Chapter 12
Crust & Crumble smells like cinnamon and fresh-baked bread, and I’m beyond grateful for it. Anything to ground me after the last twelve hours.
Jess and Macy are already at the corner table when I walk in, both of them watching me like I’m a bomb that might go off.
“Don’t,” I say, sliding into the chair across from Macy.
“Don’t what?” Jess asks innocently.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you know something.”
“We don’t know anything,” Macy says. A smirk lifts her expression. “Yet.”
Jess slides a latte across the table. “But we’re hoping you’ll tell us.”
I wrap my hands around the mug. It’s warm. I glance at Jess’s cup. Herbal tea. Not her usual triple-shot cappuccino.
“Since when do you drink tea?” I ask.
“Since I’ve been trying to cut back on caffeine.” She says it too quickly. “My doctor said I should.”
“Your doctor.”
“Yep.” She takes a sip, not meeting my eyes. “Health stuff. Boring.”
It’s not boring. And Jess never cuts back on caffeine. She once told me caffeine was the only thing keeping her from committing crimes.
“You’re not going to commit murder, are you?” I laugh
“Are you asking for help?” Jess sips her tea. “Because I can think of at least one person the world could do without. Two, even.”
“Owen and Judith?” Macy asks.
“Owen and Judith,” Jess confirms. I laugh. Leave it to Jess to make death threats feel comforting.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say.
“Seriously though.” Jess sets her cup down. “You’re deflecting. Stop deflecting and tell us what happened last night.”
“My shop was destroyed,” I say. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“We’re not asking about the shop. We were there.” Jess leans forward. “We’re asking about what happened after we all went home. Stop stalling.”
Heat creeps up my neck.
I woke up in Mateo’s arms in his bed this morning. Our legs tangled together under the sheets, his heartbeat steady under my ear.
We’d kissed in his kitchen last night—desperate and wanting and years of restraint finally breaking. His hands in my hair. Mine against his chest, feeling his skin and warmth. Me against the wall, both of us breathing hard, both of us wanting.
And then he stopped it.
And then this morning, he made me coffee with honey already in it, dropped me at Crust & Crumble on his way to the shop with Dean, and kissed me goodbye like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Sadie.” Jess’s voice pulls me back. “You’re blushing.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You absolutely are,” Macy says. “Oh my god, something happened. What happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“Liar.”
I take a sip of my latte. Too hot. I don’t care. I will scald my throat to keep from revealing anything.
“Please tell me it was chapter fourteen,” Jess pleads.
“It wasn’t chapter fourteen. Not even close,” I admit. Then I sigh. “We kissed. That’s it. Are you happy?”
Macy squeals. Loudly. Half the café turns to look.
“Macy!” I hiss.
“Sorry, sorry.” She’s bouncing in her seat. “But oh my god, FINALLY. How was it? Where did it happen? Did you—“
“We didn’t sleep together,” I cut her off.
Jess raises an eyebrow. “But you slept together.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.” No. Maybe. Ugh. My face burns. “He stopped it. He said I wasn’t ready.”
“Were you?” Jess asks quietly.
I don’t have an answer for that. Maybe he was right, and I was trying to feel something other than the pain and fear and anger. Maybe he was right to stop.
But I really wanted it.
“He made me coffee this morning,” I say instead. “The way I like it.”
Macy melts. “That’s so sweet.”
“He’s been doing that for five years,” I mutter.
“Exactly,” Jess says, like that proves her point.
“Exactly what?” I ask.
Before she can answer, Carol Brennan approaches our table.
“Sadie,” she says. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
I brace myself. “Of course.”
“I’ve been telling everyone I know to buy your book. My family, my friends in Phoenix. Even my friends on the other side of the country.” She says it quickly, like she’s been rehearsing. “You need to keep fighting. Keep writing.”
My throat tightens. “Carol, I—“
“I’ll be at Tuesday’s town hall meeting. For support.” She touches my shoulder briefly. “Don’t be nervous. Just be prepared. Say what you need to say.”
“I don’t know if I can face—“
“You can. And not everyone on the council agrees with Judith. The mayor certainly doesn’t.” She squeezes my shoulder once. “She’s loud, but she doesn’t speak for all of us.”
Carol walks out of Crust & Crumble before I can respond.
“Well,” Jess says. “That’s something.”
“Mayor Benally isn’t on Judith’s side,” Macy says. “That’s huge, Sadie.”
Jess leans back in her chair. “See? Not everyone in this town is an asshole.”
“Just Judith and Owen,” Macy adds.
“Just Judith and Owen,” Jess agrees.
My phone buzzes on the table. I glance at the screen. Mateo.
Dean and I are finishing up at the shop. We’ll be there in ten minutes, tesoro. Want us to bring you anything?
