by LK Farlow
“It’s not a good time.”
“Let me in, mariposita,” I say, realizing I mean it in more ways than one. I want into her home in this moment, but her heart, too.
She heaves out a longsuffering sigh and opens the door wide enough for me to enter.
I don’t waste any time, hauling her straight into my arms once she closes and locks the door behind me. “Talk to me,” I beg. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
She pushes against me for a brief moment before curling into me. I slide one arm behind her knees and lift her, cradling her to my chest. “Which room is yours?”
“Second door on the right,” she sniffles.
I carry her down the narrow hall and into her bedroom. It’s small and cheery—completely her. Seraphine clings to me as I maneuver us down onto the cramped mattress so I’m propped against the headboard and she’s tucked into my side.
“Talk to me,” I tell her, brushing her hair away from her face. “Tell me what is wrong.”
“Everything is… just… too much.”
Sensing she isn’t ready to talk, I pull her closer and press a kiss to the top of her head.
After a lengthy pause, she speaks. “It’s just everything, ya know? My whole life is upside down. I don’t know left from right anymore. I don’t even know myself anymore.” Her voice cracks at the end as raw emotion pours out of her.
Gently, I tilt her face up to mine and drop a chaste kiss to her salty, tear-stained lips.
“And then there’s you!”
“Me?”
“Yes! You come out of nowhere and save me over and over like I’m a damsel and you’re a freaking knight.”
“I wouldn’t say out of nowhere. Let’s be honest, we’ve been dancing around each other for a few years now.”
“Exactly!” She shrugs out of my hold and sits up. “We went from whatever you just said, this weird holding pattern. You want me, but no—I’m forbidden! You kiss me and then say it won’t happen again. Spoiler alert: it did. And then you introduce me to your family like I’m your freaking girlfriend and your mom has our nonexistent future baby’s name picked out.”
Her shoulders slump. “It’s too much, Mateo. It’s just too much.”
I’m overwhelmed with this deep urge to touch her—to comfort her. Taking her hand in mine, I ask, “How can I help?”
She tugs her hand away. “I think we need boundaries.”
I cock my head to the side. “How so?”
“No touching or kissing or flirting. Just friends. Nothing more.”
I know I should agree to her terms and be done with it, but I… can’t. The caveman inside of me is shouting for me to lay claim to her. Which is how I find myself countering with, “Or, you could let me take you out? On a date.”
“Are you serious right now?” She shakes her head. “You’re only asking me out because I told you that you couldn’t.”
Sitting up, I brush my knuckles over the apple of her cheek. “Don’t you get it? I’m not asking you because you told me not to; I’m asking you because the thought of going without you is torture. You consume my thoughts, day and night, and I know if I don’t at least try to see what this is between us, I’ll never forgive myself. So, please, Seraphine. Please let me take you out?”
Her eyes fill with tears again, and I worry I’ve ruined us before we could even have a chance. Until she nods and whispers a teary, “Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yeah, Mateo, you can take me out.”
“You won’t regret it,” I murmur before kissing her again.
Chapter Eighteen
Seraphine
“Okay, wait. Tell us again,” Azalea demands as she leans back into her chair at Dream Beans.
“I’ve told you three times!”
Myla Rose nudges me with her shoulder. “C’mon. One more time?”
I cover my face with my hands and groan. “Have you three always been so annoying?”
Magnolia laughs. “You were just as annoying when Simon was courting me.”
“Oh my God!” I crack up. “You did not just say ‘courting!’”
My cousin blushes something fierce. “Whatever. You know what I mean.”
All three of my friends look back at me with wide, expectant eyes. “Fine! But I need a refill to get through this. And maybe a slice of pumpkin bread.”
I push back from the table and mosey over to the counter, taking my sweet time. I even let two other patrons cut in front of me.
After I receive my order, I take the long way back to the table. I know I’m being a snot, but they are, too, so I guess we’re even.
My butt isn’t even in the seat before Azalea’s on me. “Spill—and I mean the tea, not your coffee.”
“I was upset, well, more like overwhelmed, and overslept. I planned on calling in anyway, because the thought of facing him after his mom asked if I wanted kids was mortifying. But he showed up at the house and we talked and I told him we should just be friends.”
“And then he laid one on you and asked you out?” Azalea’s voice has a dream-like quality to it.
“Yup.”
“So romantic,” Magnolia murmurs into her mug before looking up at me. “When is y’all’s date?”
“And what are you doing?” Myla Rose adds.
“Screw all of that!” Azalea slams her empty cup down onto the table. “What are you wearing?”
“This weekend and I don’t know.”
“Which don’t you know?” my bossy blonde friend asks.
“Both. I… I’ve never been on a date before. Not a real one, anyway.”
My confession is met with three equally stunned faces.
“I’m sorry, what?” Myla Rose asks.
I shrug. “I mean, I went to homecoming and prom, but that doesn’t really count.”
Azalea reaches over and squeezes my wrist. “Seraphine, are you… a virgin?”
“Um.” I stare down at my lap like it holds all of the secrets of the universe.
