Page 64 of Strelitzias in Spring

Her eyes shift from her plastic container to my eyes, then to my lips, until finally settling on a point over my shoulder.

“On second thought, I can pack this up and call an Uber now.”

“You can,” I agree, taking another bite of my food. I chew slowly, considering my next words. “Or you can eat it while it’s still hot.”

She nods, looking back down at her food. “Don’t tell my mother, but this might be better than my abuela’s.”

“Will that get you kicked out of the Castillo household?” I tease.

“I think I’m already disowned by them,” she responds with a shrug. “I’ve been on the outs with them since I was twelve, I think.” If I wasn’t watching her closely, I’d think she was unaffected by her words, but I am watching her closely. I don’t miss the quiver in her jaw or the way she draws in her bottom lip like she’s holding back more words.

Before I can think better of it, I place a hand on her forearm, still drowning in my leather jacket, and squeeze through the fabric in a show of understanding. I haven’t forgotten how she went off on her father’s voicemail when she was in the shop or the visceral reaction she had at his messages. It’s none of my business, but for some reason, the thought of this woman upset makes me see red.

“You okay, princess?” I ask, a bullshit question when she’s very obviously not okay.

Her head tilts down, letting her hair cover the side of her face, and she nods frantically. “I-I’m fine. I should get going now.”

“Probably.” My voice is soft, barely a release of breath and sound, but that’s all it takes to set Serena off. Soft whimpers escape her mouth, and she twists on the stool, bringing one hand up to muffle the sounds.

“Hey, princess, it’s okay.” Abandoning my food, I push off the stool and walk around her body until her face is level with my upper abdomen. “Shh, it’s okay, Serena, I got you,” I murmur, pulling her into my arms and letting her tears soak the front of my shirt.

Standing in my kitchen, surrounded by food and the soft sobs of the beautiful woman who’s been a reoccurring presence in my thoughts, I know I am absolutely fucked because, at this moment, there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do to destroy the fucker who hurt her.

28

Serena

When I pictured how my evening would play out, I envisioned a semi-awkward dinner with Jack, an explanation of, “It’s not you, it’s me,” when he dropped me off, and to be showered and in bed by nine-thirty.

If I wanted to get crazy, maybe I would drink a cup of herbal tea and catch up onJeopardy!before finally calling it a night at eleven.

But what I did not see was having my date interrupted by Wolf and my friends, getting tacos on the side of the road, or crying in the middle of Wolf’s kitchen while he was feeding me. Technically, he wasn’tfeedingme but making sure I was fed, but it’s virtually the same thing. Still, none of that was anticipated when I threw on my loosest jeans and a plain long-sleeved T-shirt. Had I known that I was going to have a run-in with Wolf, I probably would have taken more time on my appearance, which sounds sad considering I had a date with another man tonight.

My appearance doesn’t matter now, though, since mascara is undoubtedly streaked down my face, and my hair probably looks like a helmet from the ride.

“Shh, it’s okay, Serena, I got you,” Wolf breathes down, his words hitting my ear as he hunches over me.

“Serena, are you okay?”

“I don’t w-want to talk about my dad,” I grind out, forcing myself to calm down and break up the sobs.

“So then don’t.” Wolf’s hold tightens, dragging my body further to the edge of the stool and into his chest.

I feel selfish taking the comfort Wolf is offering; he can’t be comfortable in this position with our height difference and the stool I’m perched on. But despite the fact that I should push him away, order a car, and never, ever, ever see him again, I know I won’t do that. Instead, I do the one thing I’ve been dying to do since I found out he left me alone in my house last weekend.

Pulling back, I let Wolf’s arms fall from my side and look up at his imperfectly handsome face. His nose is crooked, his jaw is set, and his lips are almost too full for a man, making them nearly feminine in their plumpness. Individually, none of the features work, but together, he looks like a Highlander sent from another time to protect and pillage.

“Why did you leave?” I ask, cutting him off for once.

“You know why I left.”

“Because we said one time?”

He stares at me, running his tongue along the inside of his jaw. I track the movement inside his mouth, wishing that it wasmytongue making those indents in his cheeks. I’m so lost in my observation of his face that when his fingers land on my neck, pushing my head back, I jolt in surprise.

“Tell me why I left, princess.”

“Because we said one time,” I repeat, swallowing against the grazes to my neck.

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