Chapter Fifteen Lily
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Lily
B y the time Willow, Lorenzo, and I finish discussing the Operation Fake Fiancée plan, it is already half past nine, so I head home with more hope than I had left with.
The house is dark when I unlock the front door, so I’m startled when I don’t notice my mom sitting in the living room until she says, “You were out late.”
“?Dios!” I press a hand against my racing heart. “Mami, me asustaste.” I
She shuts off the TV and stands. “Where were you?”
“With Lorenzo.”
“Is he the reason why you skipped lunch?”
“No, everyone else is.”
Her eyes are downcast. “We’re…worried about you.”
“I’m fine. Better than fine, actually.” Technically that is true. My personal life might be a mess right now, but I can rest easier tonight knowing Lorenzo and I have a solid plan in place and a common goal to reach.
“We missed you.” She hits me with a wobbly smile. “You weren’t there to overcook the pasta.”
There’s a small pinch in my chest. “I’m sure that was a nice change for once.”
She laughs to herself. “Actually, I’ve come to enjoy my espagueti verde that way.”
I can’t stop myself from laughing. “I can only hope Lorenzo will pretend to feel the same way when he tries it next week.”
She makes a face, and I instantly know I made the wrong assumption.
My amusement dies. “What?”
Her eyes fall to her plastic chancletas . “I don’t know if him coming is a good idea yet.”
Whatever hope I had earlier withers away. “Oh…I see.”
She holds up her hands, panic written clear across her face. “I want to meet him—officially, that is—as your…as your…” She stumbles to finish her thought.
I help her out by saying, “Boyfriend.”
She wrings her hands in front of her robe. “Right. But I think we should do so in a smaller setting. Maybe us three first, if that’s okay with you?”
I’m kicking myself for not thinking about that idea first. When she said she didn’t want Lorenzo to come to next week’s lunch, I assumed the worst, not taking into account my mom’s anxiety.
Julian made her believe he’s some kind of mafioso , I reprimand myself. Of course she’s anxious about you dating him.
“You want to get to know him?”
“You’ve never insisted on bringing a…boyfriend to Sunday lunch before, so yes, I’d like to get to know him in a more casual setting.”
“I thought…” My voice wavers.
With Dahlia still not talking to me and the Kids’ Table group chat going radio silent, I believed my mom harbored the same negative feelings toward Lorenzo and me, but I should’ve known hers were caused by anxiety rather than anger.
“You thought what?” she asks with that soft voice that always got me to admit to everything when I was younger.
“That you were mad at me.”
She shakes her head. “I am. It’s hard not to be after you kept this secret from me. Between that and the shop, I feel like I’m failing you if you can’t trust me with something so important.”
My vision is obscured from unshed tears.
You’re doing this to help her. My mom protected me for twenty-eight years of my life, so the least I can do is save her shop and one of the last living memories we have of my father.
She walks over and pulls me into a hug. “I’m still angry with you, but I’m less so now.”
“What changed?”
“I went to go visit your father at the cemetery.”
You will not cry , I chant repeatedly, but my eyes won’t cooperate.
“Spending time with him always calms me down.”
I sniffle. My mom might be anxious, but at least she’s brave enough to stop by his grave, unlike me, who hasn’t since his wake.
She continues, “If he were still here, he’d tell me to give Lorenzo a chance. He’d say that your happiness is more important than my anxiety about you dating someone like him.”
My mouth falls open, but words never make it out. Guilt threatens to consume me whole, and I’m hit with the strongest urge to confess my sin.
She cups my cheek. “I want you to be happy, and if Lorenzo is the man who makes you feel that way, then it’s my job as your mother to support you.”
“But—”
She pats my face. “No but s.”
You’re going to hell, my guilty conscience speaks out.
At least Lorenzo will keep you company.
After the conversation I had with my mom, I decide that I’d rather get awkward introductions done between her and Lorenzo sooner rather than later. That way I can ease some of her worries and assuage some of my guilt.
I’ve had boyfriends in the past who I’ve introduced to my mom, but I’m still nervous as we drive over to our favorite farm located on the outskirts of town.
I don’t even like picking berries, but Lorenzo was the one who suggested the activity.
He thought it would buy him some points with my mom since she planned on coming out here anyway after she volunteered to make strawberry-flavored agua fresca for next week’s Strawberry Festival.
A lot of people are at the farm today, picking berries for their own festival dishes and desserts, so we’ll be seen by plenty of possible voters over the next couple of hours.
Lorenzo is already parked when we arrive, so he walks over and opens my mom’s door first before helping me out of the car.
He pulls me into a short but intimate hug, and I’m hit with the scent of his cologne.
It isn’t overpowering but rather nearly undetectable unless I press my nose right up to his skin.
I have enough self-control to resist doing so, but barely.
When he lets go of me, I see a group of people standing in the parking lot, looking over at us like we’re their favorite couple on a dating show.
“?Estás listo para recoger fresas?” I Lorenzo ignores them and turns to my mom.
Her lips curl. “Lo que Dahlia dijo es verdad. Tú hablas espanol.” II
“Sí. Aprendí eso y el italiano cuando era pequeno.” III
My mom gives him a confirmatory nod, and I throw him a thumbs-up behind her back that earns me an eye roll.
My mom, Lorenzo, and I head toward the wooden stand, where we are each given a basket. At first, she is quiet and will only speak when directly spoken to. Lorenzo takes her shyness in stride, actively making bids for her attention.
I appreciate how he never gives up, and finally after ten minutes of picking strawberries, my mom starts asking him questions.
She’s particularly interested in learning about his aunt, whose family moved to America from Cuba during the fifties, but she clams up again when he mentions his life in Vegas.
