Come What May: A Standalone Age Gap Romance

by LK Farlow

  “It looks great, Dad,” Desi agrees, glancing up from her phone screen.

  “What’s so interesting over there, pollito?”

  “Meg and Renee want to go to Vinny’s for pizza.”

  Mateo raises a brow.

  “And I want to go, too?”

  “Then ask me the way you should,” he tells his daughter.

  “Such a stickler for manners.” Desi barely suppresses an eye roll. “Dad, may I please get pizza with my friends?”

  “Much better. Keep your phone on and check in?”

  “I will.” She taps around on her screen, most likely texting. “Oh, but I’ll need the truck to go home and shower.”

  He cringes slightly but tosses her his keys all the same. “Be safe.”

  She catches the keys and slides them in her front pocket. “I will. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.” He wraps his daughter in a hug and sends her on her way.

  “You do realize you just stranded yourself here, right?” I ask, rolling my lips inward to keep from grinning.

  “I do now,” he sighs. “But you’ll help me out, won’t you, mariposita?”

  I massage my ears a few times to clear them before asking him to repeat himself. Are auditory hallucinations a thing—because his voice sounds chock-full of innuendo.

  He slowly runs his tongue over his lower lip. “I said, you’d help me out.”

  The words themselves may be innocent, but the way he’s saying them is anything but. Which creates a real problem. Do I flirt back and run the risk that I’m imagining his toe-curling tone or do I brush it off?

  But what if he is flirting and I ignore it and then he feels rejected and I miss any shot I might ever have with him?

  Be bold, a small voice whispers from somewhere in the back of my mind. Be brave.

  I decide to listen and take a step closer to him. He eyes me hungrily as I lay my hand on his very solid chest. “I’ll get you anywhere you want to go.” My voice has this breathlessness to it that’s wholly unfamiliar to me.

  Then again—most anything to do with flirting with the opposite gender is foreign to me. But if his dilated pupils are anything to go by, maybe I’m not a complete failure.

  Mateo wraps an arm around my middle and pulls me to him, skimming his nose from my temple down to my ear. He groans softly as he inhales. “You are a dangerous woman.”

  “Are you scared of a little danger?” I whisper, wondering where the hell these words are even coming from as I rise up onto my tiptoes.

  Wordlessly, he leans down and presses his lips to mine. Our mouths fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. Warmth blossoms in my core as he moves his lips over mine, coaxing my mouth open for him to deepen the kiss.

  His tongue meets mine ever so briefly before he jerks away from me as though I’ve burned him.

  “We can’t,” is all he says before he turns and walks away.

  Fury and humiliation flow together in my veins, giving way to burning resentment. Am I a game to him? Is that why he’s been so kind? Help the sad, broken girl only to break her a little more? Well, if that’s the case, I’ll show him.

  With my shoulders rolled back and my head held high, I march past where he’s rolling up a section of tarp. He calls my name, but I ignore him. He can fuck right off.

  Once I reach the paintbrushes, I bend at the waist, knowing full and well he’s being treated to a view. I give my hips a little wiggle as I collect all of the rollers and paintbrushes into a large bucket to my right.

  Mateo groans, and I smile. He thought he could toy with me… lead me on. He’s about to learn—payback’s a bitch and I’m going to serve it up sexier than ever.

  “Seraphine,” he says again, frustration coloring his words as I pass by him again.

  I still remain silent. That jackass doesn’t deserve my words.

  At the sink, I begin rinsing the paint from the brushes, humming softly to keep myself sufficiently distracted.

  “Do not ignore me,” he says from behind me, close enough I can feel the heat of his body.

  Naturally, I do the opposite of his command and pretend he’s nothing more than a warm, surly shadow.

  “Seraphine,” he growls my name before softening his tone. “Please.”

  “You wanna hit up a drive-thru once we finish cleaning up? I’m starving.”

  “We need to talk about—”

  “I’m thinking chicken tenders.” I nod to myself. “Yeah, definitely tenders.”

