Page 35 of Everything We Left Behind

Natalya extended her hand. “Buenos días. Nice to meet you.”

Carla briefly clasped her fingertips. Her gaze shifted from Natalya to me and back.

“And this is Natalya Hayes,” I introduced. “She’s my—”

“Is she your girlfriend?” Her voice came out shrill.

Natalya and I exchanged a look. “No,” we said simultaneously. What made her think that?

Probably me. I grimaced. My expression when Natalya walked in told her everything.Grrreat.

I raked fingers through my hair. “She’s family. My sons’ aunt,” I clarified.

Carla’s gaze jumped between us again. “Oh ... oh.” I could almost see her mind figuring the connection between the bunching of her brows then widening of eyes. She knew my wife had passed. She smiled, her expression apologetic as she reached for her purse. “I should go.” She glanced anxiously at the door.

Looping my fingers through the handles, I offered her the bag of art supplies. “Don’t forget this.”

She glared at me.

“Is this yours?” Natalya moved around us, closer to the easel with Carla’s canvas. “It’s very good.”

Carla kneaded her purse. “Thank you.” She eyed the bag. I shook the contents. “Very well.” She snatched the bag. “It was nice meeting you, Ms.Hayes. Thank you ... Carlos.” She hesitated over my name, then turned to leave.

I picked up a paintbrush and rolled it between my hands. “I’ll pencil you in for the same day and time next week.” She stopped at the door and I pointed the brush at the bag. “There’s a store on Avenida Oaxaca that has premium art supplies. Just in case.” She scowled. I held up my hands and shrugged. She opened the door and left.

I turned back to Natalya and smiled, close-lipped, brows high.

“She’s interesting,” Natalya said.

“That she is,” I agreed. “She’s incredible, though.” I pointed at the painting with the brush. Natalya tugged it from my hand.

“You’re going to poke out someone’s eye.”

“She hasn’t painted for a long time and it took some coaxing to get her up here.” I started cleaning up the supplies Carla used. “How’d it go with Mari?”

She gathered her hair and twisted the mass into a makeshift ponytail, letting it fall over one shoulder. She fanned her face with her hand. It always took Natalya several days to get used to our dry heat.

“The meeting went well. How late can the Silvas watch the boys?”

All night.The thought skidded into my head like a mountain bike careening downhill. My face heated. “Let me check with them. They owe me.” I sent a message.

“And you owe me a beer.”

I looked up from the screen. “Gale agreed with Mari’s terms?”

“Nope.” She looked sheepish.

I tucked the phone into my back pocket. “You haven’t told him yet.”

She shook her head. “But I did bring Pia a stack of new books.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Thriller novels. As in no skin on the covers.”

“I owe you more than a beer.”

“Mari’s designs are radical,” Natalya was telling me as we walked to Alfonso’s, a bar up the street from the gallery. “She showed me five drawings. I texted them to Dad during the meeting and we picked three. Here, let me show you.”

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