Page 76 of Love Arranged
You’re doing this to help her.My mom protected me for twenty-eight years of my life, so the least I can do is save her shop and one of the last living memories we have of my father.
She walks over and pulls me into a hug. “I’m still angry with you, but I’m less so now.”
“What changed?”
“I went to go visit your father at the cemetery.”
You will not cry, I chant repeatedly, but my eyes won’t cooperate.
“Spending time with him always calms me down.”
I sniffle. My mom might be anxious, but at least she’s brave enough to stop by his grave, unlike me, who hasn’t since his wake.
She continues, “If he were still here, he’d tell me to give Lorenzo a chance. He’d say that your happiness is more important than my anxiety about you dating someone like him.”
My mouth falls open, but words never make it out. Guilt threatens to consume me whole, and I’m hit with the strongest urge to confess my sin.
She cups my cheek. “I want you to be happy, and if Lorenzo is the man who makes you feel that way, then it’s my job as your mother to support you.”
“But—”
She pats my face. “Nobuts.”
You’re going to hell,my guilty conscience speaks out.
At least Lorenzo will keep you company.
After the conversation I had with my mom, I decide that I’d rather get awkward introductions done between her and Lorenzo sooner rather than later. That way I can ease some of her worries and assuage some of my guilt.
I’ve had boyfriends in the past who I’ve introduced to my mom, but I’m still nervous as we drive over to our favoritefarm located on the outskirts of town. I don’t evenlikepicking berries, but Lorenzo was the one who suggested the activity. He thought it would buy him some points with my mom since she planned on coming out here anyway after she volunteered to make strawberry-flavoredagua frescafor next week’s Strawberry Festival.
A lot of people are at the farm today, picking berries for their own festival dishes and desserts, so we’ll be seen by plenty of possible voters over the next couple of hours.
Lorenzo is already parked when we arrive, so he walks over and opens my mom’s door first before helping me out of the car. He pulls me into a short but intimate hug, and I’m hit with the scent of his cologne. It isn’t overpowering but rather nearly undetectable unless I press my nose right up to his skin.
I have enough self-control to resist doing so, but barely.
When he lets go of me, I see a group of people standing in the parking lot, looking over at us like we’re their favorite couple on a dating show.
“¿Estás listo para recoger algunas fresas??*”Lorenzo ignores them and turns to my mom.
Her lips curl.“Lo que Dahlia dijo es verdad. Tú hablas español.?*”
“Sí. Aprendí eso y el italiano cuandoera pequeño?*.”
My mom gives him a confirmatory nod, and I throw him a thumbs-up behind her back that earns me an eye roll.
My mom, Lorenzo, and I head toward the wooden stand, where we are each given a basket. At first, she is quiet and will only speak when directly spoken to. Lorenzo takes her shyness in stride, actively making bids for her attention.
I appreciate how he never gives up, and finally after ten minutes of picking strawberries, my mom starts asking him questions. She’s particularly interested in learning about his aunt, whose family moved to America from Cuba during the fifties, but she clams up again when he mentions his life in Vegas.
When my mom excuses herself to go use the restroom located on the other side of the farm, Lorenzo takes advantage of her absence to amp up the showmance for our nearby audience.
I should’ve known he was up to something when he accidently tipped my basket over, but I didn’t expect him to smack my ass as soon as I bend down.
But that isn’t nearly as bad as melikingit.
My lower half pulses when his palm connects with my ass, and if it weren’t for the group of women standing a few rows away, I’d press my legs together to ease the ache that comes out of nowhere.
