Northwest Romantic Comedies: Boxed Set Books 1-6

by Lia London

  Antonio watched her lead Carlos and Emilio down to the den. “Carlos just died and went to heaven,” he said with a knowing smirk at Milo. “You don’t mind that my little brother is infatuated with your wife, right?”

  Milo shrugged. “If I didn’t lose her to you or Crawford, I figure I can hold my own against a thirteen-year-old.”

  Antonio gave him a lop-sided grin, never having desired Jill despite her vivacious beauty. “She was always yours.”

  Gesturing for them to pass into the kitchen, Milo said, “You know Crawford’s married now?”

  “No way. That player?”

  “Settled down and—”

  “Antonio!” Milo’s mother Mabel, a rotund and joyful woman, enveloped him in a suffocating hug. “You came! You came! Mendel owes me five dollars and a tub of Tillamook ice cream because he said you wouldn’t. Oh, I’m so glad you came!”

  Milo leaned in with a wink and parroted Antonio’s earlier tone. “You don’t mind that my mother is infatuated with you, right?”

  “Oh, Milo!” Mabel’s hand flailed out with a playful backhand. “He’s like an extra son to me.”

  “Which means she’ll want to marry you off ASAP,” quipped Milo, dipping a fingertip into a massive bowl of mashed potatoes.

  Mabel let go of Antonio and tried to tug Milo back from the counter laden with food. “That isn’t fair! All my boys have grown up and flown the coop. Only Milo ever comes back for Thanksgiving, so I need extra sons around.” She picked up a wooden spoon and brandished it at Milo. “Now get away from the fixings until it’s Turkey Time. Why don’t you join Mendel and Jill downstairs? They’re watching the Macy’s parade. Jill wants to see if she can spot any celebrities she knows.”

  Antonio watched as Milo sneaked a heaping fingerful of some fruity concoction without Mabel seeing. “How’s that going for Jill? Is she still writing soap scripts?”

  Milo nodded and swallowed fast. “She’s making bank even as she gets some ethnic diversity into the red-carpet line-up for the daytime drama crowd. I’m super proud of her.”

  Mabel caught sight of Milo’s nibbling and swatted the wooden spoon at him. She turned to Antonio, all smiles. “I keep telling her she needs to write a nice big part for you.”

  “No thanks,” said Antonio quickly. “I’ve got the boys.”

  “Well, maybe some bit parts, then. Something where you get to keep your shirt on, but we get good close-ups of your beautiful brooding face.”

  “Mom, you’re embarrassing him,” said Milo with a groan.

  “No, I’m embarrassing you. He can deal with a little adulation from his extra mom. Now go on downstairs to the den. I’m trying to finish up, and I can’t cook faster than Milo grazes.”

  Following Milo down the steps, Antonio glanced at all the wedding photos of Milo and his brothers. “Did you get invites to Amaya’s wedding?”

  “Yep. And Parker’s. Crazy, huh?” Milo stopped on the last step and gave Antonio a wry grin. “You know, you are the last of the Team Northwest crew to tie the knot. Mom is never going to let that sit for long.”

  Antonio shook his head, gently shoving Milo forward. “Not happening, man. I’ve got to be there for the boys. I don’t need any extra responsibility.” He paused, studying a line-up of tuxedoed Halsey brothers and felt a pang of guilt that his sister couldn’t live to be married and start a family of her own.

  “Can’t a woman be a help, too? A partnership?”

  Antonio poked Milo in the back. “You sound like an abuela trying to marry off all her grandkids.”

  “I’d hate to think of you lonely. You’ve got no prospects? No women you’re interested in?”

  “Oh, there’s a woman!” Emilio’s giggle pitched higher. Antonio stopped at the entrance to the den to see Emilio’s face lit up. The boy continued his declaration. “We’ve got a new neighbor named Zaira, and she is so pretty and super nice, and we ate dinner with her and her cousin and her daughter last night, and—”

  “Wait, daughter?” asked Milo.

  “Yeah, she’s got a toddler.” Antonio widened his eyes meaningfully at Emilio. “But she’s just a new friend. Nothing serious. I literally bumped into her at Mo’s, and—”

  “It was a super slick move,” called Carlos from beside Jill. “Like something from a movie. And then he used it as an excuse to get her to join us.”

