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She said my whole name. That made me feel weird.
“My name’s Alex,” I whispered.
She tilted her head. “What was that? Who told you to whisper? We don’t whisper in this house. We use our loud voices. Speak up or be unheard. And come out from behind your father. There’s no need to hide.”
I slowly stepped out so I stood in front of her.
“Good,” she mentioned, nodding my way. “Now, speak your words again.”
“My name’s Alex,” I said, a hair louder.
She raised both brows. “You call him Alex?” she asked Dad.
“Yeah.”
She turned toward me and lowered herself to my eye level. That didn’t take much, seeing as how she was such a tiny person with a big personality. “Do you know where you got your name, Alejandro?”
“From my parents,” I said.
“Ah, yes, but do you know who you were named after?”
I shook my head.
She glanced at Dad with daggers before turning back toward me. “You were named after my brother, your grandfather, Alejandro Ramírez. Do you know what a name like that means?”
I shook my head. “No.”
She pinched my cheek and patted it lightly. “It means defender of the people. And Ramírez means wise and famous. You see, you were given that name because of the power behind it. Names matter. You are a strong defender, Alejandro. And it is an honor for me to call you that.”
I smiled a little.
I never felt strong before, but I liked my name more.
“I’m your great-aunt Teresa, your late grandfather’s younger sister, but you can call me Aunt Teresa. The ‘great’ makes me feel old, even though I am pretty great,” she said with a wink. She smelled like cotton candy and cigarettes and had a thick accent but smiled nicely. She smiled like she wanted me to feel good and welcome.
“You have your room set up for you, Alejandro,” Teresa said, pointing down the hallway. “You should take your bag there.”
“I should get back to the airport,” Dad mentioned.
My eyes widened. “You’re leaving already?”
“I told you. I was just coming to drop you off. I have meetings in California that I can’t miss. I’ll be back at the end of the summer to pick you up.” He tousled my hair before hugging Aunt Teresa. “Thanks again for watching him this summer.”
“I needed some youth in my house. Now go. Let me learn who Alejandro is,” she said, waving Dad away.
He didn’t hug me goodbye or say he loved me. He just hurried out the door.
The first month, Teresa made me help her around town. We’d go to the farmer’s markets, and she’d cook me a meal each night. She was weird but a good cook. The second month, she asked me to chop up some vegetables. I cut my finger badly, and she taught me better skills. The third month, I made fresh tapas while she taught me Spanish.
The fourth month came, and Dad didn’t come back.
He called and said business was good.
He called and said he needed more time.
He called less, and less, and less.
I waited for him. I waited for Mom, too. I’d sit in Teresa’s living room, waiting for them to return. Waiting for a call saying they were on their way to get me.
CHAPTER 13
Yara
Present Day
I hated the grump next door.
I wasn’t one to use the word hate often, but it was there, and it was strong. Unfortunately, I couldn’t seem to avoid being in his presence.
The number of times I left my apartment building to avoid him was unreasonable. Yet, still, I always bumped into him in the lobby of the apartment building, the mailroom, or the elevator.
Late one afternoon, after coming home from dinner with my sisters, he stepped into the elevator at the same time as me, and a large group of people followed, shoving Alex and me into the elevator corner, beside one another. Alex called out his floor number for the group to hit, and I did the same. His arm brushed slightly against mine, and I grumbled under my breath at the feeling of his touch. He grumbled back because I was almost certain that was the only sound his stupid mouth could make.
Grumble, grumble, grumpy annoyingly attractive man, grumble, grumble.
I hated that he smelled so good all the time, too. Mean people should smell like a sewer and dirty diapers, but his scents resembled cocoa butter, honey, and oak trees. I loved cocoa butter. I loved honey. I loved, loved, loved oak trees. These are a few of my favorite things. If I were a wild woman—which I wasn’t—I’d want to snuggle closer to him in the elevator to breathe him in. I’d want to press my nose to his neck and take a ridiculous inhalation, moan against his moisturized skin, and ask him what kind of soap he showered with. I’d want to wrap myself within the fabrics of his clothing, ask about his fabric softener choices, and mark him the same way Cocoa marked all my clothes as her territory.
