“Lo.” My name is spoken quiet and deep: a warning. “I’m twenty-seven. I’m not going to play bullshit games with you. I’ll respect the time you want and need to spend by yourself, but I’m not going to call and text so you know that I’m sitting around twiddling my thumbs and waiting for you. We have a lot to still learn about each other, and while I know you’re not into mind games, you seem to be playing one hell of a mind game with yourself right now, and unfortunately you’re dragging me into it. I will always be honest with you. I won’t take advantage of you, but I need your trust, and I need you to stop trying to set me up to fail. If you tell me you’re going to call me, call.”

My earlier convictions are a cold sweat, drying to my skin and making me feel dirty and contrite. “I’m sorry. I … I’m not used to this.”

“I think I’m realizing there’s a lot you aren’t used to.” His words have so many plausible meanings that I clench my teeth as my temper rises. “I have to stay another day. There’s a store here Kash wants me to check out, and the owner can’t make it in until after they close.”

“Oh.” My tone and heart turn poignant.

“I’ll be in on Tuesday, though. I want to spend some time with you. I know we’re going out Saturday, but stay late a couple of days this week. We’ll watch a movie or something. I really don’t care. I just want us to get past these last few months where we’ve been working to build up these defense walls, and remind each other who we really are. I know I keep saying this, but we have something, Lo, and I know you feel it.”

“I’ll burn some popcorn.”

His laugh unwinds my muscles in a quick sequence. “I’ll take care of the food. You just need to worry about letting your guard down, because whether by permission or defeat, I’m getting through.”

My thoughts are a jumbled mess, causing a stretch of silence far less comfortable than ones previous.

“Goodnight, Lo. Sweet dreams. Call me tomorrow when you have some free time. I don’t care if it’s when you wake up or on your way to school or on your way to the house. Don’t overthink it, just do it.”

“You can’t tell you grew up with the Nike headquarters in the same city.”

King releases a sigh that is tainted with a laugh he’s trying to conceal. “Goodnight, beautiful.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Don’t talk yourself out of it.”

“Just do it.” I hear his heavy release of breath and can picture him shaking his head.

We sit in another silence. This time, the familiarity returns along with a giddy anticipation. I can sense his reluctance to hang up because I’m certain my own unwillingness to go is just as obvious.

“I want you to tell me about you. I wish I could be beside you and listen to your past.”

“There isn’t a lot to tell. What do you want to know?” I ask, sliding down in my bed, my feet greeting areas that have gone cold from my absence.

“Everything.”

With the weight of his single word, I know I’ve just crossed beyond my crush status into something far more intricate and deeper than I’ve allowed my thoughts to travel. My heart beats with an equal measure of fear and exhilaration.

“Sleep well, Lo. I hope you draw another thousand pictures of me in your dreams.”

“I draw much faster in my sleep than in real time. It will likely be a few thousand.”

“Good.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Lo.”

Several seconds later, I take a heavy breath and push end with the desire to call him right back dancing through my thoughts.

“LO!” ESTELLA cries as I enter the back of the restaurant with my bag filled with paints and brushes. Her arms encircle me before wrapping around my shoulder and walking me over to where Mia is waiting for an order. “Are you hungry? We just pulled out some chile rellenos.”

“You know you can’t pay me anything when this is done, right? Because I think I’m going to owe you for all that you feed me.”

She laughs, patting my arm as she moves to the sink to wash her hands. “I’ll get you a plate!”

I’m filled with horchata—a sweetened rice milk flavored with cinnamon that I’ve been addicted to since I was first introduced to it when I started here nearly four years ago—and the mound of chile rellenos Estella dished up for me, and painting a flourish of colors to a wide expanse of the wall.

“I thought you were supposed to be wearing heels.”

Lowering my brush to my side, I turn to where King is sitting in a chair pulled up so he’s within just a few feet, a plate of chile rellenos resting in one of his hands.

“How long have you been here?”

King shrugs like the answer is trivial. “I understand why you never learned to cook. I don’t know if I’d have much interest in learning if I ate here every day, either.”

“It’s pretty amazing, right? How was your drive?”

“This might be one of the best things I’ve ever eaten. And thankfully, my drive was fast since that pain in my ass had to delay our meeting again.” He cuts off another bite and looks at me with his dark eyes looking tired but anxious. “How was your day? And where are the shoes?”

We talked twice on Monday, both times the conversation flowing with a level of intimacy that proved we had been watching and caring about each other far longer than a mere week. What King and I have built between us is a mutual respect and friendship that was somehow kindled when we both were working so hard at finding every excuse to not like the other, and continually came up short.

“I can’t wear them while I paint. Everything would be off.” King grins, expecting my answer. “Today was kind of rough. I think those kids have been teasing Mercedes again.”

“Those kids need their asses chewed.”

“That won’t stop them. Hatred doesn’t stop hatred.”

“Don’t tell me you want to deliver each of them a plate of cookies.” King’s tone is a bite in itself as he rests his fork on his plate, waiting for my answer.

“Of course not.” I stand straighter with indignation. “What happened to not acting like a jackass?”

He extends his arm to set his plate on a table in the corner and stands up. “Their words hurt her way more than falling off a bike.”

“I know.” My words are clipped with my annoyance for his previous comments, and now for insinuating I don’t know how hurt Mercedes is from these kids.

He sighs loudly, his finger and thumb going to the bridge of his nose. “I know you know. Maybe we should transfer her schools or something. I’ll talk to Kash about looking into it.”

I shrug, hating the idea.

Recognize the war of patience that I often find with Mercedes visible with his raised eyebrows and wide eyes, I’m prompted me to explain my reaction.

“I think people often have to experience something in order to understand it.” King’s eyebrows disappear under his ball cap with a silent I know! That’s what I’m saying! “But then you’re no better than they are. You don’t want to teach her to stoop to their level, and you certainly don’t want to teach her that there are appropriate times to do so, because that line will become fuzzier and fuzzier every time she feels threatened or insecure from someone else.”

“Then how in the hell are those kids ever going to experience it?”

“That’s not our lesson to teach. Our lesson is for Mercedes to feel comfortable and confident with who she is as a person.” King drops his gaze from mine and shakes his head, releasing a heavy sigh that is tangled with words of objection. “You aren’t going to be able to fight off every bully she encounters, King. She would never allow you to and you know that! Mercedes is as proud and independent as you are. She barely shares these situations now. We have to make sure that the bullies she faces are simply external and are never her own haunting thoughts.”