Chapter Twenty
Adrian
I shove my hands into the pocket of my Space Jam hoodie and hop up the stairs leading to the Millers’ front door. I’m a little worried that Blake’s going to put a lot of effort into her appearance when I’m taking her to the smallest hole in the wall in all of California. And truthfully, I’d be happiest if she just wore one of her little tennis skirts and crewneck combos, like she did when we got her tires fixed last week. But the evenings have started to get cooler recently, so I doubt it.
Taking a deep breath, I quickly knock three times and take a small step backwards.
Blake has this idea of me in her head—always calm, always collected, always confident. I love that she sees me as a solid force because that’s what I want to be for her, but I’m only human.
She makes me nervous—that good, butterflies in the stomach, heart stops when I see her type of nervousness.
All I want is to impress Blake, get her attention, and never lose it. It’s only been a few weeks, yet I can confidently say that I want her around me all the time. Not only is she cute as fuck and has the snarkiest mouth I’ve ever heard, those rare vulnerable moments that I have to gently pull out of her, always feel like a victory.
The door pulls open, revealing a pair of lightning gray eyes that are the twins to the ones that have been taking up residence in my mind. Selena. “Adrian. Pasa pasa ,” she waves me forward with a warm smile. As I step through the threshold of the Miller home, she closes the door before patting my back in greeting. “It’s so nice to see you.”
“You too, Selena.” As I follow her further into the house, I ask how the school year is going—she’s a librarian—and take in their house for the second time.
Their home is warm and quaint. Even though I have a pretty good idea that Tim makes much more than what his lifestyle would suggest, and Blake has shyly mumbled the word inheritance once or twice, there’s just so much love. It’s like a comforting hug as soon as you step within the threshold. A variety of knitted blankets—most likely made by Blake—are spread across the couch and tucked into baskets. There’s likely enough for more people than could actually fit in the house. Just like the last time I was here, I can smell a variety of spices in the air and the low tunes of a Mexican folk song in the background.
“Blake should be down soon,” Selena tells me. “She stayed late to help Tim at the clinic. I think she feels bad about sleeping in this morning.”
“She said Tim offered to let her come in later though.”
She nods and points toward the stool on the other side of the island. “He did but…” seeming at a loss for words, she shrugs and says, “that’s just Blake. Should I go check on her?”
I quickly shake my head. “No, that’s okay. I don’t want to rush her.” I rub the back of my neck as I feel the blood rush to my cheeks. “I’m a few minutes early actually.”
Selena looks up from the bread she’s kneading and assesses me for a few seconds before a small smile of approval pulls on her lips. “Blake doesn’t like to be kept waiting. She gets her impatience from me.”
Chuckling, I drum my fingers on my thighs and bob my head. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve definitely noticed, but I don’t mind. I’d shift my whole day around if it meant spending time with her.”
This time, her hands pause in the dough when she looks up with an appreciative smile. “I’m happy you moved to town, Adrian.”
“I am too.” Surprisingly, it’s the truth. I’ve been to almost every state, and a few different countries, although I hadn’t spent a lot of time in San Diego growing up. We only ever stopped here when we drove from my hometown, Bakersfield, down to a small town where my mom and godmother are from.
I hadn’t been sure how I felt going into the school year. And I can’t explain it, but it feels like I’m right where I’m supposed to be.
Selena slides a plate of sweet, shredded coconut balls toward me; she calls it cocada . Falling into silence for a couple of minutes, it’s neither uncomfortable nor inconvenient, just feels normal. In some ways, it offers the same comfort as sitting in the kitchen with my mom and godmother growing up.
The sound of socks shuffling across the wood floor has me perking up like a sad puppy left at home.
Blake .
Turning in my seat, I watch as she makes her way over, unaware of my presence. Her long black hair is tied up in a messy bun—more strands falling out than not. She’s not wearing a tennis skirt, but the black leggings tucked into fuzzy socks, and her Rocket Power crewneck, is just as good. Better in fact because the top is so big it looks like it could even fit me, and that was my favorite show growing up.
“Hey, Storm Cloud,” I call from across the room, grabbing her attention. Now that she’s noticed me, I watch the pink color slowly creep up her neck. “I like your sweater.”
She glances down, uncertain, and gently shrugs. “It was one of mine and Grady’s favorites,” she says quietly.
A huge grin pulls across my cheeks. “Mine too.”
She just rolls her eyes and slips on her Vans. “Well, I’m glad to see I didn’t overdress.” She nods toward my hoodie and jeans. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise, but I’ll let you pick the music.”
“Deal.” She quickly places a kiss on her mom’s cheek then leads us toward the door.