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The breath my mom was holding comes out while the corner of her lips lift. My dad shifts in his seat, resting his arm on the back of his chair.

“I’m going to assume this is again, something you’ve wanted for a while and just never told us,” my mom says.

“No.” I firmly shake my head. “This has been my biggest dream for as long as I can remember.”

“Then I have no concerns. I have no doubt that you’ll be able to make anything you want work out.” Her eyes are soft but her hold on my hand is strong. It’s going to take more than a dinner over paella to fix all those worries of doubt but Iamworthy of good things. I give my mom’s hand a tight squeeze and my father offers me a little wink.

“Time for buñuelos?” he asks.

I never thoughtI would become a coffee snob but after living with (and making fun of) Miles for nearly two months, I get it now. The coffee steams out of my Selena mug that Sebastian bought me one year for Christmas, but it’s bitter. The warmth of the wood seeps into my skin as I sway back and forth on the porch swing, letting my skin soak in the last of the Miami humidity before I have to pack up and head back to the airport.

The screen door creaks open behind me and I twist my neck to see my mom coming out with her coffee in hand. She sits down beside me on the swing with a smile. I can’t help but notice my mom only ever offers real genuine smiles. Never forced.

“I was expecting you to wake up this morning light as a feather,” she says, giving me a nudge.

“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.

“I mean, I could tell you were holding something in when you got here and I thought you let it all out at dinner last night,” she gives my knee a reassuring pat, “but you’re still carrying something, mija. Something is still bothering you.”

I look down into my mug unable to meet her eyes. “I guess I have something else on my mind,” I confess and she waits for me to continue. “I’ve been…seeing someone. And it was serious.” I take a sip of my coffee to help me swallow the lump in my throat. “But something happened right before I left and in hindsight, I don’t actually think it’s that big of a deal, but I’m also not sure how to move forward now.”

“Did he hurt you?” she asks calmly.

“No,” I state. “Not physically. My feelings, my—my heart hurt, yes. But I also know he didn’t do anything to be malicious.”

“Do you love him?”

“Yes.” And that hasn’t changed.

“Does he support you? Believe in you?”

Her question catches me a little off guard. But even now, after everything, the one thing I’m still certain of is his belief in me. Not only does he support me, but he believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. “Yes.”

“Well, I don’t need to know all the details, but it sounds like whatever it is can be worked out.”

I vow right here and now to come home more often. I don’t want to dwell on the fact that if I had come home sooner, maybe I would have left my job long ago. Maybe it wouldn’t have taken me so longto learn most of my issues have been self-inflicted. But if things had worked out any different I likely would have never met Miles. And the world threatens to fall out from under me at that thought. So I won’t think about the past, I just make a mental note to call my mom more.

Camila

“This. Is. Insane!”Taylor's voice booms across the luxurious hotel room.

And she's not wrong, the room is absolutely incredible. The large windows overlook the bay. The bathroom is floor-to-ceiling marble with two fluffy robes hanging behind the door and the king-size bed looks like a cloud.

As magnificent as the overpriced hotel room is, it only makes me long for another more extraordinary home. I miss the peaceful earthy textures of Miles’s home, I miss being curled up in my little spot on the couch, and I miss the beautiful palm frond paintings. I could list all the things I miss about his home, but what it comes down to is I miss him.

I didn’t know where I was going to go when I got back since I still haven’t talked to Miles, so going back to his house wasn’t an option. I didn’t want to go back to my old apartment either, so on my way to the airport this morning, I booked a hotel for two nights.

“Are the cucumbers necessary? They keep sliding off my face,” I complain.

“You need them. If your eyes puff up anymore you won’tbe able to see.”

I pick one of the cucumbers off my face and throw it at Taylor. “The cold shower I took since you used up all the hot water when you boiled yourself in there for twenty minutes, was enough, I think.”

She sits up on her side of the bed, her face mask dry and cracking on her face. “This is the fanciest place we’ve been in since we moved out. I had to take advantage,” she says.

I pull the other sliced vegetable off and set it on the nightstand as I sit up.

“So, you’ve talked to him?” I finally ask.