2. Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Mateo
She's so beautiful. So young. So off-limits. I watch her walk away, her steps uncertain, as if she’s weighing whether she should go or stay. When she reaches for the doorknob, I feel my heart drop with disappointment. She's leaving, and I have to let her go.
Her blue gaze was openly inviting me to kiss her. Why didn’t I? Was it out of respect for Lily's wishes? Was it the nagging thought of my age against her youth? Or maybe it was the lingering regret of my past with Marian, a reminder that I could easily fall into old patterns. I’ve never shied away from the chance to get close to a woman, regardless of her age. So why did I hold back this time? Have I suddenly grown a conscience? It’s a strange feeling, one that tugs at my subconscious and makes me question everything I thought I knew about myself. I’ve always been driven by instincts, knowing that I can have whatever I want, but with her, it feels different. There’s a quality to this moment, a sense of responsibility that feels foreign and heavy. Maybe it’s the fear of crossing a line I shouldn’t. But what line, and since when? Perhaps I’m just afraid of the consequences that might follow. Consequences that have cost me plenty in the past. I think of my marriage destroyed and of the child that was never born.
Whatever it is, it leaves me standing here, yearning for something I can’t have.
***
I count down the seconds until my watch reads eight o'clock, then make my way across the lawn to the guesthouse. With each step, a surge of anticipation builds at the thought of seeing her this morning. Six hours—it’s only been six hours! What is wrong with you, Mateo? I scold myself. I knock gently on the door. Silence. I knock again, a little harder this time, as if I could will her to be there. Nothing. With a sinking feeling, I make my way around to the front of the house, only to see the empty driveway. Her car's gone. My mind rushes to explain it—she's busy, she has so much on her plate today. But no matter how logical it sounds, my heart doesn’t care. It twists at the thought that maybe—just maybe—she's avoiding me.
This feeling of rejection—it’s unfamiliar, unsettling, like a new bruise I can’t resist pressing, even though it aches. My thoughts drift back to her: the way her hair tumbles over her shoulders, the bright spark in her blue eyes when she looks at me, the softness of her pink lips when they smile. I know attraction when I feel it, and with her, it’s undeniable. From the moment we met, there’s been something unspoken, magnetic, magical, pulling us together even as the timing has always been off.
When my ex-wife’s health began to decline, Lily put her college plans on hold to care for Sophia. She was working part-time as a nanny then, and through that job, she met Lisa.
I started spending more time in Boston, to make sure Sophia and Lily had everything they needed. It was during one of those visits that I first crossed paths with Lisa.
“Dad, this is my friend, Lisa,” Lily said softly as I followed her into the kitchen. Lisa sat at the table, cradling a cup of coffee in both hands. The early light filtered gently through the window, casting a soft glow in the room. Lisa looked effortlessly beautiful. With the lingering grogginess of sleep still on her, she was cozy in a thick robe over her pajamas, her red hair swept up into a high ponytail. The effect she had on me was immediate. I couldn’t tear my gaze away. I wanted to memorize every detail of her face.
“Hi, Lisa," I said, extending my hand. "I’m Mateo.”
She met my gaze with a sweet smile, slipping her hand into mine. “Hi, Mr. Cruz. It’s nice to meet you.” Her voice was as captivating as her beauty, each word drawing me in. The morning light spilled across her face, illuminating her porcelain-pale skin, the natural blush on her cheeks, and her full, pink lips. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, yet she seemed to radiate. When I glanced away, I caught Lily watching me, an unmistakable look in her eyes—she knew exactly what I was thinking.
"Where's your mother?" I asked, reminding myself of the reason why I was there.
“She’s still in bed,” Lily said. “She has a doctor’s appointment this afternoon.”
“Do you think she’ll let me come with you?” I asked, hoping to be there, to give them my support.
I stayed that morning and made breakfast for everyone.
“You’re a great cook, Mr. Cruz,” Lisa said with a smile, spreading butter on her pancakes before pouring an impressive amount of maple syrup over them.
“Please, call me Mateo,” I replied, my voice low as I took a slow sip of coffee, letting my gaze linger on her a moment longer.
“No,” Lily interrupted, giving Lisa a sidelong look. “It's Mr. Cruz for any and all of my friends. Please call him Mr. Cruz.”
Lisa’s light, contagious laugh filled the room, then she stood and moved to the fridge to pour herself a glass of milk. My gaze followed her as she walked, drawn to her effortless grace. When I glanced over at Lily, I caught her studying me again, one brow raised in warning.
“Don’t even think about it, Dad.” she said quietly, her eyes sharp.
A chuckle escaped me, but I looked away, feeling not one iota of guilt.
