by Lia London
“The correct term,” said Carlos, puffing out his chest, “is hot mamacita.”
Zaira dropped the last stack of cardboard boxes into the kitchen and called over her shoulder. “Gabi’s room will be the first on the right. You can just put her toys in the closet for now.” She waited for an answer as she tightened her long black ponytail. “Sofia? Are you coming?”
“Chica!” Sofia appeared in the doorway with a plastic hamper full of toddler toys perched on her shapely hip. “You’ve got a seriously hot neighbor across the street!”
Zaira groaned. “Sofia, I swear, you’re more boy-crazy now that you’re engaged than you were before Miguel proposed.”
“Hey, it’s only my eyes wandering, and I’ll put them back in my head once I put on the white dress.” Sofia dropped the basket with a clatter. “Where did you want these to go?”
Zaira flopped back against the counter. “Sofia, you might be my favorite cousin, but you are useless.” She pointed. “Down the very short hall. Only door on the right. Today is better than next week.”
With a shrug, Sofia skidded the plastic basket along the floor with her foot. “I warned you I’m not a moving company. Who moves in November, anyway?”
“People who finally got a job after five months of searching.”
Sofia gave up pushing the basket with her toes and bent to pick it up. “Dumb.” Her voice trailed down the hall. “Hey, you can almost see two inches of ocean from this back window.”
“Yeah, we were super lucky to get this location. And that’s my room, not Gabi’s. First door on the right!”
Sofia wandered empty-handed back into the living room. “I’m telling you, the best view is out front. And the apartment balcony above will shield you from the rain if you want to stand here and stare.” She stood at the door. “He’s driving away now.”
“Oh my gosh!” Zaira stomped over to the front door and shut it firmly. Raising a finger and an eyebrow at her cousin, she scolded. “Stop stalking my new neighbor! You are engaged, and I am not interested in men.”
Sofia remained at the door as if staring through it. “You will be Sighing Zaira all over when you see him.”
Zaira frowned at the play on words. The first syllable of her name sounded like sigh, and Sofia loved to tease her about it. “No. You know what it got me last time.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, Sofia turned and shook her head. “You got Gabriela.”
“I know. And she’s the luz de mi vida. I know. I know.” Zaira loved her daughter dearly, but that didn’t mean life bordered on bliss. Scanning her meager possessions, she tore open the first box with resignation. “I got Gabi, but I didn’t get a husband, or even a committed boyfriend. No alimony. No security. No father for my daughter.”
Zaira’s ex-boyfriend, Mateo, had long since moved to Miami, disinterested in ever claiming a part of their child’s life. She shook her head at the memory of his parting words. “Ni tu padre te quiso. Tampoco yo.” Even your dad didn’t want you. Neither do I. Tears threatened to fall. Her history did not include men who cared about the girls they used or fathered.
Looking up, she beckoned Sofia into the kitchen and placed a hand on each of her cousin’s shoulders. “You keep your eyes on Miguel and be good to him. He’s a tesoro. Loyal, loving guys like that don’t fall out of the sky like rain.”
Sofia’s stomach growled loudly enough for Zaira to hear.
Zaira stared at her. “Does the alien inside your tummy disagree?”
“My tummy—you are such a mamita—is demanding food. We left before I could eat breakfast.”
“You’ll have to scrounge for something from these boxes. If you work hard all day, I’ll take you out to eat.”
“If you make it Mo’s, I’ll go. Mom and I come here from Depoe Bay all the time to get their chowder.”
“You live in a town full of seafood restaurants, and you come eat here?”
“It’s only a few miles away. I don’t want to go out for dinner in the same town where I’m a waitress. Duh.”
“Okay. Mo’s it is. When we’re done unpacking.”
Sofia wrinkled her nose. “If I’m not dead by then.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve got boxes of Cheerios and fruit snacks in that one.”
Grumbling, Sofia bent to work. “If only I were two years old, that would sound so appetizing.”
“Are you kidding? If Gabi were here, she’d have emptied out four boxes by now. She’s in that phase.”
“Yes, but she also would have flushed something plastic down the toilet.” Sofia grunted as she tugged open a box flap. “It’s so early!”
