Chapter 3 #2
It’s strange how quickly he’s become this central part of my life when just a few months ago, I didn’t know he existed.
Now, going more than a few hours without hearing from him feels wrong.
His messages are like little bursts of sunshine that warm up even the coldest winter day.
I love seeing the pictures of his worksites, the stories about his mom, the terrible jokes that make me laugh out loud on the subway.
I find myself wondering what he’s doing right now. Maybe just getting home from work, making his mom dinner—or watching her carefully while she makes dinner, since she’s determined to get up and do stuff for herself and keeps insisting she’s ready to move back to her own place.
I picture him in his flannel, his jeans, his work boots, his hair mussed from a day in the woods… and I feel the slow roll of want in my stomach that’s become almost familiar.
God, I’ve got it bad.
I’m so lost in thoughts of Carlos that when I see a figure sitting on the front stoop of my building, I almost think it’s a mirage. Almost.
But then I get closer and see that broad-shouldered silhouette, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his dark hair catching the streetlight, and I think there’s no way my imagination could’ve conjured this man in New York, sitting outside my building like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Carlos?” I demand.
He looks up and gives me the same boyish grin that made my heart race back in October. “Hey.”
“Oh!” I’m moving toward him, buoyant with joy and giddy with want, before I can think twice. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you. Surprise?” He stands and… god, he looks good. Better than good. His hair’s a little longer than it was back in October, and I’ve seen it in selfies, but it’s so much sexier in person. Everything about him is sexier in person.
I stop when I’m a foot away because I realize I was about to kiss him right there on the street, and I’m not sure how he’d feel about that.
“Is this okay?” he asks uncertainly when he sees I’ve stopped. “I guess I should’ve called first, but I just—”
“Of course it’s okay,” I say quickly. “I always want to see you!”
When the words are already out, I wish I could suck them back. I’m being too obvious. Too much.
But the smile he gives me is soft and warm, like I’ve said the exact right thing.
“Good, ’cause I’m here for the whole weekend. Well, until Sunday afternoon, really. I have to be back for work Monday morning.” He reaches out and brushes a piece of lint off my jacket, and just that casual touch lights a fire in me.
“Oh.” A smile breaks out on my face that I have no hope of containing. “But what about your mom? What about work?”
“Beckett gave me the day off, and Mamá… The woman wore me down.” He chuckles.
“She’s moving home, and Crystal’s staying with her for the weekend, just to make sure she’s okay.
Mamá agreed, but only because Crystal’s trying to plan Esme’s quinceanera, and Mamá wants to be involved.
” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.
“Uh. Not sure how much you know about quinceaneras, but fifteenth birthdays are kind of a big deal for us. Think… wedding-level big deal. They’re talking about renting a flower-covered princess carriage to take pictures with. ” He rolls his eyes.
“Really? That sounds amazing!”
His eyes light up. “I’ll tell you about it later, then. If you want.”
“Of course I do.” I link my arm through his and tug. “Now, come in before Mrs. Quan in 4B sees me with a hot guy and starts asking questions.”
“A hot guy, huh?” Carlos laughs as we climb the stairs. “How many hot guys has she seen you with?”
I’m not really listening to his teasing because we’ve arrived at the third floor, where my tiny apartment is. I stand there with my key in my hand, suddenly self-conscious about the place in a way I totally wasn’t when I was telling Jason about it.
Carlos has seen it in the background on video calls, I guess, and he’s heard me complain about being cramped, but you don’t really get an idea of just how tiny it is until you’re inside.
This is a guy who owns his own home. Who knows how to repair shit that’s broken and doesn’t have a giant strip of duct tape holding his fridge shelf up.
Who wouldn’t have given up in frustration the third time his landlord insisted the heat was working fine, despite the apartment being colder than the air outside.
I bite my lip nervously. “Carlos, I should probably tell you—”
His eyes widen, but then he nods like a bobblehead. “Right. Shit. That’s okay! I mean, of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be? I didn’t actually expect… I mean, I hoped… But fuck, it’s not like we talked about it or anything.”
I frown. “Well, we did talk about it. I know I’ve mentioned it. It’s just different now that you’re here, you know?”
Carlos huffs out a laugh and rubs at his neck some more. “Trust me, we definitely didn’t talk about it. But it’s cool. I mean, you live here, and I live in Winsome, so—”
“Well, yeah. I mean, I might have gone in a different direction if you lived in New York.” I bounce my keys from hand to hand. “And obviously, this is just a temporary situation.”
He narrows his eyes. “Temporary. Right. Meaning…?”
