Page 32

THE STARS SMILE DOWN

FLYNN

“ B lue or green?” Jules held up two button-down shirts, her critical gaze sweeping over me as I sat on my bed scrolling through Tempest’s latest texts.

Tempest: Abuela just landed. She’s already asking about “el chico guapo con el burro.” Fairly sure that means you.

I smiled at my phone, ignoring Jules until she snapped her fingers in front of my face.

“Earth to lover boy. This is important. First impressions with abuelitas are make-or-break.”

“Since when are you an expert on Mexican grandmothers?” I grabbed the green shirt from her hand. “And why are you so invested in my wardrobe?”

“Since I dated Miguel from the soccer team.” She snatched the shirt back. “His abuela is the family gatekeeper. One wrong move and you’re dead to them.” She thrust the blue shirt at me instead. “This one with the dark jeans. It makes your eyes pop without being too try-hard.”

I took the shirt, surprised by her certainty. “Does Dad know you’re dating this Miguel? Or at all?”

“No, and you’re not going to tell him or I’ll make you wish peeing in your Cheerios is the worst thing I ever did to you. Got it?”

Hell hath no fury like a sister who’s been tattled on. I raised my hands in surrender.

“Trust me.” She flopped onto my bed, watching as I changed shirts. “So I think your Shakespeare tutor is secretly writing a romance novel. She was making some notes on her phone when you were doing donkey things.”

“Don’t be weird. Tempest is an English major. I’m sure it’s just something for a class,” I said, though some things clicked into place. Tempest’s secretiveness about her supposed notes, her nervousness when I mentioned romance novels, the way she’d reacted when she saw books on our shelf.

“Nope. It’s definitely a book.” Jules sat up, eyes gleaming. “I’m going to figure out if she’s published anything. I have my ways.”

“You keep your Google Fu to yourself,” I said firmly. “If she’s writing something, it’s her business to share or not.”

Jules smiled smugly. “Look at you, being all protective. You really do like this girl.”

I couldn’t deny it, so I changed the subject. “Do you know if Dad talked the boys into letting us use the jet to fly to Indiana?”

“I did, and we leave at nine sharp.” Dad’s voice made us both jump. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed but expression softer than I expected. “Blue was the right choice, Jules.”

“Told you,” she gloated.

Dad stepped into the room, examining me with the same critical eye he used to evaluate new recruits. “Meeting her family tonight?”

“Yes, sir.” I finished buttoning the shirt. “Her grandmother just got back from Mexico. It’s a welcome home party.”

His expression grew serious. “Look, Flynn, tomorrow starts combine week. The scouts will be watching your every move. It’s important.”

Here it came, the lecture about priorities, about focus, about not letting anything distract from football.

Instead, Dad surprised me. “But this—” he gestured vaguely to my outfit, “—this matters too. When I met your mother, I nearly missed a playoff game because her car broke down and she needed a ride.”

I stared at him. Dad talked about Mom, but he had his standard set of stories, and reminders. I’ve never heard this one. “You did?”

“Coach benched me for the first quarter.” His smile was tinged with memory. “Worth it, though. April wore this blue dress that matched her eyes, and I remember thinking I’d sit out the whole damn season for another hour with her.”

I saw the way he blinked a few extra times and heard the gruffness in his voice talking about Mom. He would never get over her .

If I got too close to Tempest, let her in too far, I wouldn’t either.

He cleared his throat. “Point is, football’s important. The combine’s important. But it’s not everything.”

“So...” I said slowly, “you’re saying I should go to this party? Even with traveling and combine check-in tomorrow?”

“I’m saying don’t miss the things that matter because you’re too focused on the future.” He stood, clapping me on the shoulder, and left Jules and I just staring at each other.

With the two-week rule, I’d managed to avoid the meet-the-family milestone. But as I pulled up with baby donkey to the address Tempest had texted, a sprawling ranch-style house on the outskirts of Golden, my palms were actually sweating.

Music and laughter spilled from the house. Cars lined the driveway and street, confirming that “small family gathering” meant something similar to the Navarros as it did to the Kingmans. Nothing small about it. Which was exactly the way I liked it.

I parked and Tempest emerged from the house. Something in my chest tightened. She wore a green dress that made her dark eyes shine, but her smile didn’t quite reach those eyes. She looked beautiful, but guarded, like she was bracing herself.

“You’re here,” She hurried over, her relief evident as she peered into the trailer. “And our favorite troublemaker made it okay?”

“He’s raring to go.” I smiled, drinking in the sight of her. Her nervous flutter made me want to wrap her in my arms and help still whatever had her on edge.