Zaira handed her a box of Teddy Grahams. “Oh my gosh, girl, quit whining and get to work, or I’ll tell Miguel you were scoping out my neighbor.”
“Oh c’mon, pleeeeeease?” Emilio’s dark eyes, the same large almond shape as his mother’s, tugged at Antonio’s resolve.
“Oh, all right. But no dessert afterwards.”
Emilio charged out of the room, fists raised in triumph. “Carlos, we get to go to Mo’s tonight!”
Antonio chuckled when Carlos let out a whoop. Showing enthusiasm wasn’t considered cool anymore amongst his peers, but certain things still stirred Carlos up. Dinner at Mo’s was one.
“If we’re going, we should head out now,” he called. “I don’t want to run into the dinner crush.”
“Dinner crush?” Carlos swaggered into the living room. “Is that like a girl? Did you date someone there and not tell us?”
“No, idiot. It’s when the crowds come. The crush of customers, y’know?”
“Oh.” Carlos slumped. “Too bad.”
“Why are you so interested in my dating life?”
Carlos shook his head with obvious disapproval. “Because, man. You don’t have one. Even I have three girls crushing on me at school, and Emilio noticed the hot new neighbor. What happened to you? You were a TV star in all those sexy scenes with gorgeous women, and now you barely flirt at the checkout stand.”
“I never flirted in the first place. It’s called being friendly.”
With pressed lips, Carlos gave Antonio a gentle shove. “It’s lame, man. You should be getting so much action.”
Antonio held up a finger, summoning his sternest tone. “Number one, stop calling me man—”
“Because you’re a—”
“Shut it.” Antonio’s finger advanced a few inches. “And stop talking about getting action. Women should be treated with respect. They are people, not video games you try to score on or action flicks you rent and then delete.” He lowered his brows to punctuate the point, but Carlos only smirked.
“That’s a good line. I bet you got it from someone’s grandpa.”
Antonio closed his eyes. What made middle school boys such brats? Drawing a calming breath, he stood up. “Speaking of grandparent type people, the Halseys have invited us over for Thanksgiving tomorrow, and—”
“Yes!” Carlos vaulted the coffee table and high-fived Emilio.
“Awesome!” Emilio jumped in place. “I’m going to be eating good food tonight and tomorrow!”
“I love Mabel’s cooking,” agreed Carlos. “I could go back for seconds and thirds and fourths.”
A smile tugged at Antonio’s lips. There. That sounded more like the Carlos he knew and loved. A typical, hungry tween.
“Are Jill and Milo going to be there, too?” asked Emilio.
“Yes, that’s why I accepted. It’s been a while since we saw them,” said Antonio. His friendship with Jill and Milo began during the run of Who Wants to Be a Soap Star, Team Northwest episodes. Rather than acting like competitors, they practically adopted the Seneca boys into their family. To his astonishment, they’d gone out of their way to help him be successful.
“Oh sweet!” Carlos’ tongue lolled. “Good food and Jill Ripley’s hot bod all in one room. Life is so good!” He snapped his finger. “Any chance we all get in the hot tub? Jill in a bikini. Oh yeah.”
Lifting his face heavenward in a silent petition for patience, Antonio fished his keys from his pocket. There was the Carlos he knew and feared. A typical hormonal tween.
Zaira eyed the table dubiously. A two-chair table near the kitchen door meant extra traffic with waiters carrying trays that could spill. Given that Gabi would be in a high chair that jutted out into the aisle, Zaira could spot about five different accidents waiting to happen. With a huff, she plopped herself down in the chair facing the kitchen door. At least she’d be able to see the waiters coming and be ready for any potential crashes.
Sofia tucked herself into the chair opposite and reached for her water. A moment later, she spluttered an ice cube back into her glass. “Oh. My.”
Zaira lifted her menu with determined focus. “Sofia, stop checking out guys.”
“How do you know I’m—”
“Are you saying you’re not?”
Sofia gave an exaggerated pout. “Okay, I am. I have eyes. I use them.” She fanned herself. “Oh my gosh. I think it’s the same…” She fell into open-mouthed silence as a man swished past their table and into the kitchen.