“It’s okay,” Magnolia says in tandem with Azalea’s, “But you’re so pretty!”
“Whoa, sister-girl!” Myla Rose cries. “Giving up your V-card is a deeply personal choice and Seraphine’s decision not to has nothing to do with how pretty she is.”
“Thanks, Myles.” I turn to Azalea. “It’s not that I don’t want to have sex. I just haven’t.”
“Well, lucky you, you’ll get your cherry popped by an older, more experienced man.” She wags her brows, making my cheeks flame while Myla and Magnolia giggle like schoolgirls.
“Please stop talking,” I say, wishing the floor would open and swallow me whole.
“Okay, fine.” Azalea stands from the table. “On one condition.”
I sink lower into my chair. “What?”
“We go shopping, duh.”
Mags, Myla Rose, and Azalea all offered to come over and help me get ready for my big date tonight, but I declined.
If I can’t share this occasion with my father, then I don’t want to share it with anyone. That may seem extreme, but he pushed me for years to date—to get out and have a life.
But how could I go out and run around without a care when he was here, dying a little more each day.
I can only imagine how tonight would go if Dad were still here.
He’d tell me the sage green playsuit Azalea picked out was too revealing and to go change. I’d roll my eyes and he’d roll his before telling me I looked beautiful.
Then he’d fuss and tell me my expertly applied makeup was covering up my natural beauty and that I didn’t need all that goop to impress a man. I’d scoff and remind him that I wore makeup for me, myself, and I.
When my date showed up, he’d definitely want to try to intimidate him—and knowing Mateo, he’d play along.
The cherry on top would be him trying to embarrass me. I can see it so clearly in my mind’s eye, it’s as if it’s happening in real life.
I imagine he’d warn Mateo t
o treat me like a princess and to keep his hands and lips to himself before demanding he have me home before midnight.
But none of that is happening.
Instead, I’m getting ready with the television on for background noise.
I blink back the tears that threaten to escape. I worked too hard on my smoky eye to cry it away. But still, a tear or two escapes as I realize all of the other important firsts my dad will miss.
“Why?” I whisper out loud, even though deep down I know. I know he ended his life because he was in pain far too great to continue… and because he thought he was saving mine. And while my bitterness has lessened, my pain has not.
A knock sounds and I rush to check my eyeliner. Thank God for waterproof. I give myself one last once-over in the mirror, slide my feet into my wedged booties, and head for the door.
I open the door and am struck dumb by the sight of Mateo dressed in dark wash jeans and a form-hugging white button-down. He looks like something out of a magazine—suave and sexy and all mine, for tonight at least.
He seems to be speechless at the sight of me as well. I can only hope it’s because he likes what he sees.
“Mariposita.” He bites down on his lower lip and looks me up and down. “Te ves hermosa—you look beautiful.”
I duck my head as a sudden bout of nerves hits me. But Mateo’s not having it. He crosses the threshold and thumbs my chin up so I’m looking him in the eyes. “Don’t hide from me. Never hide from me.”
“I wasn’t trying to.”
“Are you ready?”
“One sec.” I grab my purse from the back of the sofa. “Ready.”
Mateo presses a hand to the small of my back, guiding me to his GTO. Unlike my dad’s classically restored one—which is under a tarp in the garage behind the house, untouched since before his death—Mateo’s is modernized.
It’s painted a matte gunmetal color and sits on eighteen-inch custom wheels and has been updated with power windows, racing seat belts, and a badass sound system. Whereas Dad’s drove like an older car, this one drives more like a luxury car.
As he helps me into the passenger seat, I—begrudgingly—tell him it’s a nice car.
Smirking, he says, “I know.”
He makes sure I’m buckled before sauntering around to the driver’s side. He turns the engine over and the V8 growls.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
Grinning, he ignores my question and backs out my driveway, driving us to destination unknown.
Chapter Nineteen
Mateo
From keeping my hands to myself to second-guessing my plans for the night, the drive to the destination I selected for our date is nothing short of torture.
Especially the keeping my hands to myself part.
When that door swung open, my jaw nearly hit the floor. The way her little romper-thing accentuated every curve had me vividly and eagerly imagining peeling it off.
“You’re really not going to tell me?” she asks as I pull into the parking lot of our destination. “Wait—did you—is this where we’re having our date?”
My worry over this being a mistake intensifies, but I press on.
“Trust me,” is all I say as I park my car and kill the engine.
Out of my peripheral, I see her nod, and that’s all the encouragement I need. “Hang tight.” I exit the vehicle and sprint around to her side to help her out.
I slide the key into the main door of my garage and let us in. As soon as she sees my setup, she gasps. “You did all of this? For me?” The tinge of wonder in her voice nearly does me in.
“Do you like it?” I ask, trying to see the space through her eyes. Are the string of lights wrapped around the car lifts too much? Is a picnic on a garage floor cheesy? Did I completely fuck this up?
“I love it,” she whispers, her eyes glistening as she pops up onto her tiptoes and presses a quick kiss to my cheek. “It’s amazing.” She kisses my lips. “You’re amazing.” Her tongue darts out and licks my lips.
