by LK Farlow
Seraphine shrugs like she didn’t just make my dick hard spouting off classic car facts like some kind of sexy, tan-skinned encyclopedia. A groan rumbles up from my chest as I stare at her. She’s dressed down in those godforsaken bootie shorts and a hoodie—and yet, the combo is hotter than any lingerie on the market. She’s a clueless seductress—tempting me without even meaning to.
“Anything else you want, sir?” The little bite of sass she adds at the end of her sentence only makes me want her more. She’s young and wild and bratty, and I’d love nothing more than to take her over my knee and show her exactly what else I want.
“No, you’re good.”
“Great.” She flips her head forward and gathers her hair into a messy ponytail and secures it with an elastic from her wrist before plopping down onto the bench. “When are we opening to the public?”
I cross the shop and take a seat next to her. “I’d say we got about two weeks left on the reno, then soft launch for the mechanical side of things and maybe a month on the resto.”
“Reno?” She whips her entire body around to face me so that she’s straddling the bench. “How could you? You’re just going to destroy—we never talked about a renovation!”
“Calm down, mariposita.”
After those two dreaded words, Seraphine’s practically shooting laser beams out of her eyes. “Adding that stupid nickname doesn’t negate you telling me to calm down, asshole.”
I can’t help but grin at her self-righteous anger. “I know there is a lot of sentimental value here for you. I need you to trust me to do what is best for the business in a way that will still honor your father. He worked hard and was good at his craft. I do not wish to erase that. I merely want to bring the shop up to date, okay?”
Looking properly chastised, she nods and whispers, “Okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She nibbles on her lip. “I trust you.”
The way her moods yo-yo is enough to make me feel dizzy, but I know it’s because she’s still hurting—that the loss of her father is still a raw, gaping wound. She needs to heal, and I am determined to help her.
Even if that means letting her lash out from time to time. Better to use me as an outlet than popping off at some unsuspecting stranger.
I know that’s not exactly healthy, but grief is a strange beast, and I know this soul-crippling sadness of hers is only a season. Eventually her storm cloud tears will give way to sunny smiles, and I damn sure intend to be around to see them.
“Tell you what—why don’t you help out with it?”
Her nose crinkles. “With the reno?”
I nod. “Yeah, we start tomorrow. Be here at seven o’clock sharp.”
“Do I have to?” she whines and gives me puppy dog eyes.
“Sí.”
She pouts, and it takes my all not to grab her by her hoodie and yank her down the bench to me so I can kiss the frown right off her lips.
I settle for leaning into her space as I stand, loving how she smells like lavender and motor oil. Who knew the combination would be so sexy?
“Fine, I’ll be here.”
“I know.” I offer her my most winning smile and extend a hand down to help her up.
She accepts it, grumbling under her breath the entire time.
“Do I need to make sure you’re up on time?”
Seraphine crosses her arms over her chest and glares. “We’ve been over this. I’m grown.”
“I know,” I say again, keeping to myself that I was hoping she’d say yes. There’s something about her raspy morning voice that just does it for me. As sad as it is, I’ve been going out of my way to hear it.
Desi says I’m fuera de sí—out of my mind, when it comes to Seraphine, and while I always tell her she’s the crazy one, I’m starting to realize she might be right.
“Mi rey.” Imani runs her fingers over the shaved sides of my hair, tickling my scalp. I shiver at the sensation and lean farther into her touch. “I’ve been watching you.”
I lean back enough to catch her eyes. “Watching me?”
She nods. “You seem happier.”
“I’m always happy with you.”
She shakes her head; her beautiful corkscrew curls sway with the movement. “You’re not with me, not really.”
I try to protest, but she presses a finger to my lips and shushes me.
“In spirit, yes. In heart, always.” Her lips tip up in a tender smile. “She’s good for you—and my pollito.”
“Who?” I rack my brain, trying to figure out who she could mean. There’s no one—and I mean not one single person—who could ever replace her.