“Meaning, not permanent?” I shrug. “It’s month to month, so—”
Carlos wrinkles his nose. “Erick… what the fuck are you talking about?”
“My apartment. It’s tiny, but it’s just a sublet, so…” I tilt my head. “What are you talking about?”
“I asked you how many hot guys you brought up here!” His voice isn’t all that loud, but it rings through the little hallway and up and down the open stairs. He runs a hand through his long hair in frustration. “And you were all, ‘Carlos, I have something to tell you,’ and I—”
“Wait, wait, wait.” I set my hands on my hips and review our convo. “So you thought I was saying I have hot guys up here all the time? And you were all, ‘Yeah, no, that’s cool’?” I nod. “Oh. Right.”
Well, damn. I guess that defines our relationship, doesn’t it?
“No. I mean, yes, that’s what I said, but… fuck, what was I supposed to say? We hooked up once, and I don’t know how you feel about me and… We haven’t talked about this,” he repeats.
“Well, we’re talking about it now!” I blow out a breath, hoping Mrs. Quan’s enjoying the show. “I’m not seeing other people. You asked the other day how many lumberjacks I was texting, and I specifically told you—”
“Yeah, I know. But we were joking around. And I realized two minutes ago that it doesn’t mean shit since there aren’t a whole lot of lumberjacks in Manhattan, anyway. But there are a whole lot of other guys.”
“I don’t want any of them!” I shoot back. I hear myself and squeeze my eyes shut, feeling my face turn red. So much for not being too obvious.
Carlos takes a deep, audible breath. “Thank fuck,” he says softly.
My eyes fly open.
“I… I don’t want you to want any other guys.” He braces his feet and sets his hands on his hips too, like he’s ready to fight me on this.
“Yeah? And what about you?” I demand softly. “What about you and… and other people of any gender?”
He shrugs and spreads his hands helplessly. “I haven’t been with anyone since you. I haven’t wanted to be.”
“Then why the fuck are we fighting?” I lift my hands and let them fall against my thighs with a fwap.
Carlos takes a step toward me and cups my face in his hands. “Because apparently, I’m an insecure idiot, and I… I want you so fucking bad I can’t think.”
“Oh. That’s… a good answer.” I move in closer, feeling my shoulders drop as I inhale his woodsy cologne, and sigh.
“Still love when you say oh,” he says in a growl. “Like you’re surprised and pleased all at once.”
“Because I am. The only reason I’m not being a jealous idiot right now is because I haven’t let myself think about you with other people. I’ve been telling myself not to push you. To let you figure shit out.”
“Yeah, well… I think I’ve figured out some of it,” he says softly. He smooths his thumbs over my cheeks.
“Kiss him!” an elderly female voice calls from above. “Kiss him, Erick!”
Carlos’s muscled shoulders shake with his laughter. “Uh, Erick? You wanna let me inside your apartment now?”
I snort and hand him the keys. “Get in.” I take a step toward the stairs and shout up, “Have a good night, Mrs. Quan.”
Carlos unlocks my door and steps inside.
It really is a tiny place—a studio with a Murphy bed, a kitchenette that’s two burners and a half-broken mini-fridge, and just enough room for a table and two chairs…
though one of the chairs is stacked with Spanish textbooks and crafts I’ve prepped for next week.
The crown molding and windows are “pre-war” according to the landlord, but I realized too late that he didn’t specify which war, and these drafty fuckers probably date from the American Revolution.
But Carlos doesn’t seem to notice any of that. His eyes lock on the poster hanging above the table. “Ah, shit. You’ve got a Winsome tourism poster? I’ve never seen this on our video calls.”
He steps closer to examine it. It’s an illustration showing a forest of fall foliage. But in the foreground, instead of the usual baskets of shiny apples, there’s a barrel of pickles. And across the top in cheerful letters is spelled out the words, “It’s Always Brine and Dandy in Winsome, Vermont.”
“Griffin sent it to me last week,” I admit.
“I emailed him to apologize again for blowing up his life, and he, ah… he thanked me.” I shake my head, still not quite able to believe it.
“Said if I hadn’t taken a stand, he never would have ended up in Winsome with Beckett, and he never would have been so ‘disgustingly happy.’ His words. ”
“He really is,” Carlos says gently. “Both of them are.”
I nod and let go of the last vestiges of guilt for what I did with the Rise campaign. “The poster is something Griff’s working on at his new job. And I hung it there because it makes me think of…” I swallow. At this point, is there any sense in holding back? “It makes me think of you.”