  Jill’s eyebrows popped up. “Really? Do tell! Antonio used his acting skills to do what now?” She shot Antonio a grin and returned her overly rapt attention to the boys.

  Antonio buried his face in his hands as they recounted the evening with Zaira, Sofia, and little Gabi. They stayed close enough to the truth that he chose not to interject with corrections, but the more they emphasized her beauty, the warmer and tighter his collar grew.

  “Sounds like she’s lovely. What’s your vote, Antonio?” teased Jill.

  “She’s … very attractive, yes. But we’re barely more than acquaintances, and she’s a single mom, and I’m practically a single dad, and I’m not interested in anything serious.”

  Jill pursed her lips, her eyes darting between the boys and Antonio. “If you say so. But she’s a lucky lady to live across from such an honorable man who happens to be so awesome with kids.”

  Antonio tensed and turned to go back upstairs, but Milo blocked his way. “It won’t be any better up there with Mom,” said Milo. “Welcome to holiday dinners at the Halsey home. Weddings and wantings are the favorite topic.” When Antonio grimaced, Milo added, “Don’t worry. The food will be worth it. C’mon, let’s play a round of ping-pong before dinner.”

  They settled into a rhythmic volley, and Antonio’s mind drifted back seven years to the fateful day when his amorous ambitions had cost him everything. He had agreed to meet his father and sister at the bus stop after work, so they could ride home together, but when a cute co-worker had coaxed him into the supply room, he’d opted in eagerly. His teen brain had been focused on losing his virginity, and because of it, he lost his father and sister in the crossfire of gang violence while they waited for him. He’d arrived late, feeling triumphant only to witness the aftermath of the carnage.

  What a selfish fool he had been. If he’d said no to his lust, his family would have ridden home unscathed.

  His eyes blurred at the shame of it, and he missed an easy shot.

  “Whoa, keep your head in the game,” teased Milo.

  The door to the adjacent bathroom opened. “Oh hey! The gang’s all here!” Mendel Halsey sauntered out, shaking soapy bubbles from his fingers. “Good! We needed some more testosterone around here. Mabel and Jill get to talking fashion and smoochie stuff, and I about go crazy.”

  Antonio grinned up at the large man in greeting, and Mendel enveloped in him a friendly bear hug. He leaned in to Antonio as if sharing a secret. “You don’t have a girlfriend, do you? Don’t tell them if you do, or they’ll have your bachelor and bridal parties planned before you get your first slice of pumpkin pie.”

  “No. No girlfriend. Nothing to talk about there,” insisted Antonio. But in the background, he could still hear Carlos and Emilio describing the dinner with Zaira and her cousin. When they laughed about something clever she’d said, he blushed at the memory of her intelligent eyes and the unique curve of her cheekbones, strong and graceful.

  But no. With a plate as full as the one he carried, it wouldn’t do for him to get involved with a single mom. He couldn’t possibly take care of two more people. He wouldn’t be able to keep them all safe from harm.

  Zaira stirred the mac and cheese, willing it to cool faster, as she replayed the scene at Mo’s in her mind. Sofia had declared the evening a resounding success before heading back to Depoe Bay, but Zaira doubted it would amount to anything.

  Sure, Antonio Seneca behaved like a perfect gentleman after the initial crash into her table, but he probably feared being sued by a fan or getting bad publicity. And his little brothers bragged about an invitation to spend Thanksgiving with Milo Halsey
and Jill Ripley from Who Wants to Be a Soap Star. Clearly, Antonio still cycled through the celebrity world despite appearances here in Lincoln City. And if he still rubbed shoulders with the buxom, blonde bombshell, Jill Ripley, then he’d have no interest in the likes of Zaira Vasquez, plain and dark and not particularly curvy.

  She sighed, frowned, tested the mac and cheese on her tongue, and squeaked at the burn.

  Beside her, Gabi burbled a request which Zaira recognized meant juice.

  “Coming, Gabi.” She tugged open the door to the fridge with one hand as she stirred the pasta with the other. “Apple or white grape?”

  “Appagwape!”

  Zaira sighed and grabbed the pink sippy cup. “We don’t always get everything we want. You’ll have to stick with one flavor for now.”

  The little girl wrapped her pudgy hands around it and took a swig. When she didn’t complain, Zaira nodded. “Good girl. Glad you like it.”