Her shoulders relaxed slightly. “Abuela’s more excited to meet him than you, no offense.”

“None taken. I know my place in the hierarchy.”

A curvaceous woman with dramatically styled silver hair, and I swear to god, wearing one of those golden age of movies feather-lined filmy robe things, emerged from the house, followed by what had to be a dozen family members of various ages.

She wore enough jewelry to open a small boutique, and her commanding presence made it immediately clear who was in charge.

“?Ay, Dios mío! ?Ahí está! ?Mi burrito precioso!” She practically floated down the steps, hands clasped in delight.

“That’s my abuela, Estrella Ramirez,” Tempest whispered, straightening her posture as if preparing for inspection. “Also known as AbuelaNovela.”

Abuela Estrella reached the trailer and peered inside, her expression one of pure joy. “Qué lindo. Tempest, mi amor, es perfecto. Exactamente como dijiste.” She turned to me, eyes twinkling. “And you must be the footballer who rescued him.”

“That’s me.” I extended the flowers I’d brought to her, which she took with a twinkle in her eye.

“Very nice arms. May I?” She reached out and squeezed one of my biceps. “Tempest, no me dijiste que era tan guapo.”

I caught enough Spanish to understand I was being assessed, and that Tempest had apparently neglected to mention I was “tan guapo”— so handsome .

“Gracias, Senora Ramirez,” I replied, offering a slight bow. “Es un placer conocerla.”

Abuela’s eyebrows shot up, and Tempest’s mouth actually dropped open.

“Habla Espanol.” Abuela clapped her hands in delight. “Tempest, why didn’t you tell me he speaks Spanish?”

“I didn’t know,” Tempest said, looking at me with new eyes.

I shrugged. “Just the basics. Been taking it since high school. This is Denver, lots of Spanish speakers, seemed dumb not to learn.”

“Humilde y inteligente,” Abuela nodded approvingly, and handed the flowers to Tempest. “I like him already.”

With everyone’s help, we lowered the trailer ramp and guided the donkey down. Baby donkey, perhaps sensing he was the center of attention, stepped fully down the ramp, lifting his head with the dignity of visiting royalty. The crowd let out a collective “aww” as he surveyed his new domain.

What happened next was like watching love at first sight in an old movie.

Abuela stepped forward, her hand extended palm out exactly the way Tempest had done the first time she stopped the runaway donkey.

The animal looked at her, ears perked forward, then slowly approached, pressing his soft muzzle into her palm.

“Mi corazón,” she whispered, her free hand coming up to stroke between his ears. “Mi alma pequenita.”

The donkey leaned into her touch like they’d known each other forever, making soft snuffling sounds of contentment.

Abuela’s eyes misted over as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oh, mi precioso. My sweet, sweet boy.” She looked up at Tempest. “You were right. He is special. Wait until Leo meets him.”

“I told you,” Tempest said softly, watching the two of them with obvious affection.

Finally, Abuela turned to address the gathering with the flair of a ringleader announcing the main act. “Everyone, meet the newest member of our family. My beautiful boy. Mi Burrito Petito!”

The crowd cheered as the newly christened Burrito Petito tossed his head, acknowledging his new name.

“Burrito,” Tempest repeated, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Why didn’t we think of that?”

“Wait. Are you telling me all that time I was guessing epic donkey names, you hadn’t given the poor slob an actual name?”

Tempest shrugged and gave a small chuckle, watching as family members began introducing themselves to Burrito Petito as if he were a visiting dignitary. “I couldn’t decide on anything.”

“Querida, my Tempest.” A man who looked to be a similar age as my dad, with the same eyes as Tempest, waltzed out from the backyard, took the flowers, and wrapped Tempest into a huge, enveloping hug. “Only you could make your abuela even more happy than me.”

“Tío Pedro,” he introduced himself with a warm handshake. In a lowered voice, he stage-whispered like he was telling me a secret that wasn’t a secret at all, “I’m the cool uncle and Tempest’s biggest fan.”

“Flynn Kingman.” I returned the handshake .

His eyes sparked with the same mischief I often saw in Tempest’s. “Querida, no me dijiste que era tan guapo.”

“Tio,” Tempest closed her eyes and pressed her hand over her face. “Flynn speaks enough Spanish to know what you just said.”

“Well, it’s not like he doesn’t know he’s good-looking.” He winked at me. “Now come, I want to hear all about everything you’ve been working on, and see if your gentleman suitor can keep up with you.”

“Tio.” Her hand headed toward her face again, but I grabbed it, and pressed a kiss to the back.

“Oh, I can keep up. Let’s see what you’ve got.”