Page 63 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)

Damian considers his next words carefully, his expression drawn.

“Growing up, we celebrated in Newport, but that was before my abuelo died and my abuela moved back to Guadalajara, since this is where they both grew up, met, and got married, and she wanted to spend her remaining days close to where he’s buried.

Now, we split the celebration between the two places. ”

I don’t ask how his grandfather died or when; judging from the photographs, the most recent of them pegs Damian around the age of sixteen. A hard age to deal with such a profound loss.

Not much younger than I was when my mom got diagnosed, I realize.

That thought rams into me like a truck, and I find myself not quite sure what to do with it—this notion that he’s experienced a significant trauma that’s possibly shaped him just as my own experiences have shaped me.

It was always so easy to discount Damian as just another player, a fuckboy, a rich asshole with nothing to lose because everything and anyone could be bought.

But now, I’m starting to see that’s not true.

After all, even wealth can’t buy your way out of death.

My chest tightens, and moisture pricks at my eyes as I stare at the ofrenda with a newfound appreciation and respect.

I’m lucky—my mom is still here, still alive.

But something about seeing this, something about what Damian’s told me about this holiday…

it brings me some semblance of peace knowing there are people out there who strongly believe that death is not the end. I only hope they’re right.

“It’s beautiful…the idea that the dead don’t really leave us.”

Damian exhales a breath that sounds eerily close to a scoff, and when I peer up at him, I’m startled by the devastated expression marring his handsome features. He shakes his head, not meeting my gaze.

“If only it was true.” Then he turns away from the ofrenda and walks off without looking back.

We spend the next several hours at the Panteón de Mezquitán, a historic cemetery in Guadalajara about twenty minutes from Lucia’s house, visiting the grave of Damian’s abuelo.

Like with his grandfather’s ofrenda, the cemetery is splashed in countless colors, with more of those intricately cut flags hanging between the mausoleums and headstones, as well as sugar skull decorations, and orange marigolds (cempasúchil as Damian calls them, or flor de muerto—flower of the dead) and red cockscombs in such abundance that there must be millions of flowers in this one location alone.

Though I feel out of place, Damian’s abuela is kind and guides me through the process of cleaning her husband’s grave and decorating it with candles, framed photographs, and personal mementos—much like his ofrenda at her home.

Damian and his father both help as well, with Lenore quietly standing to the side and carefully arranging the bouquets we set down in front of the headstone.

Once the decorations are finished, and offerings have been placed, I listen in respectful silence as Lucia, Hector, and Damian each pray and pay homage to his abuelo.

Then, for a while, we just enjoy the warm afternoon—and later, evening—air, the glow of the flickering candles around us, and the traditional music that can be heard playing nearby, all of it adding to the spiritual atmosphere pervading the cemetery.

None of the Navarros really speak during those hours, not even once we return to Lucia’s home and sit down to eat dinner.

On several occasions, I’m tempted to break the hush, if only to tell Lucia how incredible her cooking is, but I hold my tongue…

and the moan that nearly escapes at the bold diversity of flavor bursting across my palate.

There are so many foods I’ve never even heard of, let alone tried before (my knowledge of Mexican cuisine has always been mostly limited to tacos), and I can’t get it all on my plate fast enough.

Lucia seems pleased by my appetite, grinning at me occasionally across the table.

A few times, I notice Damian watching me, too, though I can’t quite discern his expression.

It’s late by the time we finish dinner, and after, we all work together to tidy the kitchen in that persistent, near-painful silence.

Once we’re done, Damian’s parents inform us that they’re going to return to the cemetery for another hour or two, bidding us all goodnight before Damian or Lucia even have a chance to respond.

As they leave, I don’t miss the curious way Hector looks at me, like he’s trying to make up his mind about something, but the glance is so fleeting I can’t be entirely sure I didn’t imagine it.

Hector and Lenore’s departure doesn’t seem to surprise Lucia, who simply smiles at me with that same genuine kindness she’s been graciously bestowing upon me all day.

“You’ll forgive this old lady for turning in early, but these bones aren’t what they used to be…and I’d like some time alone. Damian will show you to your room. Thank you for coming today.”

A lump rises in my throat as I squeeze her proffered hand. “Thank you for having me.”

Shifting her attention to Damian, Lucia grabs his face and pulls him down so she can kiss his cheek. “Buenas noches, mi cielo,” she murmurs.

“Goodnight to you, too, abuelita,” he whispers, his lips set in a soft, affectionate grin that’s so unlike him and so heartwarmingly tender that it makes my own heart skip.

As Lucia saunters off, humming a lovely tune to herself, I peer up at Damian, feeling the fatigue of today setting in. Before I can ask him where I’ll be sleeping, Lucia coyly calls over her shoulder, “Oh, by the way. He might try to sleep with you.”

“ What ?” Damian and I both seem to choke on the word, and I stumble back a step, putting some distance between us, my face horror-stricken.

Lucia nods toward her dog, who I didn’t notice had meandered into the kitchen and is now bumping his naked head into Damian’s shin for attention.

“Xolo,” she says as if the answer was obvious.

“He loves when we have company.” When Damian and I both gape at her, speechless, she bats innocent eyes at us. “Why? What did you two think I meant?”

But she doesn’t wait for either of us to respond, and as she turns to leave the room, I glimpse the devilish smile hooking up the corners of her lips…along with the twinkle in her eye that tells me she knew exactly what she was implying.

The air shifts the moment we’re alone, charged and crackling, like static electricity. Though Damian tries to laugh it off—to ignore this weighted attraction between us that even his abuela can see—I know he’s well aware of it, too.

And all it will take now is one little spark to set us both alight.