—25— Wyatt
Wyatt
Not gonna lie, that man looks so good.
Diego on his porch.
Phone in hand.
Staring over at me through the window like I just grew a pink fuzzy rabbit out of the top of my head.
Probably trying to decide whether to answer my SOS.
Or leave me drowning.
I perfectly expect him to roll his eyes and walk away. Go back into his house. Flick me off. The way we ended things wasn’t that great. Maybe it’d provide me a kind of closure I need.
Like: Diego and I really aren’t a great match.
And when that house sells, he’ll become a memory, and I’ll be Mr. Bellamy’s favorite doormat for the rest of time.
If doormat is even a low enough word.
Diego leaves his porch.
Crosses the lawn.
His heavy feet coming up the steps one at a time.
I’ve opened the door before he reaches the top step.
He stops. “Why do you look so surprised?”
I open my mouth, choke, then manage, “I wasn’t sure if you’d answer or … or tell me to fuck off.”
“Why would I tell you—” He sighs. “You said SOS. What’s the emergency? You got a snake in your dandelions or something?”
“Worse.” I lower my voice. “My sister’s trying to fix my toilet.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Sister? You mean the one you let win at chess? The one who needs ‘wins’ in life?”
“That’s her rental by the curb. She came in a couple days ago. Just please, like, come in, need me for something, say something, interrupt whatever sorcery is happening in my bathroom …”
“What am I supposed to do about that?” He eyes me. “I got the impression the other night we ain’t anything to each other.”
“Diego …”
He looks away.
I can’t help the feeling he’s not as angry as he seems. Like he’s just teasing me. Waiting for me to apologize. To grovel.
Should I apologize?
Should I grovel?
“It ain’t sorcery,” comes Connie from out of fucking nowhere, right behind me, causing me to fall back against the door. “It’s called cleaning trapped sediment outta your ballcock.”
Then Connie and Diego look at each other.
Something happens on both of their faces.
“Wait a dang sec.” She squints at him. “You’re the guy I just ran into at church.”
Diego says nothing, just staring right back at her.
I turn to Connie. “You guys … met already?” I look at Diego. “I didn’t know you were at church.”
“Outside the church in the sweltering heat,” Connie says, “if we’re going for accuracy here. What’s he doing here? How do y’all know each other?” Her voice changes to something suggestive. “How do y’all know each other?”
I cringe. “Connie …”
“We’re not boyfriends, that’s for sure.”
I look at Diego, mouth open.
“Hang on.” Connie takes a step closer. “Diego? Is that what I heard a second ago? You’re the hot mechanic?”
Diego lifts his eyebrows, caught off-guard.
I lift my hands. “Let’s not do this in my front doorway, please. I did not realize you two have already—”
“What’s goin’ on between you and my brother that has him all weird since I showed up?” asks my sister, squinting in suspicion.
Diego eyes her. “Have you considered yourself as an option?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she fires back.
“You’re driving him nuts. Why do you think he called me?”
“Driving him nuts? I just fixed his toilet ‘cause it was fillin’ up slower than molasses. Are you mistreatin’ my brother?” She takes another step toward him. “I may not look like it, but I got my black belt at twenty-two—”
I step between them. “Guys, please.”
“I’m just asking your mechanic a question,” says Connie.
“You’re threatening him with karate.”
“It was taekwondo. Is your memory really that bad?”
“You just said black belt.”
“Both have black belts!”
Diego snorts and looks away.
Her eyes snap to him. “Got something to say?”
“Do I seem like someone who would mistreat your brother?”
“Do you really want me to answer that, Mr. Fish Tank?”
His face tightens. “Nice to know you meant what you said, Ms. Tell Me Your Secrets, I’m Like A Fire Pit—”
“That was before I knew you’re fuckin’ my brother.”
“Stop!” I come between them, a finger in either of their faces. Neither of them seem to appreciate said finger. “I’m … not gonna have either of you drawing a weapon on the other!”
Diego makes a face. “The hell kind of a weapon do you think I could possibly—You just saw me come over from my porch.”
“I got needle-nose pliers,” says Connie flatly, lifting the tool.
“NEW PLAN!” I shout, startling them both. I face Connie. “Put away the tools and change.” I face Diego. “We’re getting breakfast. Please join us. It’s on me. Actually on me this time. Crepes. Country Lovin’. The worst of the church crowd should be cleared by now.”
He frowns. “I already ate earlier.”
“Well, you’re eating again. And we’re gonna sit at a table like three civilized people …”
“Why?”
“Yeah, why?” says Connie.
My patience is shot. “Because you just cried about missing the crepes here, and you’re both important to me, and maybe I would just like a moment where no one’s threatening someone else with martial arts or pliers.”
“Wasn’t threatening him,” says Connie.
