Chapter 19 – Analyse
Chapter Nineteen
ANALYSE
The last few weeks have been calm. Nico has been visiting Maya, and Letty hasn’t said a word since that text she sent—hopefully she crawled back into the hole she came from.
Now it’s the day before Christmas Eve, which means prepping for our big Christmas dinner tomorrow.
The meat is marinating, the pies are baking, and Mateo and I are making the coquito while Maya sits at the kitchen table decorating sugar cookies.
Mateo dips a spoon in the coquito mix and lifts it toward my mouth. “Tell me if it needs more cinnamon,” he says, eyes gleaming.
I narrow my eyes but lean in, letting him feed me a small sip. “Mmm.” I swirl it on my tongue, pretending to consider. “Maybe a pinch more nutmeg.”
“Lies,” he mutters with a smirk, already taking another sip for himself. “It’s perfect. Admit it.”
“You’re awfully cocky for someone who didn’t even know how to make coquito until a week ago.”
He places a hand on his chest, feigning offense. “Wow. First of all, the disrespect in this kitchen is real. Second, I’m a master of coquito, I’m basically Puerto Rican now.”
I snort, turning back to stir the pot on the stove. “Okay, Mateito Rodriguez, slow your roll.”
Behind me, I hear the chair legs scrape as Maya hops off the table and scampers into the living room with a tray of her half-decorated cookies, singing “Feliz Navidad.”
Mateo steps up behind me, his hands sliding around my waist as he leans down to whisper in my ear. “Admit it,” he murmurs. “You love how good I’ve gotten at blending into your chaos.”
My pulse stutters, but I don’t let it show. “Hmm. You do okay.”
“Okay?” he repeats, pulling back just enough for me to catch his grin. “Mujer, I’m over here measuring the ingredients for the coquito like my life depends on it.”
I fight the smile tugging at my lips. “You read the recipe off your phone, Mateo.”
He leans in a little, his voice low and cocky. “Yeah, but I read with intention. You can’t teach that.”
I laugh, but my chest feels too tight.
“I’m just saying,” he adds, resting his chin lightly on my shoulder, “I’ve basically earned honorary abuelito status. At this rate, your family’s gonna ask me to host Nochebuena next year.”
I roll my eyes and elbow him gently. “You’re ridiculous.”
“But you like it.”
I don’t answer. Because he’s right. I do like it. Too damn much. For a second, I almost turn. Almost lean back into the warmth of his chest. Almost ask him what we’re even doing—if he feels what I’m feeling, too. But I don’t.
Instead, I turn back to the stove, focusing on the pot of rice. “You better focus,” I say, voice light. “You still have to grate the coconut.”
“Already on it,” he says, stepping back, and I hate how much colder the room feels the second he does.
Mateo hums as he grates the coconut, shoulders moving with every stroke, completely in his element like this is just another Saturday morning.
Except it’s not. It’s the day before Christmas Eve, and here he is, fitting into my life, my world, so seamlessly.
He’s here like he was always meant to be here.
Like he has always been here. We move together in synchronicity as if we’ve done this our whole lives.
He glances up. “You’re staring.”
I blink. “No, I’m not.”
He smiles knowingly. “It’s okay, chula. You can admit you’re impressed.”
“I’m not impressed,” I lie, turning back toward the stove. “You’re just not as useless in the kitchen as I expected.
“That sounds like progress.”
I laugh despite myself and shake my head. “You know what? I’ll take it.”
From the corner of my eye, I see him fake a bow. “Gracias, chef.”
We fall into a rhythm after that—Mateo measuring and pouring while I work on the glaze for the ham.
Every so often, Maya runs in from the living room to show off a cookie or ask if she can lick the spoon.
And every time, Mateo lights up like she’s the best part of his entire day.
Maybe she is. Maybe we both are. I shouldn’t think like that. We’re not real.
This whole fake dating thing was supposed to be temporary. A Band-Aid to get Nico off my back and keep things simple for Maya. I’m stirring the glaze when I feel him behind me again, not touching, but close enough to feel the warmth of him.
“I forgot to ask,” he says casually. “What’s the dress code for tomorrow? Are we going Christmas sweaters or full glam?”
