Page 63 of Mr. Brightside

“Yes, please,” I quickly reply, looking up at him with a smirk.

“I really am sorry,” he whispers in my ear. With the way he’s holding me, I know he means it.

“I know. I’m not upset anymore,” I reassure him.

“Good. But I still need to make it up to you. Come on, baby. I’m going to tuck you in and make sure you get areallygood night’s sleep.”

Chapter 28

Cory

“Nieto!”shecrieswhenshe sees me in the doorway. “Come in, come in!”

I exhale a sigh of relief. I haven’t been back to my abuela’s house in almost two weeks. Between work and school and Jake, I’ve been overwhelmingly busy. I haven’t done a great job prioritizing her, but she seems excited to see me anyway.

I make my way into the living room and wrap her in a hug. As soon as I’ve got my arms around her, she starts jabbering in Spanish about how I never visit, and I don’t even call. What’s the point of having a cell phone if I can’t be bothered to send her a text? Did I forget where she lives? Did I forget who raised me?

Ah. There it is.

I can’t even be defensive about what she’s saying—Ihavebeen wrapped up in my new life. Plus, I’ve never been in a position like this before: It’s different having to make time to drive out to Cascade Falls to visit. Until a few weeks ago, we’d lived together my whole life. Even when we had opposite schedules, we’d at least catch each other coming and going most days.

“Lo siento, lo siento. Life has just been… crazy lately,” I admit. “I promise I’ll be better about coming over. We should plan a standing weekly visit at minimum so I don’t lose track of my days again.”

Satisfied, she smiles, then pinches my cheek harder than necessary. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” I insist with a firm, pointed look. If this woman starts cooking for me, I’ll be here for hours. Literal hours. She loves to feed me but always overdoes it and insists on making everything from scratch. I have to be at work by four p.m. today, so although I have plenty of time to visit, I donothave time to pay the respects required when Abuela whips up a five-course meal.

Shetsksat my rejection, then sits on the couch. She finds the remote and mutes the soap she’s watching before patting the cushion beside her.

“Sit down, nieto. You have a lot to tell me, I am sure.”

That I do. Where do I even start?

“Tu esposo—es bueno contigo?”

“Abuela.” I level her with a pointed look. “He’ssogood to me. So, so good. He’s thoughtful. Funny. Charming. And that inheritance I told you about already came through. He’s been spoiling me nonstop.”

She grins at my enthusiasm.

“But this marriage—what did you call it? For convenience? Why are you smiling like a lovesick fool?”

Her question reminds me of just how far we’ve come in so little time.

WhyamI smiling like a lovesick fool? And even if I think I know what this is—what’s brewing between us and growing stronger each day—how do I explain it to her?

I gather my thoughts for a moment, tracing the brown and gold floral print on the couch that’s been in this living room for as long as I can remember. I decide right then and there I’m going to buy her a new couch as soon as possible.

“What Jake and I have now… it’s not what we started with,” I confess. “It’s so different from what I thought it’d be, Abuela. He’s different. I’m different. It’s better than I could have ever dreamed.”

She assesses me through squinted eyes, her serious gaze searching my face and looking for my truth. I appreciate her concern. But it’s so unwarranted it isn’t funny. For as much as she loves her telenovelas and fairy tales, my abuela is a cynic when it comes to real life love.

I’m not sure there’s anything I can say to make her believe me. She’ll just have to see for herself. Jake keeps bugging me about coming over to meet her. I make a mental note to plan something soon. But until then…

I pull out my phone and open the camera app. “Look,” I tell her, swiping through to the pictures we took in the airport before our honeymoon.

I hand her the phone and watch her eyes grow wide as she swipes through the dozen or so selfies Jake took of us showing off our rings. The first few are cute and smiley. But it’s the next several when he’s kissing me and making me squirm that tell the real story: we’re into each other in ways most people dream of. The pictures radiate happiness. Those selfies encompass the best parts of my life.

“Nieto…” she whispers, looking up and handing me back the phone. “Estás enamorado.”