Chapter 25 Luisa #2
“What I mean is that I don’t really date, or hook up, or whatever.
” At the admission, a flush creeps over his cheeks.
“I’m responsible for my younger sister, Pearl,” he says, surveying my expression for a response.
“I’m her legal guardian. So when I’m not working to keep us afloat, I’m essentially her parent, which doesn’t leave much time for anything else—or anyone else. ”
He runs one hand over his wet hair. I glance down to his chest, over his heart, where two little birds are frozen mid-flight. I venture one fingertip over the ink. “Are these meant to be you and your sister?”
He nods, reaching for my hand over his chest, then interlacing my fingers with his. My heartbeat speeds up at the touch.
“How old is she now?” I ask, trying to absorb the details of his reality, process the weight of his responsibility.
“She’s almost eighteen,” he says, squeezing my hand under water.
“She’ll be heading to college in the fall.
” He smiles proudly, like a father would, and I see in the corners of his eyes that this has been a hard-earned accomplishment.
I don’t know the whole story yet, but I can sense how much he’s had to struggle just to get by, to ensure a good future for his sister.
My chest swells with affection and tenderness, and also curiosity.
I want to be the person he trusts with his secrets, I realize. I want to earn that place in his life.
“So what are you saying exactly?” I ask, leaning into a more playful energy, finally relaxing into the sunlight and wild landscape around us. “I shouldn’t expect you to take me out on a real date?”
Eli grins, his whole body slackening as he pulls me into him with both hands. My legs wrap tightly around his waist. I throw my arms around his bare shoulders, skin warm from the sun. “What are you doing tonight?” he asks.
Our first official date winds up at the White Windmill Bakery & Cafe.
My sun-kissed skin glows from our time at the lake, and I’m giddy with sugar and pure joy.
Eli asked his sister to help him plan the ideal “foodie night out,” a tall order considering I once reviewed restaurants for The Georgia Times.
They drew up a list of five Buford Highway “hidden gems” and dishes to taste at each stop, all part of a global culinary extravaganza that, so far, rates as the best date night of my entire life.
We savored Thai street food at Tum Pok Pok, revolving sushi and sake at E-Gyu, pork dumplings at Northern China Eatery, a taco tasting at La Guelaguetza, and now, dessert at what happens to be my all-time favorite French Korean bakery and cafe.
I’m glad I listened to Holly and took a risk. I guess she was right after all—this feels like such a sweet reward.
“I’m not gonna lie,” I say, bubbling with laughter, “watching you attempt to order a taco de cabeza from that very confused abuelita at Plaza Fiesta was probably the highlight of my year.” I gasp for air, remembering how she kept pushing a platter with a whole roasted pig’s head in his direction, and the hysterical bewildered expression on his face.
“Thanks for the help,” he says, laughing over the table. We’re seated across from each other at one of the cafe’s small tables for two. “I didn’t want to be disrespectful, but there’s no way I was having dead pig eyes staring at us on a first date. There’s no coming back from that.”
I clutch at my stomach. “Stop it,” I cry out, unable to stop laughing. “I’m so full, it hurts.” Still, I can’t help but take another bite of the decadent berry Chantilly cake we’re sharing. “The whole thing reminded me of the lechoneras in Puerto Rico. Entire pigs roasting on a spit.”
“You go back often?” he asks, setting down his fork, then cleaning the sides of his mouth with a napkin.
“It’s complicated.” I fidget in my chair, leaning on my elbows, picking at the whipped cream with my fork.
“When I’m there, I don’t have to constantly explain myself.
I have this sense of ease that I can’t seem to access anywhere else.
” I sit up straight, abandoning my fork.
“But other times people treat me like an outsider because I’ve lived in the States for so long.
” Beside us, a couple of kids set up a chess board, readying themselves to play.
I take a sip of my honey tea. “At the same time, Atlanta also feels like home, even if people treat me like an outsider here, too.” I fold both hands around the cup of hot tea, comforted by the warmth.
