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The inside of Carlos’s home very much reflects his office at the restaurant. Soft gold walls accent deep mahogany trim and red Saltillo tiled floors. We stop when we reach the kitchen.
Callisto pulls out one of the stools placed at the large island in the center of the room. “Would you like something to drink?”
I’m smart enough to know by now that I won’t be included in whatever conversation he has with his father, so I accept the offer and toy with the idea of asking for some wine. After the day I’ve had I could really use a glass—or a bottle. But I know he isn’t fond of drinking away stress, so instead I just smile.
“Yes, please.”
He pours me a glass of Riesling without me even asking, and I rejoice internally at the gesture. It’s been weeks since I’ve had to drink myself to sleep. I hope he can see the difference he’s made in my life.
But I’m not quite ready to end my relationship with wine. We just see each other occasionally these days, rather than every night like we used to.
The smile on his face tells me he knows exactly what I’m thinking as he slides the glass across the granite.
“Thank you,” I say.
“I won’t be long.” He gives me a gentle kiss, then walks through the archway off the kitchen to find Carlos.
I haven’t even had time to finish my wine when they both return.
Wait. I haven’t had time to finish my wine?
Oh, God, I’m a sipper. When did I become a sipper?
I haven’t seen Carlos in a couple of months, and his face is a breath of fresh air. Whether I want to admit it or not, this man filled a void I didn’t even know I had until now. As a product of divorced parents, I didn’t grow up with a father, or a mother for that matter. My dad left when my mom caught him having a nooner with a woman half his age. After that, she became a serial dater with a bad habit of forgetting she had an eight-year-old daughter at home. Dad moved to Florida and pretty much became invisible not long after the divorce was final, but he made sure to send his $400 a month. So, in the eyes of the law he was doing his job. I spent most of my time with my grandmother. She taught me how to bake the best banana bread this side of the Mississippi and made sure I was in Sunday School every time the doors were open. She told me stories about growing up in New Orleans and fed my passion for dance. I lost myself the day she died.
Now, I sit here looking at these two men who have made such a difference in my life, and I can’t help but smile. Carlos has offered me so much wisdom, so much comfort, over the years. And Callisto has helped me rise from the ashes of my own fiery, personal hell. I wonder again about Callisto’s mother. And his grandmother. I wonder about his relationship with Myra. They seem so close. She looks at him with such admiration and pride.
“Hello, my beautiful Makenna,” Carlos says when he enters the room. He returns my smile with a genuine one of his own then welcomes me with a kiss on the cheek. “Welcome to my home.”
“Thank you, sir. How have you been?”
“I can’t complain. Cal has everything under control, and I’m enjoying the time off.”
He appears to be back to normal. His color is good, and his speech is perfect.
“You look great,” I tell him.
Callisto reaches for my hand and gives his father a nod. “It’s been a long day, and Makenna has to work tomorrow,” he says before the conversation goes any further.
Carlos chuckles and wraps me in a hug. “I had a feeling fate would work itself out,” he whispers softly in my ear, sending a warm feeling to my heart.
“Let me know how the meeting goes, would you,” he says to Cal, who simply nods in response then leads the way back to the car.
I have so many questions. Always so many questions with this man. He’s such a mystery to me. Yet I feel like I know him in ways no one else ever has. I watch him all the way home, catching brief glimpses of his beautiful face when we pass under the occasional streetlight. His expression never changes, and I have a sinking feeling that has something to do with what was smeared across my bathroom mirror.
Later that night, after a very memorable shower, I wake up to an empty bed. I slip on a T-shirt and check the bathroom only to find it empty as well. He’s not in the living room either. I walk out onto the terrace, taking a moment to soak in the incredible view of the city at night before the chill sets in. Then I go back inside.
I drink a glass of water and wait a few minutes more. My first thoughts go to Carlos and I pray nothing has happened. Surely Callisto would have woken me up if it had.
I’m curious but not enough to venture behind closed doors uninvited. That lesson’s already been learned. So, I head back to bed in hopes wherever Callisto is, he’ll be back in my arms soon.
“Holy fucking shit,” Brynn’s voice screeches over my sound system.
After work, I called her on my way to Callisto’s to fill her in on the past week. It’s so good to hear her voice. I tell her all about our trip and how amazing Carlos’s home is and that I’m staying at Cal’s penthouse. I decide to omit the vandalizing of my bathroom mirror because she would totally freak out if she knew about that.
Since the whole stranger in my backseat incident, she’s been slightly overprotective. I can’t say I blame her. I would walk on pins and needles 24/7 if it weren’t for Callisto. I feel safe with him. Protected. Just like he tried to do last night. He never wanted me to see those words. He was going to make them disappear, and I never would have known about them. The threat would have just been a whisper in the wind. I can only wonder what else he’s kept hidden from me for the sake of protection.
“I’m so fucking happy for you, Maks. You deserve this. So much.”
