by Judy Corry
"Wow." I blinked, not believing that kids my age drove these kinds of cars. In Ridgewater, the Carmichael twins and Chance Clemont had driven super fancy cars like this. But most of the student parking lot had been full of hand-me-down cars that made sense for newly licensed teens to drive.
Carter climbed into the driver’s side, so I got in and settled onto the passenger seat.
I didn't know what exactly I'd expected once I was in his vehicle. With what I knew about him so far, I didn't expect it to be littered with takeout wrappers, or stinky gym clothes like the stereotypical teen boy, but I also hadn't expected to be greeted with the most delicious-smelling cologne I'd ever breathed in my entire life.
I'd been sitting by the guy all throughout the past hour, but how had I not known that he smelled like this?
Dang.
I drew in a deep breath, trying to be discreet about it so Carter's ego wouldn't know that I thought he smelled like heaven.
"Sorry about the smell," Carter said, apparently noticing me sniffing the air despite my best effort to hide it. "My cologne bottle broke in my gym bag yesterday and soaked the backseat. I hope it's not too strong."
"It's fine." I schooled my face into a neutral expression, hoping that he wouldn't pick up on just how obsessed I could become with it. "I don't mind."
I mean, what teenage girl didn't want to suffocate from a scent that could be put in a bottle with the label advertising it as "Hot Guy Ambrosia?"
"Well, I guess that's good because I have a feeling the smell may stick around for a few days since the guy who details our vehicles is on vacation until next week."
"You have a guy who details your family's vehicles for a living?" I asked, my eyes going wide.
Carter lifted a broad shoulder, like it was completely normal. "We have a lot of cars. It takes a lot of time."
When he saw what was probably an astonished look on my face, he just chuckled and said, "I'm guessing from what you said to Sofia about your mom's success being recent, you didn't grow up with a trust fund like most people at our school?"
Would admitting that I was different from everyone else be a bad thing?
"I still don't have a trust fund," I said, deciding to just be honest about how new my mom's money was since it was probably obvious, anyway. "And yeah, if our mom wanted her car cleaned, when we were growing up, Elyse and I had to use the hose and a sponge to do it ourselves."
"Sounds fun."
"Not really, but I guess it taught us about manual labor."
"Ah yes, manual labor." He strummed his long fingers on the black steering wheel as he pulled onto the cobblestone path that led toward the gates at the front of the school. "Now that’s something I'm familiar with."
"You're familiar with manual labor?" I asked before I could stop myself.
He narrowed his eyes, as if offended by my question. "You don't think people who have a staff that take care of their vehicles have ever had to work with their hands?"
I pressed my lips together, wondering how to backtrack so the next forty-five minutes with him wouldn't be completely awkward. "I didn't mean to say it like that."
"Then, what did you mean?" He cocked an eyebrow.
"Um…" I tried to think, but the way he was looking at me like he was ready to dissect every word I said in order to point out my flawed thinking was making it hard to concentrate.
When I didn't say anything, he said, "I may not have had the same car-washing and Saturday-chores experience as you did growing up, but just because my last name is Hastings doesn't mean I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth."
"Your parents liked using gold silverware instead?" I asked, mostly joking because I didn't really know what else to say after apparently offending the guy.
I'd hoped he'd laugh at my joke, but instead he just said, "I have a lot of nice things in my life right now, sure, but that has definitely not always been the case."
I waited for him to continue, to explain what he meant since none of it made much sense to me at the moment. But he didn't.
So I tried to focus on the soft, pop music playing on the radio instead and told myself not to assume I knew anything about this obviously very touchy guy.
It took about five minutes for us to drive from the school's grounds to the sign that said, Welcome to Eden Falls, Connecticut. Population 29,000.
My mom had driven us straight from home to the school the day before, so I hadn't seen any part of the town yet.
There were rows and rows of trees along the road as we entered the city limits, and then various buildings started popping up here and there.
"Do you like Italian or Mexican food?" Carter broke the silence that had fallen over us after we'd passed by a few streets lined with colorfully painted houses that looked like they'd been built in the early 1900's.
"I'm good with either," I said.
"Good."
And then we were quiet again.
Why had I agreed to come to lunch with Carter? This was sooo awkward.
We drove a little farther down the main road until Carter switched on the blinker and pulled along the curb in front of a weathered brick building with a big sign that read, The Italian Amigos, in red and green lettering.
I did a double take at the sign, wondering if I'd read the restaurant name correctly the first time. "Is this place actually called, The Italian Amigos?"
"It is," he said, a slow smile lifting his lips as he put his truck in park, like he knew exactly what I was thinking.
"But amigos is a Spanish word, isn't it?"
"Sí, señorita," he said, apparently deciding to answer me in Spanish.
"So the name of the restaurant translates into The Italian Friends?" I asked, confused.
Did the owners think amigos was an Italian word and not Spanish?
The building looked old enough to have been around way before the Internet had made translating words in other languages as easy as a simple Google search, but surely someone would have told the owners about the naming mistake before they'd done everything to set it up.