Zaira only caught a quick glimpse of broad shoulders and black hair.
“Hombres!” came a male voice. “Do I have to knock heads to get some decent food out here?”
Surprised shouts morphed into laughing ones, and Zaira couldn’t resist eavesdropping on the commotion.
“What’re you doing here? Are you coming back to work?”
“No, I just came in with the boys.”
“Couple more years, we can hire them, too.”
“I’ll hold you to that!”
“Go on, get out of here. No apron, no kitchen access.”
“He’s got Hollywood access.”
More laughter, and the young man reappeared in the doorway as a waitress bustled in. They twisted to avoid a collision, but then the man lost his footing and stumbled into the back of Gabi’s high chair. His arms spun like a windmill before he caught her and steadied them both, but Zaira could only see the chaos.
“Hey, watch it! Get your hands off my daughter.”
He took a step back, letting go of Gabi and brushing himself off. “I am so sorry. I’m not…” He stopped mid-sentence and stared at Zaira.
Unnerved, Zaira shifted her gaze to Sofia, but Sofia’s smiling eyes were locked on the man. Irritated by the triangle of stares, Zaira decided to push back and glare at him.
“Be more careful next time. There are little kids here.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, and he jerked a thumb behind him. “Yeah, I know. I’ve got my boys here.”
Zaira’s brow shot up. He didn’t look old enough to have children in the plural. In fact, the more she looked at him, the more she couldn’t stop looking at him. His even, olive skin and the strong lines of his jaw and nose framed a warm smile and shining, dark eyes. She sniffed and glanced down, but her gaze caught on his well-built form that tapered neatly into his snug jeans. Startled by her own observation, she lifted her chin. “Well try not to hurt anyone when you’re bumbling around.”
“I didn’t mean any harm.” He patted Gabi’s head as if for good measure. “Seriously, check my references.” He waved a hand at the room. “Ask any local here if Antonio Seneca would ever hurt a flea, and they’ll say—”
“Antonio Seneca?” squeaked Sofia. “The Antonio Seneca?”
Zaira’s stomach dropped. It couldn’t be … could it?
“I’m the only one I know,” answered Antonio.
Sofia leaned closer, breathless. “The Antonio Seneca I saw last year on TV?”
He gave her a sheepish grin and smoothed his hair back with one hand. “If you watched Who Wants to Be a Soap Star. I was on Team Northwest.”
Zaira tracked the movement, finding it vaguely familiar. “I … I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you.”
“You look totally different with a shirt on,” agreed Sofia.
Swallowing the dry lump of embarrassment in her throat, Zaira nodded. “I remember you now. Weird. I don’t even watch reality shows.”
His gaze fell on her with a charming half smile. “Neither do I.”
Zaira couldn’t hold back the nervous giggle that fluttered out of her mouth. How many weeks had she spent watching him on TV as he played the Casanova every woman loved to hate and secretly wished they could spend the night with?
His smile lengthened to include both halves of his mouth. “Hey, I know. Why don’t you ladies join us? We’ve got a table right there, and if we scrunch up a bit, we’ll all fit. Then you won’t be in the crash zone.”
“Won’t your wife mind?” Sofia asked, her exaggerated tone fishing for hope.
“Oh, I’m not married. Those boys are my little brothers. Come on. It’s the least I can do after scaring you to death.” He lifted the high chair with Gabi still in it and cocked his head towards a table where two young Latino boys sat bickering over the menu.
Zaira stared at him. Gabriela showed no signs of distress, and Sofia sat there melting like a five-foot popsicle.
“Are you sure?” asked Zaira. “It’s really not necessary.”
“Oh yes, it is!” Sofia bolted to her feet and grabbed one of Antonio’s arms, steering him over to the table. She glanced back at Zaira and whispered, “These guns are real. Oh my gosh, you’ve got to feel these.”
Zaira followed, wishing she could feel the ground beneath her.
“Hey, it’s the pretty girl from across the street!” blurted Emilio.