***
Sophia was fading, growing weaker with each passing day. Her weight dropped, her breathing grew shallow, and within a month, she was gone.
At the funeral, I walked in to find Lily with Lisa by her side, her arm wrapped protectively around Lily's shoulders. Lisa's eyes were red and weary, her face etched with a sorrow that mirrored Lily's, as if she would willingly absorb every ounce of pain to spare her friend. That quiet empathy stirred something deep within me, and that became a moment etched in my memory that I carry with me to this day.
I pulled Lily into a hug, kissed her forehead, then, almost instinctively, reached for Lisa, drawing her close. That brief connection... it was intense, grounding. But the guilt followed, sharp and unforgiving—I was standing beside my ex-wife’s casket, yet there I was, feeling a profound attraction to another woman. A younger woman. Shame tore through me, swift and unyielding, like a flame I couldn’t extinguish.
A few days later, I left Boston, hoping the distance would erase my attraction to Lisa. But thoughts of her lingered, refusing to fade, and my feelings only grew stronger.
Shortly after Sophia's passing, Lily sold the house and moved into a condo with Lisa and another close friend, Laila, while they all attended college. I visited Lily several times a year, though Lisa was mostly and conspicuously absent—maybe intentionally so.
This summer when I saw her again, she was distant, more guarded. Yet, in her eyes, there was still that familiar spark—a quiet, unspoken invitation that reignited everything I tried to leave behind. After my affair with Noah’s ex-wife came out, I had no choice but to leave Cold Spring, to create some distance between myself and Lily's relationship with Noah. I was determined to prevent my colossal mistake from affecting their future. But in doing so, I also left behind the increasing attraction I felt toward Lisa—something that had become impossible to ignore.
I hadn’t expected to see her at the wedding, knowing she was supposed to be in California and wouldn’t return until the end of the month. But when she walked in, her presence took my breath away, filling the room with an undeniable energy. She approached me as soon as she saw me, and her gaze was electrifying. “How’s Lily?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
“She’s nervous,” I said, smiling. “She’s upstairs with her bridesmaids, almost ready. Want to join them? I know she’d be thrilled to see you right now.”
“No, I’ll wait,” she said, her gaze lingering on mine. “I’ll go find a seat. But... let her know I'm here.”
"Lisa," I called softly as she turned to walk away. "I’m really happy to see you."
She paused, a flicker of reproach in her eyes. “You left without saying goodbye,” she murmured, the disappointment in her voice unmistakable. It was clear my absence had left a mark—one I hadn’t realized would matter so much.
"I’m sorry." I said, guilt creeping into my voice. "I made a mess of things here. Didn't Lily tell you?"
"You were with a woman you had no idea was married," she said, her tone softening. "The cruel twist of fate did you dirty, Mateo."
Regret washed over me. "I shouldn’t have left without seeing you first," I murmured, wishing I could rewrite that choice.
Her gaze was intense as she locked eyes with me. "You’re dangerous, Mr. Cruz," she said, a teasing edge to her words. "Your daughter warned me about you more than once, but I didn't exactly listen. I liked you, Mateo."
A smile tugged at my lips. "I like you too," I replied, charmed by her honesty. "Your candor is…endearing."
She tilted her head, her smile widening. "You used present tense."
"It’s true," I admitted, holding her gaze. "I like you."
She hesitated, allowing my words to sink in. "I’m going to go find a seat," she said softly. "But it was good seeing you again."
***
As I turn the corner onto Main Street, I silently ask myself what on earth I think I’m doing. Even though I know the answer—and all the reasons I shouldn’t be here—I pull up and park across the street from Lisa’s condo anyway. A large truck sits parked out front, bearing the logo Waters Mitigation & Restoration.
They're here to clear everything out. My heart sinks as I take in the scene: her furniture, all those familiar pieces, now scattered across the lawn, waiting to be loaded onto the truck.
I make my way toward the house and spot Aaron Baldwin standing outside, speaking with a young man holding a tablet and a small camera, carefully taking inventory of Lisa's belongings. As I approach, Aaron catches my eye and nods.
"Hey, Mateo," he greets.
"Hi, Aaron," I reply, glancing toward the house. "Is Lisa inside?"
"Yeah," he says, shifting his weight as he glances over his shoulder. "She’s packing up anything that wasn’t damaged by the flood. I brought the truck so we can store everything for her."
I nod, a sense of urgency propelling me forward. "How can I help?"
Aaron gestures to the young man beside him. "This is Terry," he says. "We’re cataloging all the furniture and whatever’s salvageable. Lisa’s a minimalist, but there’s still more here than I expected."
Before I can respond, Aaron’s phone rings, and he steps away, murmuring an apology. Left alone with Terry, I take a deep breath, ready to tackle whatever needs doing.
