Chapter 24
Miles
“ T ook you long enough.”
Lorenzo snatches the champagne out of my hand and scurries off to the kitchen. It’s a row of white cabinets and a light granite countertop that he manages to keep clean between the mixing bowls and scattered groceries. He’s serious about many things, and cooking is one of them. I’d clown him about the waist apron over his khaki pants, but not at the expense of dinner.
“You act like I was gone all day. Chill.” I peek at the fish he’s frying on the stove. “Why’d you need champagne so bad, anyway?”
He shrugs and puts a golden-brown piece on the wire rack. “Just goes with the shit. I like it with my chilaquiles in the morning, so you saved me a trip.” He dips another piece of fish into the batter bowl, shakes off the excess to dip into a bowl with flour, and drops it into the oil. “Isabel loved that champagne. It stuck.”
Lorenzo doesn’t talk about his late wife often, but he doesn’t have to. He keeps Isabel’s memory alive by cooking the foods she loved in the house he bought after he lost her to breast cancer. What little money he had at the time went to her treatments, but he promised her the gated bungalow she saw on the bus route to her job.
They met at sixteen and got married at twenty. By the time he was thirty-three, he started teaching at college, and she was gone. We met at Bodie a year later and haven’t stopped annoying the shit out of each other ever since.
“You should be thankful. There was only one left in that bougie-ass store. Guess you aren’t the only one who likes that brand.” I sit at the wooden dining room table.
I got to LA a couple hours ago and am already running errands. But Zo is letting me crash here, so I can’t complain.
We rarely see each other living on different coasts. When Zo is in DC, he’s knee-deep in public official duties. Not that I’m around. Work keeps my suitcase on the ready at all times.
Once the fish is done, we grab trays loaded with tacos, rice, and refried beans to take outside. Zo doubles back for a flannel and the drinks. The backyard is a small, covered deck next to an even smaller yard. Tall hedges border the perimeter for privacy, with pots of marguerite daisies, Isabel’s favorite flower Zo gave to her. He has a condo he uses to entertain “company,” and he’ll stay there while I’m here.
“We good for tomorrow?” I grunt at the fish taco that’s playing with my emotions. Zo dressed all of them in lime juice, chipotle sauce, shredded cabbage, and pico de gallo . Shit is good.
“You know where to pull up. I have a new intern who will work with you.”
“Bet.”
“ No seas pendejo .”
I brush down my hoodie and blow out a breath. Here comes the bullshit. “What you on?”
Zo focuses on the champagne glass in his hand and chuckles. “You’re in the same city as Emma since you hopped on a flight to follow her to Italy and have nothing to say.”
“Technically, the same county . She’s in Malibu,” I say to be a smartass. A little over thirty-two miles separate us. Not that I’m counting.
He waves it off with a hand. “The point is, you’re bound to run into her again.”
“Not necessarily,” I mumble around a bite.
“Please. You chase Emma to Italy after you ran into her at a bar in New York with a woman you ditched for her.” Zo chuckles. “That shit is serendipitous.”
“Nothing will happen while I’m here.” My mouth tightens at his full-on laughter. “Shit ain’t funny.”
Emma made it clear our time together would end once we left Italy. She hasn’t given an answer on keeping up a fake relationship for her parents, but what the fuck do I look like waiting around? I already followed her ass out of the country, and I’m not about to do that up and down LA. I don’t chase pussy. Em’s is top tier, but she needs to voice her wants.
“If you say so.”
“I do,” I counter.
“Alright,” Zo says with his hands up and a goofy-ass grin.
We settle into our plates and go to work. A pot of daisies blowing in the breeze catches Zo’s eye. He clears his throat. “I think I’m gonna rent this place out. It’s time.”
I pause. “Word?”
“Yeah.”
The twentieth anniversary of Isabel’s death is coming up. Part of my time out here is to make sure Zo is good. We don’t talk about feelings, but he’s been keeping my head on straight for the last two decades. We stumbled into each other’s lives at a time when I needed guidance and he needed a distraction from losing his wife. He’s more of a big bro than a father figure. Outside of Terrence, Zo is one of the few people I call friend and let close.
Zo dips after eight, and I let my thoughts drift back to Emma over my nightcap. What if we saw each other while I was out here? The sex is unmatched, and the chemistry is there. We also have a built-in expiration date. We can get each other out of our systems.
“Nah,” I say to the empty backyard. It might be winter, but California and Jersey have different definitions of cold. A faint breeze picks up, catching the potted daisies under outdoor string lights.
Guys like me don’t get the chance to be happy, even if they want it.
Zo did.
I take a long pull of scotch and let my thoughts wander into the night.