“I’m one of those people who lives in the in-between, I guess. ”
“I get that,” Eli says reassuringly. “Summers in Westlake with Mamaw were the only times it felt like we had a home, but they also meant missing my mom.” His gaze cuts to the parking lot, busy even though it’s past ten at night.
I’m so grateful he seems to have finally dropped his defenses. And maybe it’s because I’ve dropped mine, too. Is this what it takes to fully trust someone?
“My mom was a wreck. But she kept our family together somehow.” He stabs a piece of strawberry but doesn’t eat it. “And then she got real sick. Died when I was twelve. And that’s when the guardrails came off.” I reach for him under the table, resting my hand on his knee.
He cups my fingers in his, before his gaze cuts behind me, his forehead crumpling into a frown.
A warm hand slides over my shoulder and gives it a squeeze.
Startled, I whip my head around to find Augusto, sharply dressed in his detective uniform—dark suit, light shirt, sensible tie, gun holster and badge.
“What are you doing here?” I stand to give him a hug. “I thought you were off today—” I mock glare at him. “Otherwise, I would’ve stayed far away from your favorite coffeehouse.”
“Got the night shift all month.” He gestures toward his partner, who is placing an order at the counter. “It’s so much easier to solve a murder when you’re properly caffeinated.” Then, leaning into my ear, he asks, “Is this the hairy one?”
I punch his arm, and he pretends to whimper.
I’m debating how exactly to introduce Eli, when he saves me the trouble. Eli stands, one palm outstretched, inviting Augusto to shake his hand. There’s a row of tiny beads of sweat over his brow that I swear wasn’t there a few minutes ago.
“This is my brother-in-law, Augusto,” I say. “He’s a detective.”
“Eli,” he says, pumping Augusto’s hand, offering a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Something is off in Eli’s demeanor, but I have no idea what. Tension has creeped over his shoulders, and I can sense he’s making an effort to appear cheerful.
“You two on a date?” Augusto asks, aiming his shrewd cop eyes in Eli’s direction. I put up a hand to stop Eli from answering.
“Don’t say a word,” I demand. “Because my dear Augusto can’t keep anything from my sister, Carola. And my sister, Carola, can’t keep anything from our mother.” I jab at Augusto with one fingernail. “So you’re not getting anything from us.”
Augusto laughs, dropping a meaty hand on Eli’s shoulder. Eli flinches in response.
“This woman can more than handle herself,” Augusto remarks.
“So grateful to have a man to speak for me.” I roll my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest.
“But if anyone ever dares fuck with her”—Augusto grins, increasing the pressure on Eli’s shoulder—“they’re fucking with me, too.”
“You done?” I ask Augusto, jutting my hip at this absurd display of misplaced valor. “Can we please go back to our date now?”
“So, it is a date,” Augusto exclaims, rubbing his hands impishly. I answer with a silent Are you kidding me? “It’s always nice to be handed a voluntary confession.” He winks, pulling me into a side hug and kissing the side of my forehead.
“You can go now,” I say, sliding one arm around his waist and hugging him back.
He glances down at a cellophane bag of cookies on the table and cheekily says, “I’m confiscating these.” He turns to leave, and just when I think we’re finally rid of him, he points one finger at Eli, and says, “She’s a keeper.”
I groan, but then Eli’s eyes land on mine, and his warm, husky voice murmurs, “That’s what I’m hoping for.” And that’s when I melt into a puddle, right here at the White Windmill.
For what feels like an eternity, I’m at a loss for words. All I can do is hold Eli’s gaze and bite my lower lip, trying to calm my racing heart. I’m also trying to make sense of Eli’s odd reaction to Augusto.
“Did Augusto say something to upset you?” I ask gently.
“God, no,” he’s quick to respond. “I’m sorry if I was awkward.” He shakes his head with a sigh, then takes a long drink of water, his Adam’s apple bobbing hard with every gulp. “I have a… complicated relationship with cops.”
“What happened, Eli?” I ask, resting my palm over his forearm.
He sets down the glass of water, releasing a low, painful exhale.