“You know,” she says cryptically.
I adamantly shake my head. “I do not know. You are my only reina—my queen.”
Imani smiles her secret smile; the one reserved for when she knows something I don’t and she can’t wait for it to smack me upside the back of my head.
“You don’t need another queen,” she murmurs. Finally agreeing with me. “But perhaps a butterfly…”
The vision of my wife wavers, her rich brown skin and radiant smile flickers in and out twice before she blows me a kiss and disappears altogether, and countless little butterflies take her place, fluttering all around me.
I call after her, begging her to come back, to explain. “Trust your heart, my king,” comes her disembodied voice. “For I am there and will never lead you astray.”
“Imani!” I shout, causing all but one of the delicate winged creatures to scatter. It flaps its intricately designed wings twice before landing on my arm.
I look down at it, but the deeper meaning sits just beyond my reach.
“Imani?” I ask one more time.
Her tinkling laughter is my only reply, and all too quickly it merges with the sound of my alarm clock.
I bolt upright in bed, trying to recall the details of my dream. But it’s no use. With the morning sunlight seeping in through my blinds, only fragments remain.
“Dad!” Desi yells from the hall outside my closed bedroom door “Dad! Get up! It’s already six-thirty!”
“Fuck,” I grumble under my breath, frustrated as hell over the bits and pieces I can remember from my weird dream.
“Heard that,” comes from the other side of my door.
“Give me fifteen and I’ll be ready.”
“I’ll start a pot of coffee.”
I grin to myself as I toss off the covers and head to my bathroom, wondering how I got so lucky to have such a good kid.
After a quick shower and shave, I dress in a pair of coveralls, shove my feet into my boots, and head to the kitchen in search of coffee.
“Good morning,” Desi chirps. She’s sitting on the countertop, dressed in her own version of work clothes, sipping coffee from a pink mug that used to be her mother’s.
“Why are you so chipper?” I pour myself a thermos of coffee, knowing I’ll have to take it with me if I want to get enough down to feel its effects.
“Am I not allowed to be happy, Dad?”
I flick her shoulder. “I don’t ever want you to be anything other than happy, pollito.”
She rolls her eyes. “Such a sap. C’mon, let’s go. We can grab some kolaches for everyone on the way!”
I quirk a brow. “Everyone who?”
“Well…” She drains the contents of her mug, hops down, and places it in the sink. “I know you asked Seraphine to lend a hand. And I might have asked Uncle Arrón and Aunt Silvi to come, too.”
I massage my temples in anticipation of the headaches I know I’ll have by the end of the day.
“Are you mad?” Desi’s shoulders slump. “You’re mad.”
“I’m not,” I assure her. “Thank you for calling in reinforcements. I guess we better get those kolaches, because that’s the only payment they’re getting.”
She laughs, and I grab the keys to my GTO.
“Can I drive?”
“Sure.” I pointedly swap the GTO keys
for the keys to the truck. Both cars are expertly restored, but parts for the truck are easier to come by, so if she dings it, fixing it won’t be a total nightmare.
She pouts, but it doesn’t sway me. “The truck or bust, kid.”
“Fine.” She climbs into the driver’s seat and cranks the engine. “Let’s go!”
Twenty minutes later, Desi whips my precious truck into one of the few parking spaces in front of the garage. “Easy, Des! Easy.”
“Chill, old man. I am a perfect driver.”
“You are a menace to everyone on the road.” I’m lying; the kid is a great driver, but I can’t have that knowledge inflating her already oversized teenage head.
“Your criticisms are nothing more than a reflection of yourself.”
“Say what?” I cock my head to the side as I look at her.
Desi shrugs and kills the engine. “I’m just saying, you taught me everything I know.”
“You little shit!” I reach over the console and ruffle her hair, knowing sure-fire it’ll rile her up. She’s got her mama’s curls, and at sixteen, her hair is off-limits.
