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I chuckle. “Yeah. You sure taught me.”
FIFTEEN
Sofia
Bren is not in bed with me when I wake up in the morning—proudly at a respectable hour. I put on some sweats and a tank and wander out of our room and down to the kitchen in search of both Bren and coffee.
I’m surprised it’s Carmen’s voice I hear speaking with Bren as I get close to the kitchen, and I linger just outside, listening despite the heavenly smell of coffee luring me in.
“How about ‘You look beautiful’?” Bren asks.
“Estas hermosa,” Carmen says, enunciating every syllable slowly for Bren.
He repeats after her. “Estas hermosa.”
“Yes!” Carmen says triumphantly. “Your pronounce is good,” she praises him.
I smile, imagining Bren’s grin of satisfaction at Carmen’s approval. Maybe there’s hope for Brenner Reindhart yet.
“You be good to her. Yes?” Carmen says, and it’s not clear if she’s asking him if he’s good to me or telling him to be good to me.
Regardless, Bren answers. “Always.”
“Siempre,” Carmen says with a dreamy sigh.
“Siempre?” Bren parrots with good pronunciation again.
“Siempre. Means always,” Carmen says.
I barge into the kitchen like I haven’t been listening to them. “Morning. Any of that coffee left?” I ask.
Bren is sitting at the breakfast nook, and Carmen orders me to sit with him while she gets my coffee.
“Get yourself one too and join us,” I tell her.
“Oh, no,” she says. “I get in trouble with Mr. Brown.”
I laugh. “We won’t tell him. I promise.”
Carmen shifts uncomfortably and glances between Bren and me.
“Yes, please,” Bren says. “Mr. Brown won’t know a thing.”
“No, please. I need my job. Thank you.” She smiles at me, appreciative of the invitation, but shrugs.
I let it go, not wanting to make her more uncomfortable, and she leaves us to dust the living room that needs no dusting.
When we’re alone, I ask Bren, “So what were you two chatting about?”
“Oh, this and that,” Bren says. He squeezes my thigh under the table. “Are you hungry?” he asks.
“Yeah, actually. Famished.”
Bren takes off the tea towel from a small basket in front of us, revealing golden-crispy pastry, and my eyes widen. I gasp. “Are those...”
“Empanadas?” Bren asks with a wide grin. “Yep.” He grabs one and devours nearly half of it one bite. “This is my fourth one.”
“I haven’t had good empanadas in forever!” I squeal with delight.