  I hear him groan, but I keep my eyes on the task at hand.

  “Eres desesperante.”

  “What was that?” I ask, pretending I didn’t hear him versus not having a clue of what he said. From his tone, I think he’s annoyed. Serves him right.

  “You are making me crazy!”

  I throw the brush I’m washing down into the sink and whip around to face him. “Oh, I make you crazy? Pot meet kettle!”

  “What?” He glares at me.

  “You’re the most infuriating man I’ve ever known. Sometimes I think we’re friends. Other times, I think you can barely tolerate me. And then today, you have the audacity to not only kiss me, but to then act like the taste of my lips repulsed you!”

  Mateo honest to God growls. “Repulse me? Mariposita, I would gladly survive off of your taste alone. I could live and die—happily—with the memory of you pressed against me.”

  My body practically liquifies at his smooth words. “Then why?”

  “You are off-limits. Forbidden.”

  “What?” Now I’m the one glaring.

  “I told myself a long time ago that I could look but never touch. But the more time we spend together, the more my resolve weakens. You are like a witch, casting a spell, luring me to you. Tempting me. Torturing me.” He squares his shoulders. “But I will not give in. I will stay strong.”

  “Okay,” I say slowly, nodding, like his words make sense, even though they don’t. “But why am I off-limits? We’re both adults. We’re obviously both interested. I don’t see the problem.”

  He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I wish things were different. Truly, I do.”

  The back of my eyes sting with the threat of tears. I turn back toward the sink and resume cleaning the brushes and rollers. “So.” My voice comes out hoarse. “How about those chicken tenders?”

  “Yeah, mariposita, that… sounds good.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Mateo

  Our lips barely touched. And yet for an entire week, she’s all I’ve been able to taste. Her scent, her heat, her anger—it’s as if all of it has somehow become a tangible thing, content to follow me around and taunt me over what could have been.

  It doesn’t help that I haven’t heard from her since she dropped me off last weekend.

  I eye my phone lying on the island and debate reaching for it—I’ve almost texted her more times than I can count, but outside of confirming plans, we’re not really the texting kind of friends.

  Still, the way things went down irks me.

  How I went from vowing to never act on my lustful feelings for her to shoving my tongue into her mouth is beyond me. Seraphine Reynolds is every single thing I want and nothing I need all tied up in a pretty bow—one I’m itching to untie. Except I know nothing good will come from it. In fact, I’d wager a bet that falling into anything with her would be as catastrophic as opening Pandora’s box.

  “Dad!” Desi shoulder checks me as she walks past me into the kitchen. “How much longer are you going to do this?”

  I sit up a little straighter on my stool. “Do what?”

  My daughter waves her hand in the air in my general direction. “This.”

  “Still not following, Des.”

  She rolls her eyes in the way only a teenage girl can. “Dad, you know I love you, right?”

  I nod.

  “Okay, good. Remember that.”

  Right as I go to ask her what she means, the sound of the doorbell stops me. “Desi, who is here?�
��

  She mumbles under her breath something that sounds a lot like everyone.

  The sound of chimes fills the house again as our mystery visitor presses the bell again. I shoot my meddling daughter a scathing look before vacating my chair to answer the door.

  Sure enough, everyone is here. Mamá, Arrón, and Silvi are all packed onto my front porch like sardines. I’m half tempted to close the door and leave them there.

  But I would never disrespect my family like that—even if their visit is probably going to end up being some kind of unnecessary, quasi-intervention.

  “My son!” my mother cries as she lunges over the threshold to wrap me in a hug. She holds me tight, hugging me as though she hasn’t seen me in ages, when it’s only been a few days.

  I’d be lying, though, if I said it didn’t make me feel a little better. Even as a grown-ass man, sometimes a mother’s hug is what you need.

  “Now, where is my pollito?”

  “I’m here,” Desi says from behind me, and just like that, I’m chopped liver.

  The two of them disappear to God knows where and I turn back to my siblings and sigh. “Come in.”

