Page 63 of Nacho Boyfriend

He snorts a half-laugh. “Where were you four and a half years ago?”

“I can’t remember that far back. It must have been incredibly boring.”

“I doubt that very much. You were probably dancing through life with your sunny smile and free spirit. Wearing your Crocs and Christmas leggings.”

“You’re probably right. Silly Olive floating about with no real plan. No real goals.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know it’s not.” I shrug one shoulder. “But that’s just the way I am. I can never settle on a career or any interest, really. I’m a flibbertigibbet.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. As long as you’re happy and spreading joy the way you do. I think that’s enough—and it’s a lot more than a lot of people ever do.”

“It’s a nice thought. It really is. But my dad wouldn’t agree.”

“You shouldn’t let people make you feel bad for not dreaming big. Mother Teresa used to say that we can’t all do great things. But we can do small things with great love.”

“Small things with great love,” I repeat, trying it on for size. “I can do that.”

“I know you can,” he says, popping a fry in his mouth.

Emboldened by his trust in me, I ask, “Do you mind me asking what happened four years ago?”

“Four and a half,” he corrects. “I remember specifically because it was Christmas.”

“Oh no. Not Christmas.”

“Christmas eve. I had the ring in my pocket. It was supposed to be perfect—like a frickin’ Hallmark movie. But then she butt-dialed me right in the middle of doing the nasty with her co-worker. I heard every detail on my Bluetooth as I drove to confront her. When I arrived at her house, there was not an ounce of remorse on her face.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He ticks his head. “I’m over it. But when I found out what happened to you, all those feelings came flooding back. And I thought maybe this was a strange opportunity to make things right in the universe.” He shakes it off. “Ridiculous, I know.”

“Not ridiculous at all.”

“I hate cheaters.”

“Cheaters are the worst,” I agree.

We sit in silence for a minute, finishing the fries. As fun as it is kissing him, I love sharing this moment with him—so comfortable around each other neither one of us has to speak. Another kiss would be nice, though.

“My grandma leaves for Arizona tomorrow,” he says, breaking the silence. “My grandpa turns ninety next week, so Francesca and Edmund are driving Abuela there to celebrate.”

“Wow. Ninety. That’s quite an achievement.”

“Yup—if being an ornery old man is an achievement. He drinks like nobody’s business and eats everything with a side of lard. He swears it’s the secret to youth.”

“Maybe he’s onto something,” I say. “Is your grandma coming back to California after that?”

“No. She’ll stay in Arizona for a while then go back to Mexico City for the rest of the year.”

Realization dumps on top of me. I feel like I swallowed a cup of nails.

“So, I guess this means you don’t need a fake girlfriend anymore?”

He blinks at me, and I wait fearfully for the words hanging on his tongue. It’s over.

“Actually… and you can say no if you want to…”