“After my mom died, my dad just…” He shrugs, as if struggling to find the right words.
“Drove us off a cliff, in a sense. He started running scams. Pretending my sister and I had cancer or needed an operation.” I wince, already hating his father.
What kind of man uses his kids like that?
I move my palm to hold his hand, reminding him that I’m on his side.
“Pearl has always been a good kid.” He brings his free hand to his face, rubs at his chin with his fingers.
“I didn’t want her getting in trouble. So I volunteered to take the brunt of it. ”
“Fuck,” I whisper, resisting the urge to pull him closer to me, fold him into a hug.
“High school was a shit show.” His hand trails his neck, scratching at the back of his head.
“We moved all over. We’d be at a big-box store—Walmart, Target, Kmart—and I’d pretend to slip on one of those waxy papers they put inside shoeboxes.
” He motions a sliding gesture over the table, landing with the butt of his palm.
“Then he’d threaten the managers with a lawsuit.
A few weeks later, we’d get a check in the mail from some insurance company. ”
“So after he scammed the stores in one area, you had to move on,” I say in understanding, remembering his words from our day on the connector, his despondent expression as he said: You can only run so many hustles in one place before you have to skip town.
He nods in confirmation.
“I’m so sorry, Eli.”
He leans back, clearly needing some space.
His hair falls over his forehead in a way that gives me a glimpse of the teenage boy he used to be, scared and alone, but also resourceful and resilient.
I feel a sudden visceral urge to protect us both from the world and all the shitty people in it, including our own parents.
“I got caught a few times,” he admits. “The store manager would always call some cop, or detective, or a child services officer to come deal with me.” He stares toward the door, where Augusto just walked out minutes ago. “My dad would always blame everything on me.”
“And they always believed him?” I add, more a statement than a question.
“Of the two of us, he definitely is the more talented con man.” Eli tries to give the words a sarcastic edge, but the truth behind them is too sad to be funny.
“Where is he now?” I ask, hoping his dad has disappeared for good.
“We hadn’t seen him in years, but back in March,” he says, the line of his jaw hardening, “he showed up, spewing some bullshit about making amends.” His eyes cloud over, their expression turning angry and resentful.
“I wasn’t home, and Pearl let him in. He stole a checkbook, left straight for the bank. Cleaned out Pearl’s college fund.”
“What?” I ask in disbelief, leaning forward in my chair. “How could he do that?” Immediately, it dawns on me. “You have the same name.” I think back to that first meeting at the Happy Hooker, how prickly he became when I called him by his father’s name.
“I was about to lose my fucking mind.” He shakes his head, pulling at his hair, one leg wrestling under the table. “Pearl had been working her ass off to get into art school in Savannah. We’d been saving for years. And in an instant, it was all gone. Every last penny.”
We sit back in our chairs, Eli looking exhausted from all the awful memories.
“Is that why you were running hustles at Ginny’s?” I ask, knowing the answer.
He nods, his eyes cutting away uncomfortably, shame coloring his cheeks. He avoided his father’s fraudulent way of life for so long, and now his own father’s actions made it his only option.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” he tells me earnestly. “We pieced together some scholarships, but they wouldn’t cover everything. Student enrollment and housing fees were due.” He looks away, past the window to the highway. “I was desperate.”
“Did Pearl know?” I watch him sink into the chair, getting smaller under the weight of it all.
“No,” he says tightly. “And I’d like to keep it that way.” He meets my gaze expectantly. I nod. “You and Holly walking through the doors of the Happy Hooker”—he scoffs—“it was like a fucking miracle. I never thought it possible.”
I think back to the sapphire bracelet and that awful trip to the pawnshop, how sick I felt selling that piece of jewelry to pay off someone I believed to be an unscrupulous scammer.
How wrong I was. Little did I know that my crime just might fix one man’s life, and save a young woman’s future, in some crazy karmic justice payback that I never could have imagined.
And maybe, just maybe, meeting Eli was—for me—a lucky twist of karma, too.