“Didn’t feel threatened,” Diego grunts back. The look Connie shoots him suggests she picked up on the insult in his voice.
I close my eyes, take a breath, and swipe my keys off a hook by the door.
I’m in the car with Connie in the front and Diego in the back.
I have Chase Holt playing on the radio at full blast. Connie’s got the visor down checking her makeup in the tiny mirror while Diego keeps trying to look at me through the rearview.
I’m in a land of delusions whistling along to the music like it’s my favorite tune, pretending I’ve got everything under control.
Guess I was wrong about the lunch rush. The place is packed when we arrive. No tables are available, so the three of us end up in the tiny waiting area, squeezed onto a creaky bench by a cactus that looks as prickly as I feel.
Diego on one side of me. Connie on the other.
None of us talking.
A server walks by with a plate of stacked steaming hot crepes, as chipper as they come. Connie watches him stroll along, her eyes surely yearning for those crepes to enter her mouth.
If it was just us here, she’d be launching into a story of every time she’d drop in here after choir practice.
(She did a zillion clubs and activities and sports back in school, even our own parents had trouble keeping track.) But the woman sitting next to me is full of ire and fire, and I suddenly don’t know how to talk to her.
Not to mention Diego, with whom I’m owed (or perhaps owe) a conversation about one or two things. But if there’s something I know, he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want to be. He answered my SOS. That says something, doesn’t it?
“Why do people keep lookin’ over here?” grunts Diego.
It isn’t the first question I thought he’d ask. “What?”
“I keep seeing people staring.”
I look out at the restaurant.
Six pairs of eyes flick away.
One of them lingers. A frequent customer of mine. She adjusts her glasses, gives me a wiggle of her fingers for a hello, then goes back to her coffee and conversation.
Then I remember last night. And where we live. “The town … sort of thinks we’re a thing now,” I explain with a wince.
Diego looks at me. “A thing?”
“It’s Connie’s fault for being nosy,” I quickly blurt, “and then announcing it to everyone at the party last night.”
“Nosy?” cuts in Connie with half a laugh. “Nosy about my own brother who suddenly keeps things from me?”
Diego huffs. “He has a right to his privacy, y’know.”
Her face goes cold. Then she tilts her head. “Y’know … I’m still tryin’ to figure somethin’ out …”
“Here we go,” grunts Diego, sitting back.
“You’re dating my brother. But went on to me at the church earlier about lettin’ people go and mowing over flowers … which I’m starting to gather was not a metaphor.”
“No shit,” he mumbles.
“Then,” she goes on, ignoring him, “after my brother calls you over, first damned thing I hear outta your mouth is that you two aren’t boyfriends. So which is it?” She looks at him across me. “Are you with my brother, or are you taking off on him?”
I sigh. “Connie …”
“Simple question,” she says, voice light. “I’m not armed with my pliers right now. Not gonna take him to the ground, either. I mean, I could, but I won’t.”
I rub my eyes fiercely.
Diego leans forward to get a good look at her. “I’m just stating facts. He and I aren’t boyfriends.” Then his eyes flick to me. “Your brother was fast to point that out the other night.”
I shoot him a wounded look. “That’s not what I meant.”
His face scrunches up. “The hell else could you’ve meant?”
“Wait,” interjects Connie, looking at me. “You’re the one who pushed him away?”
“I-I wasn’t—” I turn to her. “He was just trying to tell me how to run my business. Thinks I’m a doormat.”
“I never said ‘doormat’,” grunts Diego.
“You kinda are a doormat, though,” says Connie.
Now it’s her I’m shooting a wounded look at. “Hey!”
Then Diego comes back with: “I just think you’re too damned nice to people who don’t deserve it.”
“Oh, he’s doing that again?” asks Connie.
“This arrogant jerk-off who keeps going to his shop making all these stupid demands—”
“He’s my top-paying client!” I fire back. “And without him—”
“Uh, Mom and Dad had more than just one high-dollar client,” says Connie. “They wouldn’t hinge the success of their business on one. Don’t you still service the Strongs? McPhersons? Miss Cassie?”
“Of course! … Sometimes. Most of—I mean, it’s …” I’m looking anywhere but at her. “They have a lot of needs, and … I guess I—”
“You’re letting them use our competitors??” cries Connie. “If you say any of them are going to Brighthouse for their flowers …”
I cradle my head in my hands. “It’s … c-complicated.”
“Mom and Dad would never have let that happen! What’re you doing to the shop? Who’s this jerk-off guy?” she demands Diego to tell her. “What’s his deal?”
“He’s a jerk-off in a golf polo and shades,” answers Diego.
“Eww, I hate the jerk-off already.”
“Please stop using the word ‘jerk-off’ …” I cut in.
“And he expects Wyatt to take it up the ass and thank him.”