  We walk into the kitchen and I offer them a drink. “I’ve got beer in the fridge, Cokes in the garage, water, juice.”

  “A Coke sounds good,” Arrón says.

  Grinning, I nod. “You know where they are.”

  Silvi laughs. “Aren’t you just the host with the most?”

  “Technically, my daughter is your host,” I say, as Desi waltzes into the room, drinks in hand.

  “Here’s a Dr. Pepper for you,” she says, handing my brother a can. “And a Diet Coke for you, Silvi.”

  “What about me?” I ask teasingly, and without missing a beat she says, “You know where they are.”

  The heckling is immediate.

  “Sick burn!” Arrón hollers, holding his hand out toward Desi for a high-five, while Silvi boos loudly and my mother mutters in Spanish.

  Even as the butt of the joke, I can’t help but smile. There’s something about being around family—for me, at least—that always makes me feel better when I’m out of sorts. They’re my foundation when I’m weak, my glue when I’m broken, and sometimes, they’re a thorn in my side. But I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

  They heckle me a little more before their laughter tapers off into curiosity.

  “Tell me, Mate,” my mother says. “Why are we here?” I can see why she’s confused; her house is our usual gathering place.

  I shrug and point to my daughter. “Ask her.”

  All eyes turn to Desi. “You’re here today because…” She pauses for dramatic effect, her mouth spreading into what can only be described as an evil grin. “Dad’s met someone.”

  “Whoa!” I shout, but my denial is lost in the fray as my family all demands to know more about my new—nonexistent—woman.

  “I knew there was something between y’all!” Silvi accuses. “She told me there wasn’t, but I knew it!”

  “Seraphine?” my brother asks. “About time.”

  “You’ll really like her,” Desi says to my mother, but she silences her with a single hard look.

  “A woman?” Mamá asks. “You have met a woman?”

  “No.” The word feels like a lie; I shake my head to reinforce it… to make myself believe it.

  “Dad!”

  “Hush, pollito. Your father and I are talking.”

  Desi huffs and slumps down onto a barstool.

  “Why does everyone know this woman but not me? Your brother and sister and even your daughter have met her, but not me? You will bring her to dinner.”

  “Mam—”

  “Your celebratory dinner for the new shop. She will come.”

  With wide eyes, I look around the room for help. Judging by the matching smirks on Arrón and Silvi’s faces, the calvary isn’t coming anytime soon.

  “Take me home, hijito,” she says to my brother as she scowls at me. “Suddenly, I’m not up for visiting.”

  “Are you sure?” Arrón asks.

  She nods once. “Yes. And when we get home, I’ll make tacos de barbacoa.”

  “Why does he get barbacoa?” I squawk, not caring a single iota over how lame I sound. That stuff is delicious, and knowing my brother, he will gloat for days on end about this.

  Mamá glares. “Then you shouldn’t have lied.”

  “I didn’t lie!”

  “A lie by omission is still a lie,” Silvi adds unhelpfully.

  “I didn’t omit anything,” I growl. “There’s nothing between us!”

  “Denial isn’t any better, Dad.”

  “Impossible—you people are impossible.” I throw my hands up in defeat. “I’m not looking for a relationship! Especially one with her!”

  “What’s wrong with Seraphine, Dad?” My daughter wears her confusion and hurt as plain as day on her face. “I really like her, and I know you do, too.”

  “She is too young. Immature. Practically a child.” My tone is more abrasive than I mean for it to be. My frustration with the entire situation is morphing; what started as an ember is quickly becoming an inferno.

  “Mijo.” Mamá moves across the room to me and takes my hand in hers. “My son, is her age your only holdup?”

  I seesaw my free hand in the space between us. “Eh. Mostly.”

  “Your father was much older than me. Almost twenty-two years.” She squeezes the hand she is still holding. “Search your heart, Mate.”

  Without a rebuttal in mind, I nod.

  “Bring her to dinner,” she murmurs as she leans forward to kiss my cheek.