“Oh my God, stop!” She bats my hand away, laughing. “It’s gonna frizz!”
“Who cares, pollito? It’s just hair.”
“Easy for you to say—you’re gonna be bald in like a decade!”
“It’s on now!” I lunge for her hair again, but she scrambles out of the truck and hightails it into the safety of the garage.
I flip down the visor and check my hairline in the mirror. I know she was only trying to rile me up, and like the sucker I am, I played right into her plans.
After I pull the keys from the ignition and pocket them, I grab the box of still warm kolaches and head inside.
The sound of boisterous laughter greets me as I enter the building. Somehow, in the two minutes it took me to get inside, Desi, Arrón, and Silvi are playing some deranged version of hide-and-seek, while Seraphine hovers near the coffeepot, looking uncomfortable in her own skin.
Her pinched brow and hunched shoulders light up every protective nerve in me. I don’t like seeing my girl look so miserable in a place that should bring her peace.
Fuck—did I just call her my girl?
The revelation has me ready to turn around and run back to the truck. But I’ve never once hidden from a problem, and I don’t intend to start now. So what if my body yearns for her—craves her even. I am a grown-ass man who knows impulse control.
I can want all I want, as long as I don’t act.
Of their own volition, my feet carry me toward her. “Are you hungry, mariposita?” I ask, my voice low.
She glances up at me from beneath her sooty lashes and licks her lips. “I could eat.”
Dios mio, this woman! I hold the box out in front of me, as an offering and a barrier. “Kolache?”
She pops the top and moans as the smell of smoked sausage wafts upward. Camshaft, rocker arm, hydraulic adjuster, intake valve… I start calling engine parts in my head, in a desperate effort to hang on to the impulse control I was just patting myself on the back for.
“Exhaust valve and piston. Mateo, are you quizzing me again? Do I need to name some more parts to earn my breakfast?”
“Didn’t realize I was speaking aloud,” I grind out the words, caught between arousal and embarrassment. “Please, just take one.”
Seraphine gives me a questioning look before shrugging and grabbing a kolache. She takes a bite and does this happy little wiggle as she groans. “So good! Should I make some coffee?”
I glance past her to the old Bunn coffee machine. “Does that dinosaur still work?”
“That coffee maker has been in this exact spot since before I was born. It will probably survive the end of the world.”
We share a private laugh. There was a reason Dave restored his projects to period—he liked the past and largely lived in it. God knows, this shop is a testament to that.
“You gonna share the wealth?” Arrón yells, breaking up our moment.
Seraphine smiles and shoos me away, looking determined to get that Bunn up and running. Now if only I can get her determined to attack life in the same way.
Chapter Eleven
Seraphine
Mateo lingers for a moment after his brother calls out to him. He runs his deep brown eyes over my body, warming me from the inside. The way his lips quirk up makes me think he likes what he sees, which is something I am not ready to think about, even if I did pick this outfit with him in mind.
Though, if I had known his family and daughter would be here with us, I’d have probably gone with something a little more modest. Not that there’s anything wrong with my cut-offs and loose-fitting crop top. They’re comfy, and I don’t mind them getting dirty, but still, I feel like I have a flashing neon sign over my head that reads desperate.
So, I turn away and start a pot of coffee.
My reprieve doesn’t last long, thanks to this dinosaur’s crazy-fast brew time, and before I know it, the entire Reyes clan is surrounding me, all vying for a cup of joe.
“First cup!” Arrón hollers.
But his sister—who I’ve yet to be formally introduced to—knocks him out of the way. “Brains before beauty.”
The younger Reyes brother waggles his brows. “So, you admit I’m prettier than you, Silvi?”
“Oldest and wisest goes first,” Mateo says.
Desi worms her way to the front. “Pretty sure it’s women and children first—both of which I am, so scoot back, losers.”
I can’t help but smile at their antics. You can tell they’re a close-knit family with a lot of love between them.
