Chapter 16
Simón crosses his arms over the table separating us, leaning forward. “Start over.”
I frown, looking at his elbows resting on the sticky wood.
The smell of sizzling meat and French fries is so overpowering that I can taste the salt on my lips.
I should have brought him somewhere nicer.
Or at least somewhere we could hear ourselves think.
Tayo’s Grill is noisy this time of day, with booming music and the clinks and clanks of cutlery against plates.
“Where did I lose you?” I ask, raising my voice over the music. What’s so hard to understand? All he has to do is tell me what to do so Alejandro realizes he loves me and does want to marry me before he uproots his entire life and moves six hours away.
Narrowing his eyes, Simón tilts his head to one side and furrows his nose. “The part where you said I can somehow help you get back together with your ex?”
“He’s not my ex,” I correct. “We’re on a break.”
“So, you’re broken up,” he says, like it’s two plus two.
“No.”
“There is no such thing as a break,” Simón adds.
“Yes, there is,” I push back. “I’m in one right now.”
Simón sighs, sitting up. He parts his lips to say something but stops when he notices our waitress approaching with steaming plates of burgers dripping cheese.
I’m having a regular bacon cheeseburger.
Simón ordered a burger with onions sautéed in rum, and brie instead of cheddar cheese.
The waitress places a beer in front of Simón and a Pepsi in front of me, followed by our respective meals.
She smiles at Simón, ignoring me altogether. “Can I get you anything else?”
I dip one of my fries in cheese and pop it into my mouth, savoring the smooth melted cheddar blended with the salty, crunchy potato. This is what I live for.
“We’re good for now, thank you,” he says, looking at me for confirmation. I nod.
“A la orden,” the girl says, batting her eyelashes at him before she leaves.
Simón shoots me a quick eyebrow raise, followed by a contented sigh as he takes a sip of his beer.
“Do you think she knows who you are?” I ask, watching the girl make a beeline back to the counter.
Simón twists on his chair with a small frown, following my gaze. “No. People don’t usually recognize us unless we’re all together.”
His eyes have a glint of mischief when he turns back to me. My face heats at the reminder of our second meeting and what I said. I decide to ignore his jab for both our sakes.
“Does it happen a lot?” I ask. Simón lifts both eyebrows in question. “Getting recognized when you’re together?”
He shrugs, picking up his burger. “It happens enough.”
Gotta love the humility. Caballo de Troya is an underappreciated gem of a band in the age of reguetón. Soon enough every Spanish-speaking woman under thirty will be falling at their feet. The growth hasn’t been fast, but it’s been steady. And it’s been a real joy to watch.
“Alejandro recognized you,” I offer.
“Maybe he’s a bigger fan than most,” he says.
“And do you think you could help me get back together with your biggest fan?” I venture.
Simón’s playfulness melts. “Maria Antonieta—”
My chin dips to my chest as I cast my eyes down to my half-eaten burger.
It was a long shot. Not to mention unprofessional.
I’m here to make his life easier, not the other way around.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself as I gather my thoughts.
I can feel the weight of his attention on me, heavy and warm, and it sends a shiver down my spine.
“I’m sorry.” I lift my gaze back to his. “That was out of line. Forget I said anything.”
“Hey, it’s okay.” Simón’s expression softens even more, and he reaches out to touch my arm lightly. “I understand wanting to hold on to something good, I do. I’m making a career out of that philosophy—”
I huff. “No kidding. I got a four-year-long relationship because the nerd from med school told me ‘Una Vez Más’ reminded him of me.”
Simón leans back against his chair with a smirk, tilting his head to the side. “ ‘Una Vez Más’? You might be crazy, you might break my heart, but I’ll never know if I don’t see you one more time? That one?” I nod. “And you liked it?”
“Is there something wrong with that?” I ask.
Simón shakes his head. “This whole situation seems very complicated. I don’t think I should get involved.”
“You got involved when you edited my list,” I remind him.
“Well, your list was never going to work.” He pops a fry into his mouth.
“You don’t know that.”
He swallows, then tsks. “I do. I was doing you a favor. It didn’t mean I’d coach you through the process.”
“No, yeah, I got that,” I say, before taking a huge bite of my burger.
He won’t help me, but I was silly enough to ask. I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t go straight to Mileidy and request a whole new assistant. In fact, I should beat him to it and quit.
Silence stretches between us, heavy and awkward. Yup. I’m quitting and I’m moving cities until the show wraps, somewhere I’ll never run into him. Maybe that’s why Alejandro is moving. He thinks there’ll be less chance of us seeing each other if we don’t live thirty minutes apart.
Ten seconds later, while I’m still chewing, Simón fixes his eyes on me with a sigh as he runs a hand down his face. I think I also hear him groan. “Hypothetically—”
I perk up.
“Hypothetically,” he repeats, reading the hope that has surely entered my eyes. “If I were to help you, what’s in it for me?”
Oh. I hadn’t thought this far ahead. It’s a valid request. I can’t offer him anything in particular, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have anything to give.
“I could offer you the chance to contribute to something meaningful,” I begin slowly, choosing my words carefully, “to someone’s life.
To my life. You’d be helping someone who needs it and maybe even making a difference in their future.
” I pause for effect before continuing in an almost breathless manner as the passion of my message begins to take hold of me.
“You’d be offering me your friendship and support during a difficult time in my life and showing me that there are still people out there who care about others more than themselves. ”
My voice softens as I look deep into his eyes, hoping that he’ll understand what I’m—
“So, nothing,” Simón concludes.
Okay, fine. I know enough about Caballo de Troya to come up with something, even if it’s something I’m not sure I can give.
The band started five years ago playing in bars all over Colombia.
