18. ISABELLA
eighteen
“I think we might have taken it a tad overboard.” I wince as I look at the disarray on the kitchen island.
Pancakes.
All we were supposed to make were simple pancakes on this ordinary Thursday morning. And it started out easy enough.
While I pulled out the flour and sugar, Anna snuck out the chocolate chips, which I absolutely approved of.
When Beth came down and made us espressos on the stovetop, I got distracted while we chatted away, talking about how coffee always tastes better from the stove than from a fancy machine.
Meanwhile, Anna continued to raid the pantry like she was a mini bank robber.
Before we knew it, she had everything under the sun out. She proclaimed it to be a “ladies breakfast,” and therefore, there should be more color on our plates.
And by color, she meant sprinkles.
More sprinkles than I could even fathom.
Unicorn sprinkles, glittery sprinkles, alphabet sprinkles, more, more, more, just kept appearing out of thin air until Beth and I decided to go with it. Because who is really going to hold a hard limit against sprinkles when you’d have to do the walk of shame at least a dozen times to get them all put away again?
To be fair, having Beth there felt like I had adult supervision. Even though I was technically supposed to be the adult supervision.
But there’s something about having an older adult in the room that allows me to hand in my grown-up card and defer all emergency contingencies to.
If Beth seemed okay with it, then why shouldn’t I?
While they made the batter, I finally figured out how to connect my phone to the cool built-in speakers that surrounded the home. I scrolled through my mom’s Saturday cleaning playlist, because yes, she did upgrade to streaming her music after she realized she no longer had to smack our old CD player to life every day, and picked a song I knew Beth would get a kick out of.
An Olga Ta?ón classic, of course.
Within minutes, we were dancing merengue by the stove, whipping up enough batches to feed the whole building. Every time I tried to reel Anna in, Beth waved me off, saying there were enough staff in the lobby that would probably appreciate the free sugary goodness.
So, in my mind, we were providing a service for the building employees. And with that good deed to justify this madness, we carried on.
Anna ate between batches, since I wanted to make sure that she still made it to school on time, even though it seemed like she’d woken up with the need to compete on a Food Network competition show.
By the time she was done, we were working on our final batch.
She was already dressed and ready in her uniform, so I took over powdered sugar duty.
Funny how this was all Anna’s idea, yet I was the one constantly wiping sweat off my face. But I couldn’t deny how entertaining this was. How nice it felt to cook for fun and not have to stress about appropriate measuring tools when it came to pouring chocolate chips and sprinkles.
There was freedom in indulging Anna’s whims, almost like I got to be a five-year-old again myself.
Hell, my twenty-five-year-old self will now forever find boozy brunches a bit underwhelming if they don’t include blasting salsa and merengue music and include enough sweetness to put me in a sugar coma.
Yet all good things must come to an end. So with my eye on the clock, I grab the last pack of unopened sprinkles to wrap up this pancake party. I’m so enamored by the sight of Beth twirling Anna to the beat that I don’t bother reading the label.
I’m also distracted when Olga hits that note that makes you feel that grown woman’s pain that I don’t hear the distinct ding of the elevator doors opening.
I think this is the point at which the wheels fall off our runaway train.
Because what happens next could only be described as my worst nightmare.
Just as I’m about to twist off the lid of the sprinkle container, Anna’s eyes widen comically. I think she might be saying “no” with the way her mouth opened in a perfect, shocked O, but I’m too stunned to react.
Since I’m staring straight into Mateo’s confused eyes. As if he must have walked into the wrong apartment.
My knuckles strain as they continue to twist, when the sprinkles in my hand explode… everywhere.
I’m talking multiple feet in the air and covering every square inch of the kitchen all the way up to where Mateo stands tall.
As far as my eyes can see, those little colorful traitors scatter like thieves in the night.
Mateo’s expression instantly goes from confused to furious.
“Isa, those were the cannon sprinkles! They’re supposed to be for rainbow explosion cakes!” Anna tries to run up toward me, but Mateo holds her shoulder to keep her from stepping in the mess I’ve made.
