Reckless Kiss

“If you’d like to come over in the evenings to work, I will allow it.” She nods as if she’s the Queen of England passing down a decree.

“I don’t know if that’ll make a difference.” Rubbing my forehead, I try to think. “I could start earlier in the day then take a break at lunch and return later. A fan would help.”

“I’ll have a fan delivered in the morning. You can begin your revised schedule then.” She marches to the door as if problem solved, pausing before she leaves. “This is for you.” She places a white business-sized envelope on the end table.

With a sigh, I collect my things. It’s not like I want to hang out in her mansion longer than I have to, but I would like to add this to my portfolio. On my way out, I pick up the envelope. Inside is the signed contract, with the correct numbers and what we agreed to do.

I suppose it’s the yin to her yang. She’s a racist, bossy bitch, but at least she’s a woman of her word. Shaking my head, I’m on my way out when Rosalía meets me.

“How’s it going?” She puts her hand on my arm, and we walk to her car together.

“You weren’t kidding when you said she was the worst. I thought people like that only existed in the movies.”

“I wish. Need a ride?”

“Sure, thanks.” Beto’s house isn’t too far from the Dring estate, and Rosalía chats about her day polishing the silver and Winnie’s habit of counting everything afterwards.

She pulls into the driveway, and I pause before getting out. “How can you do it every day?”

“She pays me in cash, and at least she’s fair.”

Pressing my lips together, I think about this. “Why does she pay you in cash?”

“I think she thinks I’m illegal. She never asked for my social or anything.”

Dropping my head against the headrest, I groan. “This woman!”

Rosalía laughs, and we say goodnight. I climb out, walking to my brother’s home wondering how Deacon and I will ever merge these two worlds. It feels impossible.

The burner phone vibrates and I pull it out to see a text from my guy. Staying over an extra day or two. Can I call you?

Touching the number, I call instead of texting a reply.

“Hey, beautiful. How was your Monday?” His rich voice warms my insides, and I want to thread my fingers in his hair, see the blue eyes that love me.

“The Mondayest.” Instead of going into my brother’s house, I walk along the sidewalk that loops the lake.

“Busy day at La Frida?”

“Actually… I’m not working at the coffee shop anymore. Juliana took over my shift. I got a job… an art job.” God, I sound like Rosalía. “I’ve been commissioned to paint a portrait. It was kind of out of the blue, but—”

“What?” I hear him smile, and in spite of it all, I smile. “That’s fucking amazing. Who are you painting? Tell me all about it.”

He can’t see me wince. “Let’s talk about it when you get home. It’s a really neat opportunity, though. If it works out.”

“It’ll work out. You’re the best.”

This guy. “I miss you.”

“I miss you.” I love hearing him say it.

Maybe Lourdes is right, and I did make a deal with the devil… But I see little flickers of a bridge, and I want what Deacon wants. I want our families to like us. Or maybe I’m dreaming of somewhere over the rainbow. My mother did raise me to believe in dreams.

“Why are you staying in Harristown? Is something wrong?”

Now I hear him hesitate. “Maybe I should wait and tell you when I know more. At this point… I’m not

really sure.”