I oblige, letting her deepen the kiss, but only for a moment. “Slow down, mariposita. We have all night.”
A pretty blush colors her cheeks as I lead her to the pallet of blankets I arranged on the floor. In one corner, I have a wicker basket filled to the brim with various treats as well as a cooler of water.
In another corner, I have an extra blanket and a few pillows.
But it’s the back corner that holds—what I think is—the best part of all.
I guide her to a seated position in the center of the pallet. “Let me feed you.” I pile a little of everything onto her plate before making one for myself. Chicken salad, toast points, an assortment of cheeses, and some fresh fruit.
The conversation flows freely as we eat; we talk about everything and nothing, and here, in my dim garage, I feel closer to this stunning woman than ever before.
Seraphine and I… we connect in a way I never thought possible; especially after losing Imani.
Yet here and now, I see every barrier that kept us apart for what it truly was—an excuse. A way to guard my heart from what it wanted… from what it needed.
“Did you save room for dessert?” I ask as she pops her last grape into her mouth.
She pats her belly. “Dessert? I’m stuffed.”
“Try a bite? Just one?” I clasp my hands under my chin in the prayer position and widen my eyes. As I knew she would, Seraphine laughs and agrees. “You won’t regret it,” I assure her as I retrieve the slice of chocoflan I brought for us to share.
“What is that?” she asks as I fork off a bite for her and bring it to her lips.
“Pastel imposible—impossible cake.”
She parts her lips and I slide the tines of the fork into her mouth. She moans softly at the taste. “Oh my God. That’s amazing.”
“It’s my dad’s mom’s recipe.”
“Where, um, is your dad?” Seraphine asks, her eyes on her lap.
“He passed away many years ago.”
“I’m sorry, Mateo.”
I shake my head. “He lived a long life, a full life. He is at peace.”
“You’re so… wise.”
“It comes with age.” I wink and she giggles; the sound of it sweeter than the chocoflan.
“This night has been perfect,” she says, resting her head on my shoulder.
“We’re not done yet.” I stand and pull her up with me. She gives me a funny look as I scoop up the bag from the back corner and pass it to her. “Put this on.”
She pulls the coveralls from the bag and looks at me like I’ve lost it.
“You can change in the bath—”
“Turn around.”
I swallow roughly and do as she says. The thought of her stripping down and changing less than two feet away has my heart pounding in my chest. The urge to turn, to sneak a peek, is strong. But I respect her and know when I see her body, it will be because she wants me to.
“Okay.”
I whirl around to her and groan at the sight of her. There’s nothing special about the coveralls I gave her; it’s your standard run-of-the-mill coverall. Yet on her, it’s pretty much porno-worthy.
She laughs like I’m joking. The tightness in the crotch of my jeans proves otherwise. But she’s not ready for that—we’re not ready for that.
“C’mon. We have work to do.”
Her nose crinkles. “Work?”
I take her hand and guide her back into the paint booth. When she sees our project, she bursts out laughing.
“We’re painting a Barbie Jeep?” I nod. “Oh my God. This is amazing.”
“You’re happy?”
“So, so very. What color?”
“It’s for Willow.”
“Pink, then.”
“Sí.”
Seraphine bounces on the balls of her feet. “I’m excited, but I gotta be honest, I’ve never sprayed before.”
“Do not worry, mariposita, I will teach you.” I pop the first button on my s
hirt. “I just need to change first.”
“Do you want me to turn around?”
I shrug, and continue unbuttoning my shirt. Her pupils dilate as I shrug out of the fabric. “Do you like what you see?” I ask, knowing damn well she does.
“You’re…beautiful.” She slaps a hand over her mouth. “I mean handsome. Sexy. So good looking it hurts.”
Stepping into her, I pull her hand away from her face and place it on my bare chest, directly over my heart. “A man can be beautiful, too. And the fact that you think I am—that you like how I look—it means something to me.”
I drop my voice an octave, and drag her hand down the hard line of my abs, so it rests at the waist of my jeans. “It does something to me.”
She sucks in a shuddery breath and dips the tip of her pinky beneath the material of my jeans. I laugh lightly and step back. “Now turn around.”
“Spoilsport,” she grumbles, but with a smile on her face.
“It’s for me more than you,” I tell her as I step out of my jeans.
“What does that even mean?”
I pull on the coveralls and step up behind her, burying my face in the crook of her neck. “I mean, seeing you react to me, to my body, makes it hard for me to resist you.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to resist me.”
“It’s only our first date.”
“I’m a modern woman,” she says, but her voice wobbles.
“You may be, but I’m a gentleman and want to treat you right, so that when I finally do stop resisting you, you’ll be so ready for me, you’ll beg.”
She whimpers and squirms against me—a sure-fire sign that it’s time for me to step away. “Now, let’s tape this thing off, yeah?”
Chapter Twenty
Seraphine
If someone would have told me my first ever date would take place in a garage and that I’d be painting a Powerwheel, I would have laughed.
But now that it’s my reality, I couldn’t imagine anything better. Who needs dinner and a movie when you could have this?