Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I sleep like a rock and wake to the sound of my alarm at 8:00. I gather my toiletry bag and clothes for the day and poke my head out in the hallway. I hear Mateo’s hushed voice along with his parents coming from the kitchen, so I turn into the empty bathroom.
There’s a towel waiting on the counter. After showering, I put on a pair of jeans and a dark plum sweater, then add some light makeup. I need to let my hair air dry for a little while before blow drying it, or I’ll be in here forever with my travel hair dryer.
I enter the kitchen to enthusiastic greetings from Luis and Rosa, who are sitting at the table with Mateo. All three immediately stand up, Luis to pour me a cup of coffee, Rosa to prepare a plate of breakfast, and Mateo to wrap me up in a hug.
We sit down at the table, and Rosa places a plate filled with eggs, black beans, and corn tortillas in front of me. I take a sip of coffee, then fill one of the tortillas to take a bite.
“Yummm.” I swallow and turn to Mateo. “When you said you had family breakfasts, you mean you ate like this every morning growing up?”
He grins and nods, squeezing his mother’s shoulder. “Sometimes it was fried plantains or potatoes instead of tortillas, but pretty much yes. A home-cooked meal together was always important, right Mamá ?”
We spend the morning leisurely drinking coffee. I ask Luis and Rosa about their love story, and they look at each other with lovey-dovey eyes as they take turns sharing perspectives. Luis is constantly touching Rosa—holding her hand, a caress on the shoulder, a quick kiss on her cheek. It’s easy to see where Mateo gets his tendency toward physical affection from, and I’m suddenly very grateful to Luis.
After helping clean up the breakfast dishes, I excuse myself to dry and curl my hair before it gets too out of control. I’m halfway done curling when Mateo pokes his head into Isabel’s room. “Is it okay if I sit in here with you?” he asks my reflection in the mirror, standing behind me.
I give a wry smile. “Absolutely not, you’re supposed to think my hair magically looks good all the time.”
Mateo grins back, taking a seat on the edge of the bed next to me. “I grew up with a sister, so I already know that’s not true, and you already know that I think you’re stunning regardless of whether you’ve curled your hair or not.”
We chat about the plans for the day—making Guatemalan tamales for dinner then driving around to look at Christmas lights—as I finish curling. I unplug the curling wand and wait for my hair to cool. When I start to run my fingers through to loosen the curls into waves, Mateo stands up and stops me. “Hold on, this part I can help with. You may have noticed I have a slight obsession with your hair.”
I give a soft laugh and answer, “Yes, I did catch on to that.”
“Just the consequence of finally being able to run my fingers through it after years of imagining what it would be like.” His smile is contemplative as his fingers slowly slide through sections of my hair, breaking up the curls and sending tingles across my scalp.
When he’s finished, he wraps his arms around my waist and notches his head in the crook of my neck and shoulder. I grasp onto his arms and lean back into him, just staring at each other in our reflection.
Mateo gently kisses the sensitive skin right by my ear and then whispers, “I’m so glad you’re with me. Not just here with me now in Michigan, but here with me in general, always.”
It would be so easy to just turn my head and catch his lips. My brain saying no is about to be defeated by my heart saying yes when Rosa calls us from the kitchen. Mateo kisses my knuckles as he takes my hand to lead us from the room.
We spend the rest of the day playing card games, assisting Rosa in making tamales , and drinking another full pot of coffee between the four of us. Rosa teaches me how to make polvorosas , and Isabel joins us after school just in time to finish off cooking the tamales . Mateo FaceTimes Miguel to introduce us virtually, then props the phone up at the table so he can be part of the dinner conversation.
Mateo and I do the dishes while Rosa and Isabel make spiced hot chocolate to accompany the polvorosas for our Christmas lights tour. We all pile into the car with warm mugs and Christmas music blaring as we slowly drive around. I’m not mad about the opportunity to sit snuggled close to Mateo. The charm of a small town is extra enchanting during the holidays, with everyone going all-out on lights and yard displays.
When Isabel leaves later that night, she gives me an extra-long hug and whispers to me, “You make me so happy. You make all of us so happy because you make Mateo the happiest I’ve ever seen him. And that’s saying something because he’s been a happy guy his whole life.”
I squeeze her tightly and whisper back, “Feelings mutual.”
When I come out to the kitchen Tuesday morning, Mateo informs me that the weather should be warmer today, so he wants to take me on a short hike to see his favorite parts of the lake.
After breakfast, I layer on my thick fleece jacket over my sweater for our hike. Mateo finds an old pair of Isabel’s snow boots in the closet, and although they’re a half size smaller than I wear, they’re not terribly uncomfortable.
We drive slowly through the streets until we reach a small, gravel parking area. “This was one of my favorite spots to come out and explore as a kid,” Mateo says as we hop out and head toward a path. “My friends and I would pretend we were adventurers hiking through uncharted woods.”
I smile at the thought of him as a carefree, imaginative boy roaming through these woods. “I love Kansas City, but you definitely had some serious outdoorsy perks growing up here!”
