Page 82 of Nacho Boyfriend

IGNACIO

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“Has anyone seen Olive?” I ask.

My whole family—also Edmund—is gathered outside. The mariachis have just arrived and it’s almost time to wake up Abuelo. Abuela is hushing everyone, but surprisingly, the people in my family who are usually the noisiest, are standing half asleep like zombies.

“I woke her up a half-hour ago,” says Bernadette. “She talked to me and everything.”

Great.

Olive wasn’t kidding around when she said she sleeps through several alarms.

“I guess I’ll go take a crack at it,” I say.

I head into the house to find her, hoping I’ll catch her walking down the hallway. Maybe she’s lost? Hopefully not being attacked by anymore farm critters. I’m not ruling out that possibility, though. What will it be next? Goats eating her Christmas leggings?

After not seeing her anywhere, I knock softly on her door. She doesn’t answer. I check the bathrooms. They’re all empty. Reluctantly, I return to her room and knock again. Now I’m starting to get worried.

Carefully and cautiously, I open the door a crack and poke my nose in with my eyes closed.

“Olive? You in there?”

When there’s no response, I open my eyes and peek in some more. The lights are off and I hear soft snores coming from inside.

She’s still sleeping?

“Olive,” I say a little louder. “Time to go.”

She mumbles something and rustles in the bed. I wonder if I should just let her sleep, but she seemed excited about experiencing Mañanitas last night, even after the mistaken engagement fiasco. And I don’t want her to feel bad for missing out.

“I’m going to turn on the light, now,” I warn her, flicking on the switch. She squeaks and covers her face with the blankets. I approach the bed and wrench the blanket out of her fingers, yanking it down. I realize as I’m in the middle of pulling down her covers, that I may not be prepared for what I see underneath. How am I supposed to know if she sleeps in the buff?

Fortunately, she’s in a sleeper shorts set—with Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer print. I chuckle inwardly. She would have pajamas like that.

“Olive, you’re going to be late,” I say. “Get up.”

“Naaaaoooo,” she groans. Even in this state, she’s adorable. My heart swells.

I tug on her hand to help her up, but she pulls me toward her with surprising force. I topple over her sideways and my shoulder has got to be digging into her tender places, but she doesn’t complain. She just wiggles so she’s lying on her side and wraps her arms around me like I’m one giant teddy bear.

“G’night,” she mumbles.

“No, Olive. Not good night. Good morning. Everyone is waiting outside.”

“Uh-huh.”

I peel her arm off my body and scoot away, but she slings her arms back with renewed pluckiness, and flops her leg over my thigh.

“Mine,” she rumbles, snuggling into my back.

“Yes,” I rasp, feeling all too comfortable with this arrangement. “Yours.”

A small voice inside my head tells me to stay with her in this bed. To roll over and put my hands all over her. To forget about Mañanitas, making some lame excuse. But then I imagine Abuela’s angry face and remember that my family is expecting me to return with my new fiancée ready to go sing ‘Las Mañanitas’ to Abuelo. And that’s enough to get me moving.

I slide my hand over hers and bring it to my lips. The ring on her finger miraculously fits her perfectly, and I twist it side to side with my thumb. I could get used to this.

“Come on, beautiful. Up we go.”