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“You gonna add her contact to your flip phone?” Snide asshole.
“What the hell do I need a phone that does anything but call people?”
“People don’t use their phones to call each other anymore. Newsflash—it’s not 1998.”
“You sure? I was thinking about getting a pager.”
He snorted. “You would.”
“I don’t want to be online any more than I already am.”
“You’re on it none.”
“Exactly.”
He inspected me. “So you really don’t want it to just be the two of you tonight? Bang all that angst out of your system?”
“Oh, I do. But we’ve got all summer for that, and tonight, I want to surprise her. Anyway, who’s to say there won’t be time afterward?”
“For talking?” he said with challenge on his face.
“Hey, as long as we’re using our lips for something, I’m happy.” I slid out of the booth with my brain whirring, chewing on a plan.
“Aren’t you gonna eat?” he asked with his brows quirked.
“You know, all of a sudden I’ve got too much to do to eat. But I’ll take this for the road.”
I flicked the warmer lid off before he could stop me, taking one tortilla for myself and the other to lay flat on Wyatt’s breakfast, and with the press of my palm, his breakfast was flattened.
“You son of a—”
“See you tonight,” I called over my shoulder. “I’ll make sure Manny’s there with a tiny shirt on.”
Wyatt flipped me off, and I laughed, kissing Abuela on the cheek as she sang “Volver, Volver,” waving at me until I was out the front door of the restaurant and on to everything I could do to get Presley Hale to smile.
Starting with donuts.
3
Let It Be Me
PRESLEY
With great care, I shaded in the face of Ursula the sea witch, wishing I could pull off this color purple for my foundation.
Priscilla sat next to me at the big kitchen island with butcher block counters, scribbling on Ariel with one eye on my cousins.
The Blums stood in an assembly line, oldest to youngest. Dottie at the five-gallon bucket of honey with a tap at the base. Daisy Mae was in charge of cheese cloth and Mason jar lids. Poppy Lee labeled, and Iris Jo—Jo, if you pleased—wrote the batch numbers on the labels and stacked the jars in a wooden crate.
All four of them were singing along to Van Halen’s “Why Can’t This Be Love” at the top of their lungs. Mom, who sat on the other side of Priscilla, had abandoned Prince Eric’s luscious hair in favor of watching the show when Jo handled the vocals of the bridge and air guitared her way through what should have been four jars of honey.
She got back to work once Foreigner came on.
“I can help now,” Priscilla said, shoving her page at me before making to climb onto the island.
I snagged her by the waist and pulled her into my lap, taking a minute to blow a raspberry on her neck until she squealed. She smelled like soap and pastries, with a hint of grape jelly. “Hold up, little bitty. Show me your picture.”
“’S right there, Mama.”
I picked it up and assessed her work, which consisted of a bunch of random scribbles, one of which was a bright red scribble right over where Ariel’s vagina would have been if she didn’t have fish hips.
“And what’s that?” I asked on a laugh.
“A fish bit her. She needs a Band-Aid.”
“Was it a girl fish or a boy fish?”
Mom elbowed me.
“It’s a valid question.”
Priscilla wiggled. “Wemme go, Mama. I can help now.”
Aunt Dottie chuckled her way over and plucked the octopus child out of my lap. “Come here, baby. Wanna hold the jar for me?”
“Yes, please.”
“Such good manners,” Dottie noted.
I snorted a laugh. “Only because she wants something from you.” I got back to Ursula and her impressive cleavage.
Mom started to laugh, but the sound almost immediately dissolved into coughing. Her oxygen tank sat on the floor at her feet, the tubes in her nose a constant companion. That tank was the only thing keeping her alive, and the reason she hadn’t been able to work in years. Her COPD had reached untenable levels, and though she quit smoking and started exercising as best she could, she’d only slowed the disease’s progression a little.
“I heard Sebastian came in to see you today,” Poppy said with a smart little smile on her face.
I shook my head. “You small-town people, I swear.”
Daisy rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Like Maravillo, California, is a bustling metropolis. You only have one stoplight.”
“You only have two,” I noted.
“And like you seeing Sebastian isn’t gossip-worthy,” Jo added with the waggle of her brows.
Things my cousins knew: I was low key in love with Sebastian Vargas and had been since I was a teenager.
Things my cousins didn’t know: Sebastian was Priscilla’s dad.
In my defense, I would have told them the second I found out if a) I’d been able to track Sebastian down wherever he was in Zambia, b) my cousins knew how to get a hold of him, and c) I hadn’t been absolutely certain that if they learned the truth, Sebastian wouldn’t hear the news from me. The entire town would know in four-point-two seconds, and I didn’t think an angry call from his abuela on the other side of the world was the way to break it to him.
