Page 56 of Dead Set on You
“You and food? Quick?” I roll my eyes. “Sure.”
“One serving only.” He pats his belly—which is mostly muscle—and winks. Another wave of warmth flushes through me because I’m nothing but plasma that’s clearly lost its ability to process normal emotions.
Lucky for me, he’s already walking toward his family.
I can’t help but watch the Velas as they move in coordinated synchrony, passing around plates loaded with food. Toasting with wine and tequila.
I lean in to listen, but there’s too much chatter and lots of it in Spanish. It’s what I get for never getting to bucket list item #8 in all these years:Learn Spanish. Would have helped. Especially behind enemy lines.
Rafael looks this way, flashing a smile.
My brain glitches, and I skip a breath (or several). I need to make myself scarce. I shouldn’t be here, for lots of reasons. Mostly, they don’t need my Evie energy around them, not on his niece’s birthday, not around his sister who’s hoping for a baby, and certainly not around his grandmother with the prayers tucked into her heart.
I decide to wait for Rafael in the front yard, watching fireflies dance in the dark. Crickets chirp. A breeze makes the leaves sing. And oh, what I wouldn’t do to feel it.
Even pray.
I peer up at the clear sky.If you’re up there, send help.
It’s not God who shows up.
I feel Rafael before I hear him.
“Hey,” he says from the doorway. The wood creaks beneath his weight as he joins me on the stairs. “Everything okay? You disappeared.”
“Part of my ghostly prowess,” I say, my gaze wandering in his direction. Somehow Rafael looks better now than he did this morning—and it does the opposite of convincing me he isn’t a vampire. The charm. The Vela-ing. The ability to do things to my blood. The theory has merit.
Rafael grins, leaning his elbows on his arms. “We can be a little much,” he says, watching the fireflies. The breeze catches his hair, musses it and moves on. “Sorry.”
I’m glad it’s too dark for him to see my shock. Must be the way he says sorry, or the fact that he’s said it at all, that stuns me. Are there countless things—stealing my yogurts, in addition to my accounts—that he could apologize for? Yes, certainly. But for this? For taking me to see his grandmother, bringing me into his home and around his family, to help me?
“Don’t apologize. I was … unprepared,” I say, unable to look away even though I want to disappear. It’s hard to be honest with your enemy. It’s much harder to apologize. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”
Rafael scans my face.
I’ve never apologized, not once in all these years.
“It’s okay. I know it’s all a lot to process,” he says, without a trace of sarcasm. Like he’s also testing out thereluctant partnersthing to see how it works.
Feeling strange without our weapons at each other’s throats, I shake my head. “You have no idea, Raffy Taffy … or is itRaffinow?”
A grin splits one side of his face, and The Dimple makes a brief cameo. “Only if you want me to inform the Oak Ridge Country Club there isn’t a Mr. Pope.”
I gawk at him, mouth open. “You know about that?”
“You basically stole my spot.”
I bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from giving myself away. I may have pulled some strings at the ORCC and had Rafael Vela’s name swapped to Thomas and Evie Pope. I don’t care much for golfing, but the number of CEOs and business owners at the club were enough to make the membership—and its steep cost—worth it. Taking Rafael’s spot was the incentive I needed.
“Your name disappeared from the wait list,” I say innocently.
“Like my truck disappeared from my parking spot?”
“I plead the Fifth.”
“Can’t say I haven’t entertained repainting your apartment while you’re away.”
I press a hand against my heart. “You wouldn’t dare.”
