Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Esteban
Austin: Did you guys get the email from McNeal?
Noah: Yeah. He just confirmed the weekend in Key West.
Me: Yup. I just hope you two can impress him with your wives and kids.
Austin: Don’t forget about your fiancée. She’s coming too, right?
Noah: Don’t remind me. Every time I see Esteban wink or smile at her, I want to punch him in the face.
Me: So aggressive. You better brace yourself because I might have to kiss her this weekend, and I’d prefer to avoid your fist in my face.
Noah: You better not kiss my sister. I swear, I won’t hold back if I see that shit.
Austin: Dude, you should’ve kept your mouth shut. Now he’s definitely going to kiss her just to screw with you. Don’t you know him?
Me: Why are you ruining my fun, Austin?
Noah: It’s not fun. Keep your hands and lips to yourself, or I’ll beat the shit out of you.
Me: Noted.
Austin: Guys, you need this deal. Esteban, stop messing with Noah. And Noah, stop with your overprotective big brother act. It’s getting old.
Noah: Never. That’s my baby sister.
Me: Do I need to keep reminding you that she’s not a baby anymore?
Austin: Exactly. Chill the hell out.
Noah: I’ll try my best.
Me: Gracias.
Closing the group chat, I select the thread with Eva and stare at the messages we have sent each other.
I’d invited her to dinner to talk, to plan, and if I’m honest, to be near her again.
Now that the Florida weekend is officially happening, we need to be on the same page.
We’ll be spending a lot of time together, and we’re supposed to look like a couple in love.
That means hand-holding, hugs, lingering looks… maybe even a kiss or two.
Me: Can you come around six? I’ll have dinner ready for you.
My fake girl: Sure. Please tell me you’re making tostones.
Me: It’s a surprise. Come hungry.
My fake girl: Okay.
Putting my phone in my pocket, I keep working on the quotes and permits that I have to complete before next week. When I look at the clock, it’s almost time to head home, so I step out of my office and call out to Payton, who’s glued to her screen with her big ass headphones on.
“Do you need anything from me before I head out?”
She shifts her headphone. “What?”
I grin. “Girl, if something bad ever happened, you’d be the last to know. I asked if you need anything from me before I go?”
She laughs. “Nope, I’m good. I already sent the quotes you finished today. Tomorrow you’re at the McGee’s house, right?”
I nod. “Yeah, we’re starting their back deck remodel in the morning. I’ll probably swing by the office after we’re done. We should be finished by three, if all goes well.”
“Got it. I’ll call or text if anything comes up.”
Giving her a thumbs-up, I head out, already thinking about the dinner I’m planning.
Dinner for my girl.
My girl. Really?
I shake my head as I pull into the supermarket parking lot, but I can’t help the smirk that spreads across my face at that thought. Once inside, I pull out my phone and call the only person who knows the real magic behind my favorite chimichurri sauce.
“Mami, what do I need for the chimichurri again? I always forget.”
Her sigh is immediate. “Esteban, how many times do I have to tell you the ingredients?”
“I know, Mami. I should write it down. Just text it to me—again—and I swear, I’ll put it in a notebook this time.”
“Está bien,” she says, grumbling lovingly. “Te amo, mi nene hermoso.”
“Yo también te amo. You’re the best.”
“Sí, sí, sí…” she mutters, but I can hear her smiling.
I hang up and push a cart. Seconds later, a text from Mami comes through: a picture of a handwritten note on one of her floral notepads, the corner smudged with sofrito stains.
Parsley, garlic, olive oil, red wine vinegar, oregano, crushed red pepper, salt.
I smile and mutter, Gracias, Mami, as I make my way through the produce section, tossing a bunch of fresh parsley and a couple of garlic heads into the cart.
Then I grab a red onion, some limes, and tomatoes for the salad.
I'm halfway to the meat section when I remember to circle back for plantains. Can’t forget the tostones, Eva specifically asked for them.
At the meat section, I scan for the churrasco cuts, picking out two thick ones, marbled just right, and wrap them up like they’re something sacred.
They kind of are, I don’t mess around when it comes to good skirt steak.
Then I make a quick detour to the frozen aisle to grab a pint of cookies and cream ice cream.
Don’t ask me why, but it’s the one dessert I never get tired of.
As I make my way to the checkout, I spot a few familiar faces. That’s Honey Springs for you, you can’t go anywhere without running into someone you know.
