Page 60 of Loco

Roque stepped forward and scooped Kairo up, one arm wrapped around him like he was something precious. “We’ll finish the rest later,” he said softly. “But hey—wanna help me make the pasta?”

Kairo perked up instantly and nodded, eyes wide with excitement. “Please!”

I smiled and turned to Kaida, who’d wandered in behind me, still dragging her stuffed bear. “Hey, Kaida, do you like cheese on your spaghetti?”

She gave a very solemn nod. “Cheese.”

“Would you like to help me get it ready?”

“Yah!” she said, bouncing once, which was basically a toddler fist pump.

We all ended up in the kitchen together—Kairo standing on a stool next to Roque, stirring with careful concentration under Roque’s watchful eye, and Kaida in my arms as I showed her how to sprinkle shredded cheese into a bowl. She got more on the counter than in the bowl, but that was part of the magic.

And somehow, the chaos felt normal. Natural.

I looked across the kitchen and caught Roque’s eyes. He smiled at me—soft and full of something unspoken. Then he mouthed,Thank you.

I smiled back, and this time, it reached all the way to my heart.

Gettingthe kids down had been a mission—spaghetti, cupcakes, a bath that somehow soaked half the bathroom floor, and a slow descent into yawns and storybooks. But eventually, the house quieted.

I was honestly impressed. Kaida, at eighteen months, was surprisingly neat for a toddler. My niece at that age had been in a full-body food war every time we fed her—hair, ears, socks, nothing was safe. But Kaida had ended up with just a little icing on her chin and that satisfied, sleepy look only kids could pull off.

I’d readThe Very Hungry Caterpillarto her while she curled up with a stuffed frog and jabbed her finger at the pages, babbling happily at every picture. Roque had been with Kairo down the hall, reading something about a monster truck with feelings. I didn’t ask.

Now we were on the couch, finally still, with the soft white noise of the baby monitor in the background and his fingers gently moving through my hair like it was second nature.

“You being here…” he murmured, “it makes it easier.”

I smiled and leaned in closer, just a little. “Glad I can help.”

He shifted, letting out a small breath. “Usually, I have to put them both in Kairo’s room and read two different books every night. One for each of them. Then I wait until Kaida’s asleep and carry her to bed.”

“That’s adorable,” I said, teasing gently.

He gave a tired chuckle, but it faded quickly. His hand paused in my hair, and I felt his mood shift before he spoke.

“Sayla, I need to ask you something.”

“Okay.” I sat up slightly to look at him.

“Be careful while you’re out. I don’t care if it’s the grocery store, work, or even getting gas—just be aware. And when you get home at night, I want you to call me. Let me hear your voice when you walk through the door.”

I blinked. “What’s going on?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “You remember your old neighbor, Ailee?”

How could I forget, she wasn’t the one with the sunhats and hydrangeas.

My answer was short. “Yes.”

“She was found in the woods, five miles from Coopers Supermarket. There were no signs of forced entry to her home, but the autopsy said she’d been sedated and strangled.”

My stomach twisted. “What?”

He nodded slowly. “And then your tire, it wasn’t random, Sayla. The way it was done was targeted, That’s why I’ve put trackers on your stuff, and why I’m asking you to use them.”

I didn’t answer right away. The independent part of me flared up. I’d spent much of my life being self-sufficient, moving my own furniture, and making my own rules. The idea of having someone track me—even someone I cared about—tugged at something stubborn in me.

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