"Just come inside," Carter said, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening his door. "You'll understand it better once you see the menu."
I climbed out of Carter's truck, my math notebook in tow, and followed him into the restaurant.
8
Ava
Carter held the door open so I could walk in first—a surprisingly thoughtful gesture from such a self-absorbed guy—and when I stepped inside, I was met with the most interesting mishmash of decorations I'd ever seen.
A miniature version of Michelangelo's David statue stood beside a bench in the waiting area. But this wasn't just any regular David statue. No, this one was wearing a sombrero on its head, and covering his nether regions were swim trunks with little Mexican flags.
What the heck?
I pulled my gaze from the strangely decorated figurine to find that in another corner, there was another David replica—only this one wore a colorful fiesta serape and had a black mustache attached above his lip. And sitting on the sling over his shoulder was a plate with a wood-fired pizza.
I furrowed my brow and looked up at Carter. "So…it's an Italian and Mexican restaurant?"
"It's a diamond in the rough, for sure," he said, amusement in his expression.
A middle-aged waitress with dark hair, wearing a completely normal polo shirt and jeans, noticed we'd come into the restaurant. When she saw Carter, a huge smile lifted her cheeks.
"Carter Hastings." She held her arms open to the tall boy beside me. "I was wondering when I'd see you again."
"Hi Rosa," Carter said, rolling the "r" in her name, with a rare smile on his face as he bent over to hug the petite woman. "It's good to see you, too."
They held each other for a moment before Rosa stepped away. "Did you grow over the summer?" she asked, looking Carter up and down. "You're getting so tall these days."
"Maybe another inch." Carter shrugged his broad shoulders, seeming more at ease
with this woman than I'd ever seen him since meeting him yesterday. "But then again, it's not too hard to be taller than you." He shot Rosa a teasing smile.
"Some of us only need to grow so much until we reach perfection, cariño." She patted his arm. "Apparently, it's just taking you longer than most."
"Hopefully, I'll make it there before too long." Carter laughed, a deep relaxed sound that surprised me. Then, as if he’d just remembered me, he said, "This is Ava, by the way. She and her sister just started at my school today."
"So nice to meet you, Ava." Rosa gave me a smile, her dark brown eyes warm. "Welcome to Eden Falls."
"Thanks," I said. "It's nice to be here."
"Well, since I know you probably have classes to get back to," Rosa said, grabbing two menus from the hostess's podium. "Let me get you seated so you're not late."
She showed us to a booth in a corner with a painting of a Tuscan landscape on the wall beside it. The tabletop was lined with Mexican tiles, but the salt and pepper shakers were in the shape of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
I couldn't help but smile when I took in the eclectic decor. If the food was good here, this might just be the coolest restaurant I'd ever been to.
After setting the homemade menus in front of us, Rosa asked, "Would you like me to start you off with something to drink?"
"Just water for me," Carter said.
"I'll take a Dr. Pepper," I said.
"Great, I'll be right back with those."
After Rosa left, I took the time to glance over the menu. And sure enough, when I turned through the pages, I found that there was a full lineup of Italian-style dishes on the first two pages, and then Mexican cuisine on the last two.
"When you asked if I liked Italian or Mexican food," I said. "I thought you were planning to narrow the options down." I glanced around the room again. "I didn't expect this."
"They don't have places like this where you're from?" Carter raised an eyebrow.
"Apparently, we're a lot more boring in central New York."
"Eden Falls definitely has its own special charm," Carter said.
"Do you know the story behind this place?" I asked, hoping to keep up the more relaxed vibe Rosa had seemed to bring to Carter so we didn't have to go back to the awkwardness that had been in the truck.
"Yeah, Rosa is actually one of the owners." He leaned his elbows on the table and pointed in the direction Rosa had gone. "She came to the United States with her parents when she was a lot younger but grew up making traditional Mexican cuisine. She enjoyed cooking enough that she went to culinary school, and while there, she ended up dating a guy named Lucca who was originally from Italy and had just moved to the U.S. for school.
“Anyway, they got married and soon after, they moved to Eden Falls and started a restaurant together. And since they were blending two cultures into one with their family, they decided to do the same with their restaurant."
"And so, The Italian Amigos was born," I guessed.
He nodded. "That's the story Rosa told me, anyway."
"You and Rosa seem close. Do you come here a lot then? Or is she just like that with everyone she knows?"
From our minimal interactions, I already guessed that Carter wasn't so friendly with everyone he knew.
"A little of both, I suppose." He shrugged out of his blazer, setting it on the booth beside him. "But I did come here a lot when I first moved here." He pulled on the long white sleeves of his button-up that had ridden up his forearms, which was kind of a shame because the guy had amazing forearms—all veiny and muscular with just the right amount of golden arm hair.
Rosa brought us our drinks. She had two other glasses on her tray and said she'd be right back to take our orders.
"You said you came here after you moved here. Does that mean your family isn't from Eden Falls?" I asked, picking up where we'd left off. For some reason, I’d assumed the Hastings family was like a founding family of this small town. Something to do with them having an estate and all.