I smirk. “Mateo. Do you not know Latinas at all? This is our time to shine, baby. Full glam.”
He chuckles. “How could I forget? You guys love getting dressed up to sit in the living room.”
I spin around to face him, still holding the spoon. “If you want to survive tomorrow, you better iron a shirt. A real one. With buttons.”
He makes a face. “Fine. But only because I like you.”
My stomach flips. It’s not the first time he’s said it. Not the first time he’s thrown a little line into a conversation like it’s no big deal. But tonight, with the house smelling like coconuts and sugar, and Christmas music floating in from the living room, it lands different.
“You’re going to make this complicated,” I murmur, mostly to myself.
“What?” he asks, stepping closer. “What did you say?”
I shake my head, heart thudding. “Nothing”
But his eyes are sharp. “You said I’m going to make this complicated. Why?”
“It’s nothing, Mateo. Please just forget I said anything.”
“What if I don’t want to forget?”
For a second, we just stare at each other. The air between us thickens, and I hate how much I want to close the space, to see how his lips would feel against mine. But I don’t. I can’t.
“Please, Mateo. Not today. Not right now.”
Mateo’s jaw ticks, and I see it—the flash of something behind his eyes. Frustration. Hurt. Maybe even disappointment. But he swallows it down like he always does, like he respects my boundaries even when they cut both of us open.
He nods once, slow and deliberate. “Okay,” he says softly. “Not today.”
The silence that follows is thick, but not angry. It’s laced with everything we aren’t saying. Everything we wish we could say. Everything I’m not ready to admit out loud. He steps back, just slightly. Just enough that I can breathe again.
Behind me, he clears his throat. “Do I at least get to know what color you’re wearing tomorrow?”
I let out a breath. “Red. Obviously.”
He lets out a low whistle. “You’re gonna shut the whole dinner down.”
“You better not wear green and make us look like a Christmas tree.”
“No promises,” he teases, voice lighter now.
A few hours have passed, and we’ve been working mostly in silence. Thankfully, we don’t talk about the moment we almost had. Maya’s in bed now, and the house is still.
I come out of her room, tiptoeing so I don’t wake her, and find Mateo on the couch, one arm draped across the backrest.
“You stayed,” I say, surprised.
He shrugs. “Didn’t want to leave yet.”
I should tell him to go. It’s late. We’ve said what we needed to say. But I don’t. I sit next to him, pulling a throw blanket over my legs. We sit in silence for a few minutes, the tree lights blinking in the corner, casting soft colors across the walls.
“I used to hate Christmas,” I admit, eyes still on the tree. “After Maya was born, it just…hurt. Nico wasn’t around. I felt like a failure. Everything felt heavy. But tonight, for the first time in a really long time, it feels like joy again.”
Mateo turns toward me. “I’m glad.”
“You did that.”
He blinks. “Me?”
“You. Being here. Helping. Laughing with Maya. You gave us something we didn’t know we were missing.”
He doesn’t speak right away. Then says, “You gave that to me, too.”
I turn to face him.
“I haven’t had a real Christmas in years. There are things in my past, things that have made me feel empty. But being here with you, with Maya, doing all the traditions—” He smiles, soft and reverent. “It’s the first time I’ve wanted this again.”
My throat tightens. “I’m scared,” I whisper before I can stop myself.
He shifts closer, brows furrowed. “Of what?”
“Of giving in. Of getting used to this. To you. And then feeling the same hurt I felt all those years ago.”
Mateo nods slowly. “That’s fair. But can I tell you something?”
I nod.
“I’m scared, too,” he says. “Because I’ve never wanted something to last so badly.”
The words hang between us.
“I think I need to go to bed,” I say, voice thin.
He nods again. “Yeah. Me too.”
But neither of us moves. Not right away. Eventually, I force myself to stand. “Thank you. For today. For everything.”
He looks up at me, something unreadable in his eyes. “Always.”
And just before I turn to go, he reaches out and gently brushes a loose curl behind my ear. The touch is light. Barely there. But I feel it long after his hand moves away. I feel it deep in my core.
“Tomorrow,” he says softly. “Let’s just…enjoy tomorrow”
“Okay.”
I walk away before I can do something stupid like kiss him.