When my mom excuses herself to go use the restroom located on the other side of the farm, Lorenzo takes advantage of her absence to amp up the showmance for our nearby audience.
I should’ve known he was up to something when he accidently tipped my basket over, but I didn’t expect him to smack my ass as soon as I bend down.
But that isn’t nearly as bad as me liking it.
My lower half pulses when his palm connects with my ass, and if it weren’t for the group of women standing a few rows away, I’d press my legs together to ease the ache that comes out of nowhere.
Don’t you dare embarrass yourself like that.
Frustrated by my lack of control, I remind myself of how Lorenzo hurt me and why I can’t get caught up in the moment. Not even for a single second.
I look over my shoulder to check out the group of women. Josefina has invited them over to her house a few times for a romance reading club, so I recognize them, although they look different without their eyes glued to their paperbacks.
“Sorry. I couldn’t resist,” Lorenzo says loudly, making them giggle.
I stand up and turn so our chests are touching.
“No need to apologize, baby.” My voice has a huskiness to it that I don’t recognize.
Based on the way his nostrils flare, Lorenzo either loves or hates the sexy rasp as much as his nickname.
I brush my hand down his chest. “But next time don’t hold back. I promise I can take it.”
And that right there is how I helped Lorenzo secure the Smut Club readers’ vote.
Little by little, as our pile of strawberries in the back of Lorenzo’s truck grows, my mom gets more comfortable in his presence, to the point of inviting him back to our house to make some agua fresca once she is too hot to continue.
Her invitation was not part of the plan, and I’m instantly anxious at the prospect of Lorenzo hanging out in our home. It has nothing to do with the house itself but rather how I feel having him in my space.
Going out on dates with Lorenzo is one thing, but having him in my chaotic little sanctuary feels like a step too far.
“Oh, I’m sure Lorenzo is busy,” I answer for him.
“I took the day off, remember ?” he says aloud, acting like we memorize each other’s schedules.
“That settles it, then,” my mom says with a smile, and we head back to the house in separate cars.
My mom spends the first five minutes of the house tour in the garage, showing off my latest pressed-petal art. Lorenzo keeps a straight face while my mom tells him about how proud he must be of me wanting to pursue my own business venture with the Pressed Petal, all while shooting me looks.
“Any new updates on that since last week?” He is so damn smooth with his delivery that my mom doesn’t think anything of the question.
“Nope. Everything’s still on hold.” I keep my answer vague, and thankfully my mom doesn’t bring up Lavender Lane and the mayor’s plan, although she is quick to shuffle us into the kitchen after.
She and Lorenzo work in comfortable silence while I pull out my sketchbook and get to work on a design I’ve fallen behind on.
My mom’s favorite telenovela plays in the background, and Lorenzo—who seemed completely uninterested at the start of the episode—has been equally invested in finding out who the bad guy is.
My mom has taken a liking to him, although I can’t expect her to be as comfortable around him as she is with Julian or Rafa, whom she has known since they were little. The way she is with Lorenzo is different, but then again, so is he.
He’s patient, polite, and intent on helping my mom with whatever she needs in the kitchen. My mom gives him a few tasks, including washing the buckets’ worth of strawberries, and Lorenzo does it without a single complaint, following every request with a “Sì, signora” that makes me giggle.
“Your dad used to say that too.”
I gape. Lorenzo blinks.
“You knew Lorenzo’s dad?” I ask my mom because Lorenzo looks incapable of speaking.
My mom looks cautious all of a sudden. “I didn’t know him too well, but I never forgot his flower order.”
I can’t resist asking, “What was it?”
“Whatever’s in season—”
“So long as it’s pink,” I say at the same time as her, my eyes wide from recognition.
My mom laughs. “How’d you know?”
Because I’ve heard that phrase before, back when Lorenzo first started ordering bouquets from Rose & Thorn.
Lorenzo reaches inside his pocket and leans against the counter, looking unbothered if it weren’t for the small twitch in his jaw.
Now the bouquet in his house makes so much more sense, although I can’t say the same about the twinge in my chest at seeing his sentimental side.
His parents might not be here anymore, but he finds the smallest ways to acknowledge them, unlike me, who can’t visit my father’s garden without crying.
My mom’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Your father never missed a single Friday.”
Lorenzo dips his head in silent acknowledgment, and I’m overwhelmed by the urge to pull him into a hug, although I hesitate after everything he has done and said to me.
Comforting someone else comes naturally to me, but comforting him…it feels like an instinct I hate to ignore.
Lorenzo and my mom carry on like the conversation never happened, but I obsess over it for the next five minutes, wondering what Lorenzo does with that second bouquet.
When Lorenzo finishes everything my mom asked of him, he starts to wipe the counter, but my mom pulls the rag from his hands and tells him to take a seat and relax.
“Sì, signora,” he says.
When my mom finishes rinsing the sink, she excuses herself to go use the restroom, but not before she reminds him not to help.
I bump him with my shoulder. “Who knew you could be such a gentleman?”
“I know it must come as quite a shock given our past, but I do have manners.”
“Yet I haven’t experienced them firsthand.”
He tucks his hand underneath my chin and lifts it. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”
“Imagine if you heard me telling another man yes, sir over and over again?” My face flushes at the wide smile on his face.
“In this particular scenario, is this man old enough to be a grandparent?”
“No!” I pull away with a laugh, and Lorenzo’s hold on my chin slips. He stares at his hand, which is still hanging in the air, as if he too was wondering how it ended up anywhere near my face.
I shouldn’t miss him touching me.
Shouldn’t so much as think twice about why he even bothered to do so since we don’t have an audience present.
And I most definitely should not, under absolutely any circumstance, think about when he will do it again.