"Are you okay?" I hear Aaron say, his voice thick with worry. "Where are you? Yes, okay, but… No, absolutely not. I’ll be right there. Hang on, Babe. I'm on my way!"
I glance over, catching the tense set of his jaw, the lines of concern etched deep into his face.
"Loren’s water just broke," he says, barely able to contain his anxiety. "Mateo, I have to go. Can you take it from here?"
"Yes, of course. Go!" I urge him.
He looks down at his keys, grimacing. "But the truck..."
Without hesitation, I dig into my pocket and toss him the keys to Lily's car. "Take the car. I’ll handle everything here."
He nods, his eyes flashing with relief. "Thank you," he says, his voice brimming with gratitude. "I’ve got to go."
He bolts toward the car and tears off down the street, wheels squealing as he disappears into the distance.
***
For nearly two hours, I work alongside Terry and his crew, cataloging each piece of furniture as they carefully move it out of the house, working methodically from room to room. Each item is logged and photographed, but I can’t ignore the fact that I haven’t seen Lisa yet. By the time the last piece is loaded onto the truck, we’re all worn out and covered in dust. Terry pulls down the truck’s door with a heavy clang, securing it with a solid padlock and giving it a final tug to make sure it’s locked tight.
He hands me the paperwork, and after a quick glance, I sign it, confirming that every item removed from the house is accounted for and securely loaded onto the truck. I hand the forms back to him and shake his hand firmly before watching the truck pull away, its taillights fading down the street.
As I step inside the house, the musty, damp odor greets me, softened only by the lingering notes of lavender and vanilla from a half-melted candle on the kitchen counter. The living room stands empty, stripped of all its comforts, but the photos on the walls remain, quiet reminders of the life Lisa has built here. I pause, my gaze drifting over the photos—Lisa laughing with her mom, standing arm-in-arm with her best friends, Lily and the Linder sisters, sharing a goofy smile with Lily from their college days, holding Aaron’s kids on her lap. Each image is a piece of her, a testament to the people she loves.
From down the hallway, I hear her voice, tinged with expectation. “Aaron? I’m in my room!”
I step into the bedroom, where she’s crouched on the floor, carefully packing clothes into a cardboard box. The wood beneath her, though dry, has started to buckle—planks lifting and warping from the water’s grip, a sad reminder of the damage the flood left behind. She glances up, her eyes red and glistening, a tear slipping down her cheek before she quickly brushes it away, her expression shifting when she realizes it’s me, not Aaron.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, her voice raw. Then, with a flicker of that familiar spark, she adds, “And where have you been? You look like hell.”
“Thanks,” I reply, managing a grin as I glance down at my once-clean knit shirt and tan chinos, now smudged, wrinkled, and sweaty.
"Where’s Aaron?” she asks, pushing herself up from the floor. She brushes the dust from the back of her jeans and gives her T-shirt a quick tug to smooth it back into place.
“Don’t worry,” I say with a smile. “You still look beautiful.”
She rolls her eyes. “Did Aaron bail on me?”
“No,” I reply, “Loren’s in labor—her water broke about two hours ago.”
Her eyes widen in shock. “What?!” She grabs her phone, glancing at the screen. “Oh my gosh, I have seven missed calls.”
I watch as she dials quickly, pressing the phone to her ear. “Katherine!” she exclaims. “Aha. Oh my! Okay. I wish I could be there. Okay, but… Yeah, you’re right. Okay. Let her know I’m thinking of her, and I’ll head to the hospital as soon as I finish here. Thanks. Love you too. Bye.”
She ends the call and looks up at me, a mix of excitement and wonder flashing across her face, only to be quickly replaced by a raised eyebrow. "Seriously, Mateo, where have you been?"
I hand her the paperwork, tangible evidence of exactly where I've been.
“You did all this?” she asks, incredulous, her eyes widening as she scans the pages.
“Aaron had to leave, so I—”
“Thank you,” she interrupts, her voice rich with emotion. “Thank you!”
Before I can respond, her arms are suddenly around me, her slim figure fitting perfectly against my own. I inhale deeply, captivated by her scent—an intoxicating blend of fresh citrus and vanilla that wraps around my senses. “You smell incredible,” I murmur, my arms instinctively encircling her tiny waist, drawing her closer. The world around us fades, leaving only the warmth of her body against mine.
She’s too young, too vulnerable in this moment. She’s my daughter’s best friend, just a couple of years older, and the weight of that reality presses heavily on my chest. Yet, as I hold her, I feel our heartbeats falling into rhythm, a quiet, shared pulse that deepens our connection.
And then, as if the floodgates have opened, she begins to cry.