but glance around my small house and compare it to David’s. His house is masculine with wood floors that are perfectly polished… just like the man himself. His simple leather furniture is minimalistic, but looks rich and luxurious at the same time. Meanwhile, my house is a little run-down—shabby-chic, if you will. I love my colorful vintage style, but after being in my neighbor’s house for the first time, my house seems a little childish and cluttered.

I cross my arms and frown. How did he manage to make me feel bad about my entire life after just five minutes of interaction?

My sister Rosa waltzes through the front door without knocking. My sisters know they never have to knock. It’s our rule.

She walks across the room and then flops down on the couch next to me. “Oh my gosh, are you watching another documentary about Machu Picchu?”

“I want to learn as much as possible before I visit! Plus, it’s our heritage.”

Rosa rolls her eyes. “You and your genealogy results. I don’t get why you’re so obsessive about it.” Rosa has made fun of me incessantly since I took a DNA test last year and found out we’re actually only 85% Mexican and 15% Incan. She swears it’s incorrect and there’s no way that’s true.

Turning off the TV, I stand to get myself a glass of water from the kitchen, which isn’t that far away since my house is small. “I wouldn’t say obsessed. I’d say… fascinated.”

She follows me into the kitchen with a smirk. “You’ve never seemed as fascinated about Mexico as you are about Peru.”

Cocking my head to the side, I give her an annoyed stare. She knows how proud I am of our Mexican heritage, and how much I looked forward to our trips to Guadalajara with Abuela. Those trips with her, exploring the city where she was born, were some of my most precious memories and instilled in me a love of travel.

“You know I’m proud to be Mexican-American. I love our art and culture… and don’t even get me started on the food. But there’s an entire world out there to explore! I already know everything there is to know about our history. Mama and Papa have practically made us memorize the family tree.”

She gives me a sympathetic nod. “I know, Bella. I was only teasing.”

I smile at her before opening the kitchen cabinet, so she knows I’m not upset. The cabinet door creaks like it always does, but I ignore it and grab a clean glass. The kitchen has off-white cabinets and laminate countertops that are supposed to look like marble—but don’t quite pull it off. I like that my house is older and feels like a cottage, and it’s just big enough for me and my cat—the cat that was supposed to be the embodiment of my free-spirit and need to have adventure… aka Moana. Oh well, I love Mo anyway.

And my house doesn’t have to be as fancy as David’s for me to love it, too.

“Why are you scowling?” Rosa asks, taking the glass from my hand and turning to fill it with water from the tap.

I hadn’t realized I was scowling… ugh, I’m turning into my neighbor. “Nothing, just anxious about my trip,” I lie, then take a sip of water. “You know, it’s not too late for you to come with me… they still have a few spots left.” I slide the travel pamphlet that’s laying on my counter towards her.

She quirks a brow and slides the pamphlet back toward me. “Yeah, hiking fifty miles up to some old ruins isn’t really my thing.”

“It’s only forty-seven miles.”

She sighs and Mo jumps up on the countertop and plops down right on top of the pamphlet. Rosa laughs. “See? Even Mo doesn’t want me to go.” She pets him a few times and he purrs. “Besides, I need to stay back and take care of him for you.”

“Good point.”

She looks at me with a twinkle in her eye. “Maybe you’ll meet a guy on the trip. Someone into hiking and looking at really old stuff.”