As we walk, Mateo points out places of interest or particularly stunning views. We reach a landing that overlooks Hart Lake, fringed in snowy evergreens. It’s absolutely breathtaking. I pull out my phone to take a few photos, and then Mateo takes a few selfies of us with the wintry backdrop. I already know what I’ll be changing my lock screen to later.
As we take in the view, Mateo asks me about my impressions of his family so far. Although I’d already met his dad, I gush about how adorable it is to see his parents together. “And Isa—oh my, she has so much spunk!” I say, drawing a knowing laugh from Mateo. “But I’m also really impressed by her grit to carve out a new life for herself. On the drive from the airport, she told me about her past struggles with drugs and rehab.”
I feel Mateo’s hand flinch in mine, and I look over to see his brows furrowed and face darkened. “So, she told you how much of a jerk I was to her?”
I pull Mateo’s hand to turn him toward me. “What? No, Mateo, not at all. Isa went on and on about how important you and Miguel were to her, about the difference you made for her that summer you were home.”
Mateo runs his hand through his hair and looks off in the distance. “Yeah, but that was after I was awful to her for a long time.”
I’m having a hard time computing, my brain malfunctioning trying to imagine Mateo being anything close to a jerk .
“She started struggling with the drugs right before I left for Townsend, and I just thought she was being dumb. And I told her so. I didn’t understand anything about addiction at the time. My whole freshman year of college, I would call her up and lecture her about how she was throwing her life away on this guy and disrespecting our parents and all sorts of other condescending things.”
Mateo is avoiding eye contact with me as he shares this information, and I don’t push it. “It wasn’t until she was in the hospital that I finally took time to learn about addiction and what she was struggling with. I learned how to support her better instead of just shaming her. That’s why I decided to go home that summer—not only to support her, but to repair my relationship with her.
I reach my hand up to Mateo’s cheek, encouraging him to meet my eyes. “You made a mistake, but once you knew better, you did better. And now you guys have an amazing relationship.” He gives me a small smile. “And I assume you’re both close with Miguel too? At least it seemed like it on the phone last night.”
Mateo nods. “Yeah, it’s a little harder with him being so far away, but we definitely all work to maintain that connection we formed. We even got matching tattoos that summer to serve as a reminder of our bond no matter where we go in life.”
“What? You have a tattoo? How did I not know this?” I ask, totally caught off guard. “What is it?”
“We got tattoos that say ‘ te amo mucho ,’” Mateo shares. “ Te amo is written in my mom’s handwriting, and mucho in my dad’s. We all got them in different places—you should ask Isa to see hers on her wrist tonight.”
“That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say. “Just when I think you can’t possibly be any more perfect, you go and tell me something like that.”
Mateo smiles softly at me. “You know I’m not perfect, Lana. I just told you about how terrible I was to my sister a couple of years ago. Not to mention I made the mistake of deferring to another guy and nearly missing out on you,” he adds with a teasing pinch to my waist .
“You know what I mean,” I counter as I softly punch him on the bicep. “Can I see your tattoo?”
Mateo hesitates a fraction of a second before responding, “Sure.” He unzips his jacket and then pulls the bottom of his shirt up to reveal the handwritten tattoo along his bottom left rib. I suck in a breath, taken aback by the simple beauty of the tattoo…aaaaand Mateo’s incredibly well-defined abs.
I reach my hand out to trace a finger along the writing, and it’s Mateo’s turn to suck in a breath. My eyes flicker to his watching me. “That’s really beautiful, and really special.” I draw my hand back, and Mateo lowers his shirt back down but never breaks eye contact with me. He takes my hand in his and draws circles on my palm with his thumb as the intensity in his eyes sends my heart rate through the roof.
“Lana, I would really like to kiss you now. Is that okay with you?” Mateo doesn’t move a muscle, waiting for me to answer. Even his thumb on my hand has stilled. My heart is pounding too hard to speak, so I simply nod my head as I hold eye contact with him.
With his left hand still holding mine, he slowly raises his right hand to my face, tracing the line of my forehead down past my ear and through my hair. His thumb comes up to brush down my jawline and across my lips, which part slightly at the contact. All along, his eyes follow the lines his fingers are drawing.
I see the puff of mist from my breath before I realize I’m whispering, “What are you waiting for?”
Mateo’s eyes flick back to mine as he cups my face in his hand. “Just making sure I don’t forget a single detail.”
With that, he leans in and presses his lips gently to mine. I close my eyes to drink in the sensation, my left hand reaching up to loosely clasp his forearm.
Everything I’ve learned about Mateo’s character—everything I’ve grown to love about him—manifests in the way he kisses me. His tenderness. His honesty and humble confidence. How considerate and thoughtful he is. The open affection that flows from him being so tuned in to his emotions. All of who he is, woven into the tender press of his lips against mine.
Mateo draws back slowly, eyes searching mine. My lips are suddenly whiny and sad, a toddler whose candy was just stolen. I wasn’t aware until now that my lips had their own sentient feelings.
I lurch forward and pull his neck back down to me, recapturing his mouth and sliding my fingers through the hair on the back of his head. He responds with a growl deep in his throat and possessively wraps his arms around my waist, tugging me closer to him.
