Page 44 of Off the Grid
“Emilio?” McKenzie asked tentatively. The sound brought a shiver to his skin.
Leo glanced to the side, somehow already aware her eyes would be open and watching him. “It’s my name. Emilio Tomas Alvarez, but I’ve gone by Leo for as long as I can remember. It’s a little easier for the, uh, non-Hispanic people to pronounce.”
The edge of her lip pulled a little higher. “You mean the white people?”
“Hey.” He held his hand up, spatula and all. “You said it, not me.”
“And what’s your mother’s name?”
“Josefina, but sometimes her employers would make her go by Josephine.”
“And your brother?”
“Manuel, but everyone calls him Manny.”
“And your—”
He dropped a can and it banged loudly against the floor, cutting her off. Leo hastily retrieved it, but he caught her eye on the way up. Whether he wanted it to or not, his gaze gave away everything his lips couldn’t. McKenzie sealed her lips and swallowed, shifting her attention back to the ceiling. His father was off limits.
“And you didn’t mind going by another name?”
“My mom did, sometimes, back when she was still working, because the Americanized name was sort of forced on her. I think it made her feel farther away from home and a little unwelcome when she was outside of our local community. But me? I don’t know. I’ve been Leo for so long, it’s just who I am. A nickname, nothing else.”
“Would you rather I call you Emilio?”
No.
No, I wouldn’t.
Because every time she said it, a strange rush coursed through him and his heart skipped a beat. Not so much at the word, because her pronunciation was terrible, but at the tender, careful, almost covetous way it rolled through her lips.
“It’s no big deal.”
“Emilio,” she murmured again, shooting another wave of liquid gold down his veins. He turned in time to watch her frown. “It doesn’t sound as good when I say it.”
It sounds better.
He turned back to the stove and stirred the food. They were from different worlds entirely, socially, culturally, monetarily, and it was time he remembered that. “That’s because you, McKenzie Kathleen Harper, are about as Anglo-Saxon as they come.”
She crossed her arms, still lounging across the island counter. “I’m Scottish, thank you very much.”
“For the purpose of this discussion, it’s the same thing.”
She scoffed, offended. “It isnot.”
“Say, I don’t know,churro.”
“Churro.”
“I rest my case.”
She sat up, puckering her lips in an attempt to get her R to roll off the tongue a little easier. “Churro.”
“Churrrrrrrrro,” he countered with a smug smile. “Churro. Churro. Churrrrro.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Oh sure, you can say churro, but can you make churros?”
“What?” Leo shook his head, fighting the mental whiplash. He didnotsee that one coming. “That’s not the same thing at all.”