Carter fiddled with a small gold chain bracelet around his wrist. "My great-great-great-grandfather Hastings actually settled the town. But, um, I lived in Guatemala until I was eight."
"Your family lived in Guatemala? That's cool."
"No." He shook his head, letting go of his bracelet and reaching for his glass of water. "That was just me."
"Oh." He had lived separate from his family for the first half of his life? He'd said he and his siblings had different moms.
My mom had told me about a documentary she’d seen one time about a pilot who had two separate families who didn't know about each other. Was this something like that? Had Carter's father kept him a secret for the first eight years in Guatemala and brought him to the U.S. only when his other family found out?
And if so, what did that mean for Carter's mom? Was she still in Guatemala or had she moved to the U.S. with him?
I wanted to ask questions, to see if it was something similar or something completely different, but before I could, he continued by saying, "Anyway, I didn't speak English when my dad found me, so I ended up hanging out here with Rosa a lot those first few years since she was the easiest person to talk to."
Which explained the Spanish book he'd been reading at dinner yesterday and the slight accent I detected when he said Rosa's name. I was vaguely wondering if he spoke more Spanish than English when my mind picked up on the other thing Carter had said. That his dad had found him in Guatemala.
Had Carter been kidnapped then?
All kinds of new scenarios started forming in my mind until Rosa came back with her notepad in hand. "Are you ready to order?" she asked.
"Um, almost." I looked down at the menu, realizing I'd barely even glanced at the food since I'd been so caught up in the conversation with Carter. But knowing we were short on time, I said, "Actually, do you have chicken enchiladas?"
"Of course," she said, followed by something in Spanish that I didn't understand.
When I just looked blankly at her, Carter said, "She says she doesn't like to brag but her enchiladas de mole are the best you'll ever have."
Rosa's jaw dropped. "Now you make me look like I'm bragging." Rosa tsked at Carter, making a show of being embarrassed that he'd revealed what she'd really said.
"Well, I guess I better try them and see if they really are the best." I smiled at Rosa, enjoying the playful energy she and Carter had together.
"Good choice." Carter folded his menu up and handed it to Rosa. "I'll have the same thing."
"Two enchiladas de mole coming up," Rosa said in her accented voice before heading toward the kitchen again.
"Should we get started on those questions for class?" Carter asked, pulling out the notebook he'd brought in with him along with his phone.
"Sure." I opened my math notebook, and when Carter noticed the cover, the biggest smile I'd seen from him so far stretched across his face.
And man, he really was gorgeous when he smiled like that.
Which I guess was probably why he kept the smile mostly to himself. He'd never escape the throngs of hormonal girls from our school if he handed smiles like that out like candy.
"You pick that notebook out especially for Stats?" he asked, eyeing the skull-and-crossbones pattern on a light pink background.
"I thought it went well with the subject matter," I said lightly, not letting on that I was happy he'd made the connection.
He chuckled. "You really don't like math, do you?"
"I don't like things I'm not good at." I shrugged.
"Well," he said. "Hopefully, I can help you change your opinion on the subject before too long."
"So you're one of those math tutors who actually likes math?" I narrowed my eyes so he'd know I was judging him big time for that.
It was his turn to shrug. "Math works the same in English and Spanish, so yeah, it's the one subject I didn't suck at when I moved here."
"I guess I never thought about it that way." I found myself even more intrig
ued by his background and hoped he'd tell me more.
"But I totally get why you don't like it." He rolled up the sleeves of his button-up and it was a treat to see his forearms again. "I felt the same way about a lot of things until my tutors explained them in a way that made sense to me."
So my tutor had had tutors before?
"Is that why you're a math tutor, then?" I asked, because from what I knew about him so far, I really doubted he needed the money he'd earn from working with me.
He shrugged, the fabric of his white button-up stretching across his broad shoulders with the movement. "I guess I like the challenge of taking someone who sees math as an enemy to seeing it on friendlier terms by the time we're done with our tutoring sessions."
"Do you tutor lots of people from school?" I asked, a weird sensation of jealousy forming in my stomach at the thought of him spending one-on-one time with multiple math-challenged people from school.
Which is ridiculous, I know.
Never thought I'd feel possessive over my math tutor…whom I’d just met, by the way.
And yet, here we were.
"I usually tutor a few people at a time, depending on how long my services are needed," he said. "But since I'm enrolled in more advanced courses this year, I told Mrs. Simmons I only had time for one."
"So should I feel special?" I asked. "Or embarrassed that I'm a bad-enough case that I'm the only one to make the cut this year?"
"Let's go with special." He looked down at the notebook he'd brought in with him and pulled a sheet of paper from the front. "Actually, that reminds me. I have a contract that I'll need you to sign before we get started." He slid the piece of paper across the tile tabletop so I could read it. "It's just something I have everyone I work with sign so we can make the most of our time together."
I frowned as I looked at the words printed on the page.
Carter cleared his throat and pointed to the paragraphs he had printed there. "So, it basically just goes over some of the expectations that I have for our tutoring sessions."