Our first kiss was all of Mateo’s tenderness, thoughtfulness, attentiveness. But this kiss is all the years of his pent-up longing crashing through his lips to mine, flooding my body with fire. I’m drowning in it, and I never want to break the surface for air.
I’ve dreamed about kissing Mateo so many times I’ve lost count. Daydreaming during class, chapter meetings, walking through campus, lying in bed. In my literal dreams at night. In this moment, I’m Dorothy stepping into Oz for the first time. Because my imagination was black and white in comparison to the Technicolor reality of Mateo Alvarez kissing me.
He releases me suddenly and takes a step backward. We’re breathing heavy, our exhales sending small clouds into the air between us. Mateo gives his head a small shake, as though trying to clear his mind. “Lana, that…I just…you…wow.” Mateo trails off as he runs a hand through his hair and rubs his neck. He closes his eyes with a sigh.
“Yeah, same,” I finally offer. He opens his eyes and looks at me with a wry smile. That darn dimple is daring me to close the gap between us and pick back up where we left off. But I stay rooted where I am.
Mateo takes a small step toward me and takes both of my hands in his, intertwining our fingers together, tracing my wrist with his thumb. “Lana, I’ve said I’ll always be honest with you, and here’s the honest truth: I’m going to have to be really careful about how frequently I kiss you, or eventually I won’t be able to control myself to stop.”
My cheeks flush at his admission, but if I’m honest with myself, after the heat of that second kiss, I’m in the exact same head space. I give him an encouraging smile. “We’re still on the same page, Mateo. Thanks for being honest.”
He looks meaningfully in my eyes. “Honesty always, right?”
When I nod, Mateo smiles softly and leans down to brush my lips with the lightest of kisses. “We should probably head back before I start kissing you all over again.”
We’re quiet as we hike hand in hand back through the snowy scenery to the car. I’m pretty confident Mateo is silent for the same reason I am—we’re both replaying every millisecond of those kisses on loop.
With each echo in my mind, my heart screams more and more loudly: I love you. I love you. I love you.
The rest of the day flies by much too quickly considering my flight home is tomorrow morning. I wish I had planned a longer stay in Michigan, but I’m also realizing that the longer I stay, the more likely I am to never want to leave Mateo again. At all. Ever.
Later that night, I’m lying in bed wide awake. I had been texting with Amaya and Teegan, filling them in on Mateo and my first kiss. They were both dying for more details, and I promised to give them the full story of my time in Michigan after I return home. But I’m wired after messaging with them, unable to fall asleep. I text Mateo.
Are you asleep?
Instant three dots.
Of course not. After experiencing what it’s like to kiss you, falling asleep is proving impossible knowing you’re on the other side of the wal l
I smile as heat floods through me.
I was going to wait till tomorrow morning, but I want to give you your Christmas gift tonight. Meet me out at the Christmas tree?
Seconds later, I hear a quiet knock. I open the door to see Mateo smiling in plaid flannel pants and a white t-shirt, one forearm leaning against the door frame. “I’ll do you one better—I’ll escort you out to the Christmas tree,” he says in a low voice.
It’s very, extremely difficult to stop myself from leaning into him and repeating our kiss. I manage to grab his gift from my suitcase and take his offered hand instead.
The twinkling lights of the tree are still glowing in the living room. Rosa likes to leave them on all night long, to keep the Christmas spirit filling the house even while everyone is sleeping.
Mateo takes one look at my pajamas—a matching set of pink pants and button-up top, covered with whimsical Christmas trees—and laughs. “I should have known you would wear Christmas to bed.”
I tap my finger against his temple. “You can log it away in your Lana file.” He catches my hand and presses a kiss into my palm.
“This isn’t fair though—I didn’t know you were coming, so I don’t have your gift ready,” Mateo says with an exaggerated pout.
“You already bought me piano music, which turns out to be the gift that keeps on giving considering how much I’m going to have to practice to get it right!”
We sit on the floor, leaning against the couch in front of the tree. I hand Mateo his present, suddenly nervous. He opens the bag and pulls out one of my old high school soccer jerseys, my last name printed on the back.
I immediately start rambling explanations. “I know it’s not the same because it’s not like you can wear it or anything, but since you gave me one of your jerseys and since you’re the reason I started loving soccer again, it just seemed like?—”
Mateo cuts me off by covering my mouth with his, making me lose all sense of time and space. There’s just his spice market tree farm scent and the soft lights of the Christmas tree surrounding me as his lips explore mine. Who do I contact about stopping time so I can stay here in this moment, in this kiss, forever?
He brushes his thumb across my cheek as he draws back too soon, smiling softly. “It’s perfect, Lana. It’s the best gift ever.” I smile back at him. “Nope, I take it back, my dad flying you here was the best gift ever. Silver medal to you.”
I laugh, then rest my head on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around me, and we sit there staring at the Christmas tree together. Neither of us want the night to end, but we finally part ways and go back to lying wide awake in our separate beds in our separate rooms, daydreaming of each other.