Page 108 of The Sweet Spot

“Come, meet my dad.” Luca’s eyes soften, and he reaches for me, pulling me back to his side. “Pai, this is Wren…minha enamorada.”

I bite my lip, feeling my cheeks go warm. Luca speaking Portuguese is always so sexy, but hearing that phrase,minha enamorada—grabs a hold of my heart. I’ve never heard him say it before, in EnglishorPortuguese, but I know what it means. Girlfriend.

“Ela é bonita,” murmurs Carlos, nodding. He grasps my hand, giving it a firm shake. “Hello, Wren. It is so nice to finally put a face to the name—this one talks about you like none other.”

I wasn’t expecting such a glowing review, but I try to take it in stride, nodding. “I’m so glad to meet you, too, sir. Luca speaks highly of you.”

“Oh, I doubt that!” He laughs abruptly, giving my hand a pat as he lets go. “I’m always busting his chops. And call me Carlos, eh? Only my employees call me sir.”

* **

“So, how should we do this?” Luca asks. We’re standing at the edge of the field, near the shuttle stop. “Do you want to drive up yourself or come with me?”

“You’re coming back to Santa Cruz tonight, right?”

“Not sure yet.” He smirks. “Depends on how much I drink.”

I’d assumed I’d just ride with Luca, leaving my car at his place or something, but suddenly that seems selfish in light of his family. He should be spending time with them today, especially the ones that came in from out of town. “Then I’ll drive. That way I can come home if I have to.”

Luca stares off at the parking lot, absently rubbing at his chin. He shaved his stubble for today’s event, giving him a much more clean-cut look than usual. Suddenly he focuses on me, the intensity in his eyes making my heart skip a beat. “You sure? There’s space for you up there if you want to stay.”

“Positive. Just message me the address so I can find it without you.”

Nodding, he reaches for his phone and quickly types out a message. My phone pings seconds later, lighting up with his text. “I feel bad, making you do this drive solo.”

“You’re not making me do anything,” I promise, leaving a kiss on his chin. The stubble is already on its way back, so it’s rougher than it looks. I shiver, thinking of what it’ll feel like on the inside of my thighs later.

He wraps his arms around me, kissing the top of my head. “I’ll miss you,” he says, so quietly I almost don’t hear it.

I smile against his chest, dissolving into his embrace. “It’ll just be a coupleof hours.”

“You look really pretty today, by the way.” His hand sweeps the hem of my dress. “Like a real summer girl. Like the first time I saw you.”

His sweet words, the nostalgia of what he says, tugs at my chest, put a lump in my throat. I wish I could stay here forever. I wishwecould.

Back at my car, I text Mom to let her know I’m heading up the coast and then stop for gas. As much as I’d prefer riding with Luca, I don’t mind the drive from Santa Cruz to the Bay. It’s beautiful, the way it winds up the mountain, the road hugged by towering oaks of every kind: blue oak and canyon live oak, scrub oak and coast oak.

Still, by the time I enter Contra Costa county, I’m starving, and I have to pee. There are plenty of gas stations en route, but I’m anxious to get to Walnut Creek, so I continue on. The driveway and road in front of Dom and Marissa’s house are packed, so I squeeze into a spot down the block.

Music blasts from inside the house. I knock loudly, but no one opens the door, so I let myself in. Marissa scurries by barefoot, balancing a tray of something—empanadas, maybe—as I come inside. “Wren, come baby! Were you ringing the doorbell? I couldn’t hear—come, come—I need your help!”

The house is full of people, most of whom I’ve never seen before. Leaving my bag in a corner of the living room, I sneak off to freshen up a little before joining the party.

Luca meets me in the hallway as I emerge from the bathroom. His hair is loose, and he’s in jeans and a button down that’s rolled up to his elbows. “There you are. Mãe said she saw you, but when I looked for you, you weregone.”

“Here I am,” I tease, letting him tug me into his arms. Judging by the goofy grin on his face, he’s started partying. “You’re cute like this.”

“Like what?”

“Drunk.”

Scoffing, he presses me against the wall and cages me between his arms. “I’m not drunk. Yet.”

I rise to my toes, pressing a kiss to his liquor-soaked mouth, and he deepens it with a soft groan, swirling his tongue into my mouth.

“Come have a shot of cachaças,” he murmurs, biting the edge of my lip.

“What’s—”

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