“Everyone knows the brewer gets first dibs.” The words fall from my lips without much thought, as if bantering with them is something I’ve been doing all my life.
“She’s got a point,” Arrón concedes, but Mateo clutches his heart like I’ve fatally wounded him. “Mariposita, why you gotta do me so wrong? I even brought you breakfast!”
Laughter spills from my lips as I pour myself a cup of caffeinated nectar. “For that little guilt trip, you can go last.”
Desi and Arrón crack up, while Silvi glances between her oldest brother and me, a small smirk playing on her lips.
“You wound me,” Mateo declares while hauling himself to the back of the line.
“Your ego can handle it,” Desi shoots back as I pour her a mug.
“Watch it, pollito, or you might end up grounded.”
Desi laughs, knowing her dad is full of hot air, but Silvi rushes to her defense. “You can’t ground my niece for teasing you. I will not allow it.”
Mateo reaches around Arrón and tugs on the end of his sister’s ponytail. “Oh, yeah? How are you gonna stop me?”
Silvi’s brown eyes twinkle with mirth. “Mamá.”
“You wouldn’t!”
The youngest Reyes sibling grins, looking every bit like a mischievous little sister. “Bet.” She and Desi bump hips and knock their mugs together before making room for Arrón.
“You know she would, Mate. Remember when we wouldn’t let her come to the ballpark with us, so she threw a baseball at the television and told Jefecita it was us?”
Mateo barks out a laugh from deep in his belly. “Devious little shit. Mujer diabólica.”
“Did you just call me a devil woman?” his sister asks. Her voice is hard but she’s smiling.
“Damn straight.” He takes the mug I offer him and winks. “Now, put away your pitchfork and grab a paintbrush.”
I collect all of the mugs while the guys get the paint ready. I’m halfway through washing them when I feel someone watching me.
“Oh, hey,” I turn, surprised to see Silvi standing there. At about five foot, she’s petite but with attitude in spades. Her skin is a flawless golden-tan and her black hair, though tied up in a ponytail, spills down her back.
“We haven’t met yet.” I can’t put my finger on it, but something in her tone makes me feel like I’m being tes
ted—and quite possibly failing.
“Nope, we haven’t.” Yep, definitely failing. “I’m Seraphine.” I offer her my hand to shake.
“I’m Silvia, but you can call me Silvi,” she says, clasping my hand in hers.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” I blurt out, for lack of anything better to say.
She fluffs her ponytail. “And I you.”
The thought of Mateo—or even Desi—talking about me has me feeling like I’m about to take flight.
“Oh, uh, really?”
“Really. You seem to make them happy.”
I blink twice. “It’s not—we’re not—”
“Not yet.” She mutters something under her breath in Spanish. “You’re both too bone-headed to see what is right in front of you.”
The heat radiating in my cheeks threatens to burn me from the inside out. “Really, you have the wrong idea about us. Your brother… he’s… my friend?”
Silvi laughs. “You say that like it is a question.”
“It kind of is,” I whisper.
“You are his and he is yours. You’ll see.” She leans in closer. “But know this, if you hurt my brother or my niece, I won’t hesitate to crush your wings, little butterfly.”
I gulp and manage to stutter out some sort of reply. Judging from her pleased smile, it must have been what she wanted to hear.
“Great. Good talk.” She turns away from me, but pauses a few steps away and adds, “Maybe we can grab lunch one day?”
Stunned stupid, all I can manage is a nod.
Four hours later, it’s just Mateo, Desi, and me. His sister left two hours in to help their mother with something, and Arrón dipped out shortly after to head over to their other shop.
“It looks good, right?” Mateo says, his voice full of pride at our paint job. Every wall in the shop is painted a perfectly neutral gray, save for the back wall, which is a brilliant, bright white.
And while it does look good, I’m thankful he had the good sense to tarp the floor and cover the cabinets and equipment, because there may be more paint on us than the walls.
