Chapter Fifteen
The smell of the woodsmoke and the sounds of the fire crackling fill the air.
The entire bridal party sits on various large wood logs and camping chairs, chatting and laughing, their voices echoing through the quiet forest. Despite the chill in the air, the fire keeps us warm.
That, and the fact that Valentina’s thigh and shoulder are pressed tight against me.
I can’t help but steal glances at her. She looks beautiful in the firelight, her hair shining like gold and her eyes sparkling with happiness.
I wonder if she’s replaying the kiss in her head a thousand times a second or if it’s just me.
Next to me are Luciano and Sofia. They lean close to each other as if they’re telling secrets no one else can know. I hear her giggle softly.
“I really did decide to stop my big plan, by the way,” Valentina whispers low enough for just me to hear.
“Oh you did, huh? Why’s that?”
“Well, I realize I was doing it for the wrong reasons. Holding on to something that was never really mine.” She looks over at Sofia and Luciano for a moment.
“Luc is obviously perfect for her. He’s a nice guy and I had to actively try to make him a bad person for it to work.
It was just doomed from the beginning. Plus—”
“Yeah?”
I look up at her, her eyes shimmering in the fire.
“I learned that there is someone else that could see the love I could give.” She grins.
I smile. “Well, I’m glad.”
I hold a long, thin branch in my hand. On the end is a jumbo marshmallow, waiting to be roasted into oblivion.
I submerge it in the fire until it completely lights up in flames.
I watch it for a moment, allowing the outer layer of the marshmallow to char.
Finally, with one big breath, I blow it out.
Valentina laughs. “That’s burnt.”
“It’s how I like it! Watch.”
With my fingers, I pull the charred marshmallow layer off, exposing a gooey center. I put the whole shell into my mouth.
“That cannot be good for you,” she says, watching in awe and slight concern.
“I mean, probably not. But it’s delicious. I usually do it a couple more times before I eat the rest. You should try it.” I smile, grabbing a marshmallow and handing it to her.
“You’re supposed to roast it lightly and melt the inside so you can make s’mores, Valdes.” She rolls her eyes.
She grabs another marshmallow and puts it on the end of my stick, then directs it toward the flames. Placing her hand on mine, she twists it slowly, making sure not to light it on fire as I did.
“This is taking forever,” I groan.
She chuckles. “Patience, babe.”
Excitement bubbles in my stomach at the sound of the word “babe” coming out of Valentina’s mouth and being directed at me. I try to play it cool, but I can’t stop smiling like an idiot. I look across from me for a mere moment, and the feeling immediately washes away.
Silvana looks across the campfire with a deadpan stare at both of us. The flames dances around her, making it look like she’s on fire. Or some sort of fire demon who has come to punish us for flirting around her.
“Your girlfriend is getting jealous,” I whisper.
“Huh?” Valentina looks at me, confused.
I purse my lips and use them to point in Silvana’s direction. Valentina looks over at her and shakes her head.
“She’s ridiculous,” Valentina mutters. “I wish she’d take the hint and move on.”
“Hmm, I wonder if Sofia has ever thought the same thing about you,” I tease.
“Fair point. I’m going to use the restroom—don’t burn the camp down while I’m gone.”
Moments after Valentina walks away, Silvana stands up and heads in her direction.
I try not to be bothered by it. Valentina has made it pretty clear she’s not interested in her.
Right? Unless she is just a flirt and is willing to mess around with Silvana for the sake of the thrill. My palms feel sweaty.
“Did you have fun today?”
I turn to my left to see Luciano staring at me, waiting for a reply.
“Yes. Sorry, I was lost in thought for a second there.” I laugh. “It’s been amazing. Thank you so much for having me. It’s been an honor.”
“We wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re family, Isa. Sofia was really excited to have you come. I wondered why. I was curious what about you could be so special. Then she told me about your restaurant, and I became even more intrigued.”
“Wow, that means a lot, Luc,” I say.
“So tell me. What makes you and your restaurant special?”
I clear my throat and sit up straight. Now is finally my time to shine.
I’ve been silently rehearsing to myself how I would win him over.
Do I just cry and beg for the money? Do I tell him how much debt I’m in or wait until he agrees to work with me?