  “Wait, you’re still leaving?”

  She sighs. “You may not have lied to me, but you’re lying to yourself, and that may be worse.”

  Knowing I’ve already lost the battle, I kiss her cheek as well and resign myself to figuring out how in the hell I’m going to get Seraphine to a family dinner in two days when we’re hardly talking. And how I’m going to get Desi to bring me home barbacoa without Mamá catching on.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Seraphine

  “Wait, wait, wait. It was a kiss and a diss?” Azalea asks, while absentmindedly running her fingers through her pug Boudreaux’s short fur.

  I toe the porch swing back, letting the brisk fall air soothe some of the heat scalding my cheeks. We’ve spent the last hour on Azalea’s back porch dissecting the whole kiss thing from last weekend. “Hardly a kiss.”

  “But your lips touched—Brody! No, don’t put leaves in your mouth!” Myla Rose leans over and fishes the debris out of her toddler’s mouth with a huff. “We do not eat things off the ground, okay, dude?”

  “O’tay, Mama.”

  She ruffles his curls. “Go play with Willow.”

  He scampers off, and she turns back to me. “Lip contact?”

  I bob my head back and forth. “There was tongue involved”—my friends start to howl— “but only for like a second! I swear, the whole thing was over before it even started.”

  Azalea squints her eyes at me. “It still counts.”

  “I really don’t think it does. He acted like he was Snow-freaking-White and my mouth was a poisonous apple.”

  “Oooh, maybe you need to try again, then, and this time he can be the prince instead?”

  I roll my eyes at Azzy. God love her. “Pretty sure it doesn’t work like that.”

  She shrugs. “It could. It’s your fairy tale, write it the way you want and fuck the rest.”

  “Shh.” Magnolia holds a finger to her lips. “Little ears.”

  Myla Rose laughs. “Poor Brody hears it enough at home from Cash and Drake.”

  “What do you think, Mags?” I ask my cousin. “You’ve been pretty quiet.”

  She scrunches her face up, tilting her head to one side and then the other. “I think… you’re both very much attracted to one another. And while there’s obvious chemistry, y’all are scared. Which is understandable. New things can be rea
lly scary.” She smiles wistfully. “But they can be really awesome, too.”

  “Plus,” Azalea interjects, “he flat-out said he was into you. He called you forbidden, and everyone knows forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.”

  “I’m not a freaking apple.”

  “But he wants to take a bite out of you like one!” Azalea smirks like she’s bested me.

  “He got caught up in the moment. It was nothing—it meant nothing.”

  Magnolia hums under her breath. “It meant something to you though.”

  My phone rings before I can reply. My eyes widen when I see Mateo’s name flash across the screen.

  “Who is it?” Myla asks.

  “It’s him.”

  “Answer!” all three women shout.

  I slide the bar on the screen to the right and bring the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Seraphine, hey.” Even through the phone, his deep, lightly accented voice makes me feel all warm and gooey.

  Too bad I’m still mad at him. “Did you need something?”

  He coughs in disbelief. “No. Well, kind of. Yes.”

  “Which is it, Mateo?” I make sure to add a little extra bite to my tone, even though I’m secretly loving how flustered he sounds.

  “Yes, I need something. I need you to meet me at the garage tomorrow morning.”

  “Why? We don’t open until next Monday.”

  I can nearly sense his frustration through the phone. “I have something to show you. Please, Seraphine?”

  “Yeah, okay. What time?”

  “Nine?”

  “I’ll be there.” I end the call and slide my phone into the front pocket of my hoodie.

  “Well?” Azalea asks. “What did he say?”

  “Nothing really. Told me to meet him at the shop tomorrow morning.”

  Myla Rose taps her chin. “Did he say why?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, dress sexy,” Azalea says.

  “And maybe bring him some coffee?” Magnolia adds.

  My lips quirk up into a half-smile. “Hell no; he can bring me coffee.”

  “’Atta girl!” Myla Rose crows, and the four of us dissolve into laughter.