“Hey, Esteban!” someone calls out. It’s Mr. Odom, the high school gym teacher, grabbing a six-pack and a frozen pizza.
“Buenas, Mr. Odom. You eating like a college kid again?”
He laughs. “Only way I stay young, son.”
I shake my head, still smiling as I roll up to the register. Lucy is behind the counter, smacking her gum and scrolling through her phone between customers.
“Hey, Esteban,” she says, finally looking up. “That all for tonight?”
“Yep.”
“Ooh, are you cooking for a friend?”
I give her a wink. “You know I don’t kiss and tell.”
She laughs and starts scanning my stuff. “Tell your mama I said hi.”
“I will.”
I bag the groceries and load them into the truck, heart beating a little faster now. I know it’s just dinner. I know it’s just Eva. I know we’re pretending, but this feels real enough that I want it to be.
Back at my place, I set everything on the kitchen counter and go take the fastest shower known to man, dressing in a pair of grey joggers and a green shirt.
I fix my hair so it looks cool then walk to the kitchen where I ask Alexa to play some music, something chill with guitar and a beat, and get to work.
The chimichurri comes first, everything chopped fine and blended just right, the smell already making my stomach growl.
The churrasco gets seasoned and set in the pan to cook slowly.
Salad next, simple and fresh. Then I toss the tostones and glance at the clock.
She’ll be here soon. And suddenly, that feels like the best part of my whole damn day.
I finish with the food when the sound of Eva’s car pulling up makes me glance at the clock. Right on time.
A minute later, there’s a knock at the door.
When I open it, she’s standing there with her cheeks pink from the cold, bundled up in a puffy white jacket, black leggings hugging her legs, and snow-white boots.
Her dark hair spills over her shoulders in waves, and all I can think about is how much I want to see her without all that winter gear.
Key West can’t come soon enough.
“Hey,” she says with a smile. “It smells divine in here.”
“That’s because I cook with love,” I say, stepping aside so she can come in. She gives me a look, one of those half eye-rolls she does when she’s pretending not to be charmed. But I know she is.
I lead her into the kitchen, where the plates are already waiting. “Take a seat. I’ll dish everything out.”
She shrugs out of her jacket and helps me grab drinks from the fridge sparkling water for her, a cold beer for me.
“This looks amazing. What is this?” she says, staring at the plates like she’s ready to marry the food.
“You’ve never had churrasco?”
“Nope.” She shakes her head. “This is my first time.”
“Then I feel honored. And slightly pressured.”
She laughs, takes a bite, and moans loudly. “Oh my God. Esteban. Why is this so good?”
I smirk. “Because I’m good at everything I do.”
“You really are insufferable.”
“Gracias.”
We eat, the conversation flowing easy. I’m trying to focus on her words, not the way her lips shine when she licks chimichurri off them, or the little pleased noises she makes every time she takes a bite.
Between bites, I lean back and say, “So… Key West is officially a go. We leave this weekend.”
“Seriously?” she grins. “That’s so soon!”
“Yeah. I’m booking our plane tickets now, unless you prefer to make the drive with me.”
She narrows her eyes. “Plane. Absolutely plane.”
“Smart woman,” I say, pulling my phone out and opening the airline app. “What’s your birthday, fake fiancée?”
She gives it to me, and I book our flight then and there. It takes less than five minutes, and with that out of the way, the trip feels real now. Close.
After dinner, we move to the living room. I let her take the couch while I clean up quickly, then join her with a blanket. We don’t turn the TV on—just sit facing each other, legs tucked up, shoulders nearly brushing.
“So,” I say. “You ready for this? Being fake in love with me for three days straight?”
She nods. “I am.”
“Good. We should probably go over a game plan, right? Just to make sure we’re on the same page.”
She hums. “Yeah. Like, who’s going to be more clingy? Should we hold hands all the time? Hug when we walk into a room?”
“All of that,” I say. “Plus inside jokes, eye contact, the works.”
Then she looks at me and says, “We need to practice.”
I raise a brow. “Practice what?”
Her gaze doesn’t waver. “Kissing.”
I blink. “You serious?”
She nods. “I know I said last time, no open mouth kisses, but if we’re supposed to act like we’re really into each other and if something happens, I don’t want it to look awkward or fake.”
I stare at her for a beat, heartbeat picking up like I just ran a mile. “So… you want to kiss me right now?”
She lifts one shoulder casually, but her cheeks are pink. “Might as well. For the mission.”
God help me, I might not survive this fake relationship.