Page 111 of Not For Keeps
She looks around, teary eyed, at the folded blankets, the candles, the cookie set on a plate with a little handwritten note from Maya that says,Welcome home, Mami.
“Did you do all this?” she asks. She smiles through her tears. “God, I love you.”
“I love you more.” I grin. “Now come on. Let’s get you to the couch.”
As I settle her in, Maya curls up beside her and the rest of the crew quietly heads into the kitchen to give us space. For the first time in a long time, everything feels calm. No alarms. No chaos.
Just us. Home. Together.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
ANALYSE
The second I step through the front door, I feel it…the warmth, that scent, that deep soul sighing feeling of being home.
Everything is familiar, but new. The lights are soft and golden. Candles flicker on the mantle. The pillows on the couch have been fluffed within an inch of their lives. And the smell…vanilla and something sweet. Cookies.
My eyes land on a little note sitting next to a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the coffee table, written in uneven, careful handwriting.
Welcome home, Mami.
I can’t stop the tears from welling.
Mateo’s arm tightens around me as he helps me over to the couch. “Easy,” he murmurs, lowering me gently onto the cushion with the best view of the front window, the one I always sit at when I want to see the sunset.
He props a pillow behind my back and adjusts the blanket over my legs with a tenderness that steals my breath. Before Ican even finish exhaling, the rest of the crew spills in from the kitchen.
Mari’s the first to rush over, her eyes misty but her smile wide. “There she is,” she says, crouching carefully beside me. “You look…exhausted and amazing. And don’t argue, I’m taking this as a win.”
I snort. “I’m going to tell Seb to take you to get your eyes checked, because clearly your vision is struggling.”
Seb is right behind her, carrying what looks like half a bakery box and something that smells suspiciously like pastelón. “We brought food,” he says. “And yes, Mari insisted we bring the good Tupperware.”
“You only get the good Tupperware for major events,” Mari says seriously, and I love her so much in this moment I could cry all over again.
Anna slides in next to them on the floor, crossing her legs and offering me a coffee cup. “Decaf, but at least it tastes like real coffee…mostly.”
“Man, I missed you guys.”
And I mean it. Even as the pain flares and my body reminds me I’m not anywhere near healed, the ache in my chest has less to do with injury and more to do with how much I’ve missed this, being surrounded by them. The laughter, the teasing, the way we all show up without being asked.
Nathan settles against the wall near the window, arms crossed, quiet like always but with that watchful glint in his eye. Andres hands off a bag of extra blankets and somehow ends up rearranging the entire linen basket with Mari whispering critique over his shoulder.
“Are you sure you’re okay with us crashing here for a while?” Anna asks, her voice dropping low. “We figured it might help Maya feel a little more normal. Keep theenergy soft.”
“I’m more than okay with it,” I say, my voice thick. “I’m…grateful. For all of you.”
Mateo sits back down beside me, hand resting gently over mine. “This is what family does.”
I lean my head on his shoulder. “Still feels unreal.”
“You’ll get used to it,” he murmurs. “One day at a time.”
And as the noise swells again—Seb making proclamations about who makes the best empanadas, Anna and Mari bickering over where to put the extra pillows, and Maya quietly curling up on the floor with her sketchbook—I feel it: the slow but steady return of peace.
It’s not perfect. My body still aches, and I’ve got weeks of recovery ahead. But I’m home. I’m surrounded by love. We’re going to be okay.
The house has finally quieted down, in that way it only does when the chaos moves outside. Through the cracked window, I can hear Maya’s laughter echo from the backyard, mingling with the low rumble of male voices and the occasional bark of encouragement from Seb.