  She returned to stirring the mac and cheese. “Today’s Thanksgiving, hija. What should we be thankful for?”

  Gabi lifted her sippy cup. “Doos!”

  “Yes, juice. And I’m thankful for my new job at the hospital.” She spooned some of the mac and cheese into a plastic bowl and splashed a little milk on top to continue the cooling. “And for food, and friends.” She set the bowl onto the tray of the high chair. “Not that we have any friends here.” She lifted Gabi into the chair, retrieving the sippy cup when it dropped. Taking a swig, she began pacing. “You don’t think we’ll actually be friends with Antonio Seneca, do you? I mean, that would be totally weird, wouldn’t it?”

  Gabi reached for Zaira, babbling.

  “Right, I thought so, too.” Zaira opened the fridge and pulled out the white grape juice. “I mean, he was nice, but nice doesn’t mean flirting or interested in friendship or … anything.” She unscrewed the cap of the bottle and the sippy cup. “Not that I’d want him to flirt in the first place.” Pouring the contents of the sippy cup into the bottle of grape juice, she gave a tight-lipped nod. “I mean, he played a total jerk on Who Wants to Be a Soap Star. Remember? The hot lover who two-timed Veronica and Stefani?”

  Gabi scowled solemnly. “Stuffa-me.”

  Zaira nodded and placed the empty sippy cup back into the fridge. “I don’t need another player type. Been there, got the baby.” With a thunk, she slammed the bottle of white grape juice on the high chair tray. “Not that for a second I’m saying you aren’t the best thing that ever happened to me, of course.” She kissed the top of Gabi’s curly head. “I love you, baby girl! Drink up!”

  Zaira turned back to the stove to serve herself some mac and cheese. Two seconds later, she heard a watery crash, and something splashed her leg. “No!” The plastic bottle of white grape juice lay on the floor, pouring out its last dregs onto the linoleum.

  “A la gran…” She let out a deep sigh and snatched up the roll of paper towels. “Stupid Antonio Seneca. He’s totally distracting me.” Dropping to her hands and knees, she began mopping up the sticky mess. “I am so not ready to be friends with him if he’s going to turn my brain to flan.”

  Above her, Gabi giggled.

  “It’s not funny, baby. Men don’t know how to be friends without demanding benefits, and they mess up your life.”

  Gabi answered with a well-aimed handful of cheesy noodles that landed in Zaira’s hair.

  Zaira gave her daughter a pointed look. “You’re eating that bite, not me.”

  Gabi squealed and face-planted into her bowl of mac and cheese, rising orange-cheeked with her four teeth grinning.

  “You look like a Jack o’ Lantern, silly. It’s Thanksgiving, not Halloween.” She rose up on her knees and wiped goo from Gabi’s cheek. “Not that you can tell from our dinner. I’m sorry, baby girl. I promise by the time you’re old enough to know the difference, I’ll have our life sorted out. I’m living just for you now.” She extracted a noodle from her hair and popped it in her mouth.

  Chapter 3 ~ Who’s the Boss?

  “I wish you’d been here, Antonio,” complained Irene Morales.

  Antonio did his best not to glare at the woman who signed his paychecks. Keeping his voice even, he replied, “Since you’re not giving me overtime, I didn’t think I was obligated to give up my holiday to work.”

  Irene harrumphed. “The least you could have done is come show your pretty self while they ate Thanksgiving dinner. Maybe spoon some mashed potatoes in their faces.”

  Turning away to hide his frustration, Antonio promised, “I’ll make it up to them.” As if this woman cared.

  “Make it up to them by getting an RN here in the afternoons.”

  “I already put in a call to the hospital last Monday. They said they’d get back to me.”

  She stuffed a finger laden with cheap rings in his face. “Get back to them. We’ve got twelve abuelos signed up for wellness checks starting Wednesday.”

  He gestured over his shoulder. “I’ll be in the office making calls then.” Breathing as slowly as he could, Antonio calmed himself in time to greet an elderly pair of Latina women in the hall with a big smile. “Hola!” With genuine cheer, he directed them to the Activity Room for the Noche de Manualidades. He hoped they’d enjoy making crafts, but his concern wasn’t entertainment. He needed to get a nurse assigned to La Casa as soon as possible.

