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His deep chuckle, soft and barely audible over a gust of wind, has an unacceptable amount of influence over the pace of my heart.
I throw myself into the passenger seat and bang my elbow on the stick shift in the process of avoiding him, making me wince.
“Nos vemos allá,” my mom calls out before taking off down the road while blasting “Mi Primer Millón,” one of my dad’s favorite songs.
I sink into the soft leather seat once Julian shuts my door. The vibration makes something rattle near the hood of the car, so he walks around the front and kneels.
He glares at the bumper for what seems like an eternity before entering the car with a thunderous expression and stiff posture. Neither of us says anything as he pulls back onto the road and presses his foot against the gas.
In the past, I would fill the silence with questions to annoyJulian, but tonight, I draw back into myself.
Salud:Bless you.
Nos vemos allá:We’ll see you there.
Just another way you changed because of Oliver and his family.
Silence eats at me as we catch up to my car, and I take in the damage from the crash. Besides my bumper resembling a crushed pop can and the taillight being knocked out of place, the rest of the car appears fine.
Your therapist would be proud of you for noticing the positives.
After losing my wedding venue deposit and my new agent informing me that the media learned about my broken engagement today, I need all the wins I can get.
“You’re too quiet.” Julian’s rough voice cuts through my thoughts a few minutes later.
My fingernails press into my palms from how hard I clench them. “Shouldn’t that make you happy after all those times you begged me to stop talking?”
That silences him, although the quiet only lasts a minute before he speaks upagain.
“You always knew how to make an entrance.” His gaze remains fixated on the road.
Maybe I hit my head after all, because I must be hallucinating. Julian just attempted to start a conversationtwicewithout being influenced by alcohol or his mother.
I sink deeper into the seat. “Believe it or not, I wanted to lie low for a bit.”
“That’s impossible.”
After tonight, I’m worried he might be right. If I could avoid everyone for a few weeks while I gather my bearings, itwould be a miracle.
“It’s not like I enjoy all this attention.” All I want to do is disappear and pretend my life in California isn’t falling apart.
“Says the woman who has her own television show and décor brand in stores all across America.” He loosens his chokehold on the wheel.
I fake gasp. “Julian Lopez, are you a secret fan of my show?”
His face remains unreadable. “I have better things to do with my time.”
Ouch.“I’m sure spending every night with your mother takes up a lot of it.”
Whatever drove Julian to attempt speaking with me dies as my shitty shot hits its mark.
A couple of minutes later, we pass the strawberry-themedWelcome to Lake Wisteriasign that boasts about our famous Strawberry Festival and a new tagline that statesHome of Dahlia Muñoz, celebrity interior designer and reality TV sensation.
I drop my head into my hands with a groan.
So much for lying low.
The neon Early Bird Diner sign shines like the North Star, guiding me home as we hit the corner of Main Street. From the cheery fall display in the center of Town Square to the lamp pole banners promoting the upcoming Harvest Festival in November, everything about Lake Wisteria is warm and welcoming.