“Daddy, you’re home!” She leaps into his father’s arms. His eyes close and his body sags slightly. For a second, just a tiny one, I think that he may forget about this whole debacle if I quietly slip off to my room. That is, of course, until he opens his eyes to pin me in place. As if he knows I’ve got the urge to bolt and wants to make sure I stay put for my punishment.
A shiver runs down my spine at the very naughty thoughts of what punishment from Mateo might look like.
Beth’s quiet chuckle almost breaks the tension in the room. “You’re home, mi hijo. And right on time. We were about to get into Olga’s greatest hits.”
His cheeks turn slightly pink as he directs that same glare at his mother, although, by the way she’s patting his arm, it clearly has no effect on her. “Anna, let’s go upstairs and finish your hair before Isa drops you off at school.”
Mateo leans down and lets Anna hop out of his hold. I can sense his wrath coming my way, but before he makes a move, Beth speaks again.
“Oh, and Matí, hijo? Can you thank Isa for slaving in the kitchen all morning to make your daughter happy by making her dream breakfast? And for making all this food for your building staff? We couldn’t have done it without her.” She smiles smugly, knowing she gave him a public motherly warning to go easy on me. I squeal on the inside.
She makes her way to the stairs as she says, “And don’t forget to leave an extra tip for your cleaning crew. Something tells me we’re going to be pulling sprinkles out of nooks and crannies for a few weeks.”
Damnit, Beth. You could have left that part out.
Once they’re out of sight, Mateo starts to make his way toward me, his sneakers loudly crunching over the rainbow runway.
Naturally, I open with the dumbest statement possible. “You’re home. Um, yay?” I smile awkwardly as he stands close to me. “I, uh, thought that you were coming in later, and, uh, I’d have this whole mess cleaned up by then.” I gulp audibly as I take in the disaster zone that was formerly a kitchen. “Well, maybe not this mess we’re standing in.” I point to the ground below us. “I didn’t know sprinkle cannons were a thing, but I promise I’ll figure out a way to have it cleaned up. It was my fault, and your cleaning team shouldn’t have to—”
“Isabella.”
My name on his lips stops my entire body from fidgeting, as if it recognizes the need to follow the simple command from this man only.
“Yeah?”
He leans in even closer. “Thank you.”
A startled laugh escapes my lips. I know I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but I can’t help but ask, “For what? Turning your home into a sprinkle bomb testing center?”
The side of his mouth tips up slightly, almost teasing me with a smile I didn’t realize I wanted so badly until now.
“My mother told me to say thank you.” He pauses as he slowly takes me in. “You think I wasn’t raised right?” he taunts, his voice playful while his face remains lethal.
His eyes trail over my face, stopping at my right cheek. The front of his hips almost touches mine. The only reason we’re not breathing each other’s air is because he’s probably got a foot on my height. But then he dips his head, and I almost forget to breathe.
I notice him raise his hand in my periphery, but my eyes are glued to his. The gold in his hazel eyes seems to grow darker with every passing second.
He clears his throat. “You have some flour on your cheek.” His hand continues to hover, waiting for permission, it seems. I try to nod but can barely move out of this hypnotic state. I must have dipped my head just enough for him to proceed. Cradling my face in his massive, callused hand, he uses his thumb to lightly brush away the white substance from my face.
“It’s powdered sugar,” I correct him. “I was adding sugar to the batter before you got here.”
“Is it now?” His voice turns low and dangerous.
With his eyes holding mine hostage, he continues to lower his face.
Fucking hell. He’s going to kiss me.
We’re in the middle of the kitchen, with his mother and daughter upstairs, but in this moment, I couldn’t even tell you my birthday.
Mateo is going to fucking kiss me.
And apparently, I’m not going to stop him.
Just as his breath mingles with mine, he sticks out his tongue and licks the sugar off his thumb. A rush of breath leaves my chest as he whispers, “So fucking sweet.”
I bite my lip to hold in the moan that’s on the verge of escaping. His eyes latch on to the movement, and in my libido induced haze, I ask, “Is there sugar on my lips too?” without realizing what I’ve done.
He lets out a low growl so deep in his chest I can feel it through where he’s holding me.
He moves too quickly for my mind to understand that he’s no longer within kissing range. Instead, his lips ghost over my ear as he whispers, “Strike two.”
And then he’s gone.