I read it aloud without thinking.
Macy grins. “Tesoro. He always calls you that.”
“It’s just a nickname.”
“Is it though?” Jess leans forward. “Has he ever told you what it means?”
“It means treasure. He came up with it at that Halloween costume party my first year here. He thought it was amusing that I was dressed like a pirate’s booty or something.”
“Right, but do you know what it means?” Macy asks.
“I don’t understand. Treasure is treasure, isn’t it?”
They exchange a look.
“Don’t do that.” I point between them. “What’s that about? Why are you two looking at each other like that?”
“No reason,” Jess says.
“Jess.”
She shrugs. “We’re just saying that maybe you should ask him about it.”
“Ask him what? It’s a joke. I dressed up as pirate booty. He started calling me treasure.”
“But why does he still call you that?” Macy interrupts. “If it was just a Halloween joke?”
I open my mouth. Close it.
I... I don’t know.
“Okay, seriously, what am I missing?”
“It’s not a booty joke,” Mateo says quietly from behind me.
I turn.
He’s standing in the doorway with Dean, both of them covered in dust from the shop. He looks exhausted. And maybe a little... caught.
I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”
“Tesoro means ‘my treasure,’“ he says, his eyes holding mine. “In Spanish, it’s a term of endearment. Like ‘my darling’ or ‘my love.’” He pauses. “My treasure.”
The coffee shop goes silent. I think. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe my brain stopped processing for a moment and shut everything else out except him, because it’s been five years. He’s been calling me his treasure for five years.
“It never was just a joke,” he adds quietly.
Macy’s grinning. Jess watches me with knowing eyes. Dean’s pretending to be very interested in the menu board.
And Mateo is still looking at me like I’m the only person in the room.
“Oh,” I whisper.
His mouth quirks. Just barely. “Yeah. Oh.”
The memory of his mouth on mine invades my soul, and I’m tempted to grab his hand, drag him to his truck, and make him take me home so we can finish what we barely started last night.
“Sit,” Macy says, gesturing to the empty chairs. “You two look like you’re about to fall over.”
Mateo pulls out the chair next to me and drops into it. Dean takes the one beside him. Up close, they look worse. Dust in Mateo’s hair. Dirt smudged on Dean’s forearms. Both of them look exhausted.
Mateo’s arm comes around my shoulders. Automatic. Natural. Like he’s been doing it for years.
Maybe he has. Not the arm, specifically, but the care behind it. The coffee, the bookends, the showing up every time I needed him. That’s been there for years. I just wasn’t letting myself see it. I just wasn’t paying attention.
Or maybe I was paying attention to all the wrong things. Missing what was right in front of me this whole time.
In Wildfire Summer, Diego shows up every time Ivy needs him. He makes her coffee the way she likes it without asking. He defends her without hesitation. He’s been quietly, steadily loving her for years while she convinced herself they were just friends.
I wrote that two years ago, sitting in my apartment, missing something. Someone.
Oh.
My chest tightens, warm and full. It feels like coming home. I lean into him without thinking. His thumb brushes my shoulder.
“How bad is it?” I ask because I need to focus on something other than the fact that Mateo has been calling me his treasure for five years, and I thought it was an old Halloween joke.
Embarrassing.
Dean and Mateo exchange a look.
“It’s not good,” Dean says.
“The windows need to be custom-ordered,” Mateo adds. “The adobe wall needs professional restoration. The door frame is cracked. Someone tried to kick it in.”
“Okay, not great but… nope, not great.”
“It gets worse,” Dean admits.
My stomach drops.
“Worse how?” Jess asks.
“They spray-painted the inside walls. Knocked over and broke nearly all of the shelves. A lot of the books are damaged—spraypainted, pages torn, covers ripped.” Dean’s voice is careful. Gentle. “Many of them can’t be salvaged.”
The air leaves my lungs.
My books.
Not just my book. All the books. The ones I sold to customers. The ones I recommended. The ones I shelved with care.
“How many?” My voice sounds far away.
“Hard to say for sure,” Mateo says quietly. “But a lot, tesoro.”
The nickname hits different now. Softer. More meaningful.
“Insurance will cover it,” Dean adds quickly. “The inventory. The repairs. All of it.”
“That’s not the point.” I press my palms against my eyes. “Those were my books. It was my shop. I built that.”
Mateo hesitates, then continues. “And they got into your apartment.”
My heart stops. “What?”
“The door was kicked in.” His jaw clenches. “Spray paint on the walls. Your couch is slashed. And your bed. They went through your things.”
I can’t breathe. The room funnels in. Only the table in front of me exists.
My apartment. My home. They were in my home.
“I’m so sorry,” Mateo says.