They’re talented, which has caught the eye of major artists.
Simón and his bandmate Fernando have written for other people, the band has collaborated with renowned artists.
That said, I still talk about Caballo de Troya with friends and their go-to reply is, “Who’s that? ”
I plunge in headfirst. “You’re doing Talento V for exposure, right? For the band?”
Simón’s eyes automatically narrow with suspicion. The man wears his thoughts on his face like sunblock. “Maybe.”
Definitely, I think. The band is relatively new. Most bands would have crashed and burned by now. But not my favorite Colombian foursome. That means they’re working hard to stay in the industry. Everything they do must be for exposure.
“Well, if I succeed in getting back together with Alejandro, I’ll be getting a promotion at my old job—”
Simón perks up. “Ellas magazine?”
I frown. “How do you know I worked at Ellas?”
Simón purses his lips, averting his eyes.
That small moment in my car, a little over a week ago, comes back to my mind with a clash.
You actually like our music? That’s what he asked.
Actually. Because he knows I used it all the time for Ellas’ Instagram stories.
He does know me from the magazine. And if he knows me from the magazine, he probably saw the video.
“How? Why?” I stumble on my own words. How is it possible that I keep embarrassing myself in front of him?
Simón shrugs. “It’s a great source of inspiration. Especially your column.”
Inspiration. “For…?”
“Songs,” he completes.
“Oh my god.”
I don’t realize I’m laughing until he joins me. I’m half sure it’s my anxiety, while he’s perpetually amused by my embarrassing myself in front of him.
“So you get inspiration by making up stories about random strangers and by reading my column,” I say, just to be sure.
Simón grins, his eyes flashing with undiluted joy.
“I guess you could say we’re both fans of each other’s work,” I conclude.
“Yeah, you could say that.” He chuckles with a firm shake of his head. “I didn’t realize that was you until you said it in the car. You’re a good writer, you know.”
I feel my cheeks warm in surprise, painfully aware that a blush is tinting my skin a soft pink. Simón’s compliment is unexpected, and it sends a wave of pleasure through me that I didn’t even know I was craving.
“Thank you,” I say, feeling a little embarrassed and unsure of what to do with the sudden attention. “That means a lot.”
Simón’s gaze locks on to mine, and for the briefest moment I’m sure he can see all the way into my soul. His eyes sparkle with understanding and admiration.
“Uh, bueno.” I look away, clearing my throat.
“If you help me and I succeed, I will get promoted to the Arts and Culture Department. I’ll be able to write reviews and profiles, among other things.
A profile on an up-and-coming hot band is not unheard-of for Ellas.
I’m sure everyone will be on board. You know how big the magazine is across Latin America.
Our target audience is women, which, let’s be honest, is also your target audience.
” Simón chuckles at this. “Help me. And once I get my job back, I will write Caballo de Troya a profile so good you’ll need to add extra dates to your next tour.
” Which I happen to know begins at the end of the year because I was already planning to “visit my mother” the same week they’re playing in Miami.
“Would you really do that for us?” Simón asks, his voice soft.
“Of course!” I mean, Eugenia would have to green-light it, but yes. “I’ll get you on the cover. I’ll even get you your own photo shoot, none of that using old pictures you can find on Google.” Simón watches me through narrowed yet hopeful eyes. “You want exposure? I’ll give you exposure.”
Simón sighs, long and low, dropping his chin to his chest. “What does coaching you look like to you?”
I grin. I think I just won. “Well, your list is kind of vague, but effective. What I need is for you to help me find ways to carry it out. How do I have a blast without him? Or how can I be myself if he’s not around to see it?
” Simón seems unconvinced, watching me through narrow eyes, though not unkindly.
His deep brown eyes are soft, almost sad.
I shift in my seat. The feeling of being under scrutiny makes me uneasy. “What?”
He shakes his head. “Nada. I’ll help you.”
I fight the urge to clap and dance right here on this chair. “Yay!”
“But don’t blame me if you change your mind about the whole thing halfway through,” he adds. “You’ll still owe me a profile.”
I shake my head, offering him my hand. “I won’t.”
He accepts my hand and squeezes once before releasing it. “Do you want dessert?”
I start to shake my head. “I don’t think I should—”
He pushes to his feet with a sigh. “You want dessert. I’ll be right back.”
“A brownie sundae, please!” I call after him.
Simón gives me a thumbs-up behind his back.
I watch him as he strides out of sight, a gentle draft ruffling the top of his hair.
His steps are sure, so confident in his decisions.
This is someone who knows what he wants, where he is, what he’s doing.
Bringing him in is the right call. On the table, next to my empty plate, my phone vibrates.
My heart picks up immediately, anticipating Alejandro. It deflates just as quickly.
Eugenia: How is my article coming together? You said you’d send something this week and I haven’t received a single paragraph yet.
I read the text twice before I reply.
Yo: The article is going great! I’m making a lot of progress, actually.
For once, it’s not a lie.
Eugenia: I’m tired of waiting. Let’s meet at my house. Ask Blanca for my schedule.
My bouncing knee hits the table. Being invited to Eugenia’s is a rare occurrence. In five years, she’s never asked me to meet her at her house. Meetings were either in her office or speed walking through the halls, sometimes during an accidental ride in the elevator together.
The warm, gooey goodness of the fresh-out-of-the-oven brownie fills our table with its chocolatey aroma when Simón returns.
A generous scoop of creamy vanilla ice cream melts slowly on top, dripping off the sides in an indulgent display.
Simón smiles down at me, carrying another plate, twin to mine in appearance and content.
Eugenia will love this. A romantic Colombian singer-songwriter helping her love guru columnist get her boyfriend back? How can she not?
Who knows, I might even have fun.