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“Truce?” she asked.
“Truce.”
She poured them both a coffee and handed him his.
“You know how I like my coffee?”
She shrugged. “Sure. Black with a splash of cream. The splash of cream surprised me.”
“It nearly got me kicked out of the League of Grumpys.”
Was that a joke?
“Actually, it was the League of Grumpy Grouches,” she said primly. “Although Grumpys works well. So, truce?”
He grunted as he sat with his newspaper. Cat sighed. She guessed that things were as good as they were going to get between them. Sitting across from him, she checked in with Immy and Maeve.
“I like the newspaper because I can still remember my grandpapa reading one when I was young. I was raised by him and my abuela. And that’s one of the few memories I have of him.”
“Oh, that’s really sweet.”
And totally surprising.
She sighed. “We’re gonna have to be friends now.”
“We are?”
“Yep. You told me something sweet about you. It’s written in the stars.”
He snorted.
She grinned. “Do they have cartoons in the newspaper still?”
He didn’t answer, but suddenly a piece of the newspaper was placed in front of her.
She frowned. “This cartoon isn’t very funny. Whatever happened to a fat cat eating lasagna? That was funny.”
“Do you always talk this much while reading?”
“Only to people I’m friends with.” She grinned over at him.
He sighed. “We’re not friends.”
“Yeah, we are. I can feel it. So, what do you want to do today? I want ice cream.”
She waited for him to deny her.
“No.”
“Come on. The sun is shining. And you must want some ice cream. You can eat, right? They let you in the League of Grumpys? Or do they keep you hungry, so you always remain grouchy?”
He sighed and set the paper down. “Guess we’re going to get ice cream.”
“Yay! I’ll go get ready.”
An hour later, they were walking out of the ice cream shop and she had a giant ice cream balanced precariously on a waffle cone.
“Sure you didn’t want one?”
He eyed hers. “No.”
She shrugged. “I’d offer you a lick, but that’s kind of gross. Can we go for a walk while I eat?”
“No.”
She sighed. “I can see the grumpiness is strong in you.”
They walked along toward where the car was parked. Mikey had driven them since Rafael didn’t have a license to drive in the States yet. Her phone rang and she pulled it out, seeing it was Alejandro.
“Hey, Papi.”
“Where are you? Your tracker says you’re on Second Avenue.”
“Getting ice cream.”
There was a beat of silence.
“With who?”
“Rafael.”
“Rafael?” he asked.
“Yeah, we’re friends now.”
“We are not friends,” Rafael stated, glaring off into the distance.
“What happened?” Alejandro asked.
“I stole his newspaper, he got mad, and then I made him coffee. We’ll be home soon. Are you home?”
“On my way. You should have told me you were going out. So should Rafael. I want you to head straight home.”
“Just getting in the car now.”
“Good. Let me talk to Rafael.”
She tuned them out, glancing over at where Rafael had been looking. Huh, that woman seemed familiar. A bit like . . . but no, she was dead.
Seeing things again.
Rafael ended the call and opened her door. She still stared over at where she’d seen the woman. But she was gone.
“What is wrong? Did you see someone?”
“No. I, uh, it was just a ghost.” A ghost that had looked like Starla, the woman she’d worked with a long time ago at Michelle’s. But that was impossible, because she was dead.
She was losing her mind.
“Alejandro wants you back home. He didn’t sound happy.”
Hmm. That wasn’t unusual.
“Is everything all right?” she asked worriedly as Mikey drove them home.
He shot her a look.
“You can tell me. I’m not a child or a delicate princess.”
A grunt this time.
She sighed. She’d have to find out from Alejandro, she guessed.
“Sooo, you know Dante,” she said.
“Yes.”
“I just . . . do you know why he didn’t come to our wedding?”
“When was it?”
She gave him the date.
His eyes widened. “Not sure I should say.”
She licked at the ice cream as fast as she could. It still ended up dripping down the cone onto her hands, though.
“You’re going to get that everywhere,” he told her.
“That’s why I wanted to walk.”
“He was shot.”
“What?”
“Dante was shot. Drive-by shooting. They’d never found who did it.”
“Why the hell didn’t he tell Alejandro that?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Was he given the chance? Admitting weakness isn’t something Dante will ever do.”
She sighed. “Ortega didn’t say anything either.”
“Ortega is loyal. If Dante asked him not to say something . . .”
“Right. Hell. I need to call him.”
“Ortega?”
“No. Dante. I need to fix things between them.”
“I don’t think they will want you to interfere.”
“Someone has to.”
As they pulled into the garage below the house, she was surprised to find Alejandro waiting for her. He opened the door and reached in to undo her belt, then he pulled her out into his arms. Her ice cream flew off the cone, landing on the floor with a splat.