“What?” Antonio almost dropped the high chair. Doing a double-take as he set Gabi down carefully at the head of the table. “Wait, really? That’s … it is you!”
“It is me … what?”
“I think we’re neighbors. Did you just move into an apartment on 26th?”
“What? No!” Zaira’s adrenaline swished and surged. How could she possibly live across the street from a TV star? She lived in little bitty Lincoln City, Oregon. Locals still got excited to talk about how JFK had come through town back in the 1960’s. Or had it been RFK?
“No? Well, there’s someone who—”
“It’s her, Antonio,” said Carlos.
“Yes, she’s on 26th.” Sofia still hovered at his elbow, though she’d let go of his arm. “Please tell me I saw you this morning driving in an old green car?”
Antonio ignored the question and slid onto the end of the bench with his brothers to his right and Gabi on his left. His attention fixed on Zaira. “What’s your name?”
“I’m… uh.” Why couldn’t she remember?
“Zaira Vasquez,” Sofia answered for her.
“Zaira. That’s an unusual name.” Antonio smiled and repeated her name slowly. “Sigh-rah.”
Staring at the way his mouth moved, Zaira sat opposite him, dropping so fast that the other end of her bench popped up and slammed back down with a loud bang. With a gasp, she buried her face in her hands.
“I guess clumsy is going around today, huh?” Antonio’s tone held no judgment.
“I’m not complaining if it gets us a seat here,” said Sofia, rounding the table and straddling the bench beside Zaira. She extended a hand to Antonio. “I’m Sofia Costas, Z’s cousin.”
“Mucho gusto.” Antonio shook her hand and nodded. Letting go, he pointed to his brothers seated beside him. “Carlos and Emilio. My little brothers.”
“I’m not little,” complained Carlos. “I’m taller than she is.”
Sofia chuckled. “So is three-quarters of America. Tell me, what’s it like being Antonio Seneca’s brother?”
Zaira tuned out, her gaze magnetically drawn to the pair of smoldering, dark eyes in front of her. Except they weren’t smoldering. Fully clothed and smiling, Antonio Seneca in person and his persona on the show bore almost no resemblance. One was warm, quiet, and almost shy, the other seductive, bold, and passionate. His hair flipped up so nicely in front, thick enough to bury her hands in. Somehow, she’d missed his long lashes and the cu
te patch of fuzz on his chin when she watched him on TV.
She blushed down at the table while Gabi addressed Antonio with a lengthy, unintelligible string of babble.
Hiding behind a menu, Zaira muttered, “My sentiments exactly, Gabi.”
Chapter 2 ~ Thanksgiving Dinner
“You’re still driving that old Subaru?” Milo Halsey met Antonio and the boys on the porch of the spacious West Salem home.
“You’re still kissing that old Jill?” fired back Antonio with a grin.
“Every chance I get.” Milo laughed and slapped Antonio on the back, ushering him inside. “I guess we get comfortable with what works, huh?” He tousled Carlos’ hair. “Come on in. Mom’s going to flip when she sees how tall you got since we last saw you.”
Antonio managed to clear the threshold and inhale the first whiff of turkey feast aroma before Jill attacked him with a bear hug. “I’m so glad you guys all came!”
“Thanks for getting me invited!” He tugged at the front of his button-down shirt, suddenly feeling overdressed for the occasion. Milo and Jill both wore jeans and sweatshirts.
Jill pulled back, squeezing his hands, and Antonio noted with appreciation that she was still as stunning as ever in the highly commercial way that made millions for talent agents. Even in baggy clothes, Jill managed to be the closest thing to a human Barbie he’d ever seen, but without any plastic involved, and her head was most definitely not filled with air. Together, they’d survived several rounds of Who Wants to Be a Soap Star and become good friends, ignoring celebrity gossip venues that insisted they’d become an item. Tired of baring her cleavage to the American viewership, she’d purposely gotten herself voted off by pretending to faint during a live show. He still smiled to himself whenever he thought of it. It was a brilliant piece of acting, and the audience and network never knew.
Tucking a brother under each arm, Jill called over her shoulder, “I’ll want to hear about everything you’re doing, Antonio, but first I need to catch up with my boys.”