  Dropping into the rolling office chair, he leaned his forehead on both palms, reminding himself how much he loved his job as the Program Director. If only Irene wasn’t his boss. She ran the business end of things and only had a heart for bottom lines on financial reports, but he provided the face of all the services La Casa provided to the Latino community in Lincoln City.

  He shuffled through the post-its on the corner of the desk until he found the number he needed.

  “Hello, this is Antonio Seneca, Program Director of La Casa. I’m calling about your RN outreach program. Were you able to find someone who can take a regular shift out here?”

  The woman on the phone audibly swooned. “Oh, Mr. Seneca! Yes, sure. We’ve got two candidates, both bilingual.”

  Antonio brightened. Would it be so easy? “Wonderful. Can they come out Wednesdays through Saturdays from two to five?”

  “Uh-oh. I thought you wanted Monday through Friday. You really need Saturdays?”

  “Big time. That’ll be the busiest shift, probably.” He sank a little lower in the seat, rubbing the ache behind his eyes.

  “Okay, let me check. Mind if I put you on hold?”

  “Please don’t lose me in the system,” he said, only half-joking.

  “I won’t.”

  Watered-down instrumental versions of hits from the 1980’s oozed in his ears, and he used the time to turn and wave at more patrons coming into the building. Most waved back and shuffled on by, but his favorite, abuela Patricia, spotted him and trotted over. With gnarled hands, she cupped his face and kissed his forehead.

  “Hola, Patricia, mi cielita linda!”

  She giggled as Antonio reached up and clasped one of her hands, cradling the landline phone between his ear and shoulder. As he opened his mouth to address the old woman, the lady from the hospital came back on the line.

  “Okay, we’re in luck. One of them can do it. She’s a newbie, but I think she’ll be a good fit.”

  Antonio gently squeezed Patricia’s hand while picking up a pen with his free hand. “Okay, give me the name and number, then.”

  “Sure thing. It’s kind of a weird name. I’m not sure how to pronounce it. It’s spelled Z-a-i-r-a.”

  Antonio only wrote the first two letters before his mouth dropped open. “Vasquez?”

  “Yeah, how’d you know?”

  He squeezed Patricia’s hand tighter without thinking, and she let out a surprised yelp.

  “Ay! Lo siento abuela!” He pressed the old woman’s gnarled fingers to his lips in apology. “Lo siento.” He let go, and she patted his head before shuffling back out to join her friends.

  “Sor
ry, could you repeat that?” asked the woman on the line.

  Antonio grimaced and refocused on his phone conversation. “It’s pronounced sigh-rah. I believe I’ve met her.”

  “Oh. Cool. Okay, well, she’ll be out there on Wednesday. It’s up to you if you want to call her first with details, but she’ll come with the standard outreach equipment for basic wellness checks.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  The woman recited Zaira’s phone number to him, and he scribbled it down. After hanging up, he stared down at the post-it.

  How ironic that they had never discussed his current job while at Mo’s, and now she would find out he was a totally unglamorous Program Director instead of a TV star. What if she found him boring in this status?

  For the entire drive home, he debated the pros and cons of calling her versus letting her show up on Wednesday and find out in person. In the end, he reminded himself that they were just neighbors and co-workers now, nothing more. Nothing to get worked up about. He’d play it all by ear.

  Zaira muttered an angry conversation with herself as she fumbled to unbuckle a wriggly Gabi from her car seat. “Whoever engineered this five-point system was a childless sadist.” She stuck her newly ripped nail in her mouth and whimpered. “Come on, Gabi! Hold still. I really have to pee!” She backed up to stand and whacked the back of her head on the car. “Ow!”

  “Need some help?”

  Bonking her head a second time, Zaira emerged from the back seat with one finger in her mouth and one hand on her fresh goose egg to see Antonio Seneca, in the flesh, smiling quizzically at her. The lit street lamp behind him gave him a halo and emphasized the pleasing cut of his body.

  “Aaaaugh!” She meant to sag against the door but flopped into the seat beside Gabi instead.

  Antonio rocked with silent laughter, bending over to peek inside. “Wow. I came over to say hello because I pulled up at the same time, but if you’re having a toddler moment, I can walk away and pretend I never saw a thing.”

  Zaira froze, staring at Antonio. He knew about toddler moments? Releasing her soggy finger from her mouth, she pointed. “It’s this car seat. I can’t get her out of it.”