Do I pretend everything is great? I’ve been torn all week about it, but this is it. I have to decide. I take a deep breath.
“Well, it was originally my father’s restaurant.
He’s had it since I can remember. I distinctly remember running around the store as a toddler, giggling as he chased me because I stole a croquette.
It was his croquettes, actually, that first made me realize how special La Mariposa could be.
They weren’t just snacks—they were magic.
Customers would come in just for those. Some still do. ”
The warm fire casts a glow on Luciano’s face as he listens to my story.
“As I got older, I started being way more useful,” I say, laughing.
“I could take customers’ orders, help him bake pastries, and make all kinds of sandwiches.
But it was the recipes that really fascinated me.
My dad always said they were the heart of La Mariposa.
The croquettes, the ropa vieja, the flan—everything was made with so much care.
He’d stay up late tweaking the spices for the arroz con pollo, insisting it had to be just right because it was my abuelita’s recipe.
It became my haven. We were a team. I even remember sponge-painting the wall with him despite my best efforts to convince him it was ugly.
Of course, my mother hates it, but now it makes me smile. ”
“I bet it’s a fond memory you have with him every time you look at it,” he says.
“It is,” I say as I stick another marshmallow at the end of my branch.
“Then he got sick, and I had to take on even more responsibilities. It became super stressful for me when I left for college. I didn’t want to leave him behind.
He urged me to get an education and then come back.
He promised me he’d be here when I did. Then I got the call while I was in my dorm. ”
I can feel the tears filling my eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Isa,” Luciano says softly.
“It was really tough. I had to drop out of college and continue running the restaurant. I refused to let it fall. It would be like I let him fall too.”
“And your mother? Did she help out a lot too?”
I snort. “No. She hated being in there. She spent most of her time shopping or having lunch with her friends. But, of course, she’d always boast about the restaurant and what an achievement it was for her that she owned one.”
“It seems like the restaurant means a lot to you.”
I blow out the marshmallow I, once again, have lit on fire.
“It’s everything to me. I wake up thinking about it and go to sleep thinking about it.
I don’t do anything else but work, really.
I think about my father’s recipes—how I can modernize them without losing their soul.
I think about new recipes to add, new ways to market the business, and new decorations to add.
La Mariposa is the last thing I have of my father.
If I lose it, I don’t know what I’d do. I’d be lost—a part of me would be lost. Gone.
The only part that keeps me going these days. ”
“Well, it’s a good thing you’re doing so well then, right?”
“Right.” I laugh nervously. “Of course. That’s why we’re expanding. To bring more people to La Mariposa so they can enjoy my father’s delicious foods. His recipes are what makes it special, and I want to share that with the world.”
The moment the words come out of my mouth, I regret them. I should have come forward with the truth. Now he’ll never invest. It already feels like a lost cause. What do I expect him to do when he finds out we actually can’t afford to expand?
“If I’m being honest, we struggled a lot,” I say, lowering my voice to an almost whisper.
“My family didn’t grow up as Sofia did. We were really poor.
I was lucky if we had something to eat other than rice and beans for dinner every night.
We never went out to eat. I never got new clothes—only thrifted and on clearance.
I don’t…fit in here. And I can tell. I’m sure everyone else can tell too. ”
Luciano stays quiet for a moment, biting into the s’more he smushed together with a piping-hot marshmallow. I watch as he chews, enjoying the combination of flavors that make s’mores so great.
“Can I be honest with you too?” he finally asks.
I nod.
“You know I’m adopted—I’m sure everyone here knows. It’s pretty obvious. My parents are white. I’m a really, really tan Hispanic man.” He laughs, then reaches for another marshmallow.
“Well, my parents didn’t adopt me until I was about sixteen years old.
So before that, I was in and out of the foster system since I was a toddler.
The older I got, the harder it seemed to get adopted.
I know what it’s like to grow up with nothing—not even having a bed to call your own.
Sharing a home with ten other kids you don’t know, all going through something serious and personal.
I owned the same pair of pants until they turned into capris.
As I got older, I became more and more bitter.
Then, I started going down a bad route.”
He pauses momentarily, almost as if the memory itself is too hard to remember.