Page 63 of Not For Keeps
I step closer, bag crinkling in my fist. “You done running your mouth yet, Letty? Or do I need to spell it out for you?”
Her smirk widens, but there’s a flicker of nerves in her eyes. “Spell what out?”
“That you and I were never a thing. Not before. Not now. Not ever.” My voice is low but sharp enough to carry to the people sipping cafecitos at the sidewalk tables. Heads are already turning. Good.
Her smile falters. “Come on, Mateo?—”
“No.” I cut her off. “You’ve been telling people Analyseis just a fling. That we’re ‘reconnecting.’ That I’ve been saying we’re not serious. Let me make this real clear: there was never a shot for you. Not then, not now, not ever. And dragging her name into your lies? That’s the quickest way to make sure I don’t even tolerate you in the same room.”
I lean in, my voice dropping lower. “Understand this—disrespecting her is an automatic disqualifier. Analyse is mine, and anyone who can’t respect her sure as hell isn’t welcome anywhere near me.”
The bakery door creaks behind me, and Mari’s voice pipes up. “Everything good out here?” She’s holding a rolling pin, flour dusting her apron. Her eyes dart from me to Letty.
“Fine, Mari,” I say, not looking away from Letty. “Just clearing up a misunderstanding.”
Letty shifts her weight, clearly uncomfortable now. I step in closer, lowering my voice. “You hear me, Letty? Even if Analyse and I weren’t together.” I shake my head. “You’re an automatic no. Always was, always will be.”
Her face goes pale. Mari raises a brow like she’s ready to back me up if needed. Letty doesn’t say another word. She just turns on her heel and stalks down the sidewalk.
I finally exhale, glancing back at Mari.
She lifts the rolling pin, smirking. “Guess I didn’t need this after all.”
“Appreciate the backup, though,” I mutter, lips twitching.
She grins. “Anytime.”
I adjust the bag of pastries under my arm and head to my truck, pulse still thudding but lighter. Analyse might not have been here to see it, but word will get back to her. It always does. And this time, I want her to know exactly where I stand.
Chapter Nineteen
ANALYSE
The last few weeks have been calm. Nico has been visiting Maya, and Letty hasn’t said a word since that text she sent—hopefully she crawled back into the hole she came from. Now it’s the day before Christmas Eve, which means prepping for our big Christmas dinner tomorrow. The meat is marinating, the pies are baking, and Mateo and I are making the coquito while Maya sits at the kitchen table decorating sugar cookies.
Mateo dips a spoon in the coquito mix and lifts it toward my mouth. “Tell me if it needs more cinnamon,” he says, eyes gleaming.
I narrow my eyes but lean in, letting him feed me a small sip. “Mmm.” I swirl it on my tongue, pretending to consider. “Maybe a pinch more nutmeg.”
“Lies,” he mutters with a smirk, already taking another sip for himself. “It’s perfect. Admit it.”
“You’re awfully cocky for someone who didn’t even know how to make coquito until a week ago.”
He places a hand on his chest, feigning offense. “Wow. First of all, the disrespect in this kitchen is real. Second, I’m a master of coquito, I’m basically Puerto Rican now.”
I snort, turning back to stir the pot on the stove. “Okay, Mateito Rodriguez, slow your roll.”
Behind me, I hear the chair legs scrape as Maya hops off the table and scampers into the living room with a tray of her half-decorated cookies, singing “Feliz Navidad.”
Mateo steps up behind me, his hands sliding around my waist as he leans down to whisper in my ear. “Admit it,” he murmurs. “You love how good I’ve gotten at blending into your chaos.”
My pulse stutters, but I don’t let it show. “Hmm. You do okay.”
“Okay?” he repeats, pulling back just enough for me to catch his grin. “Mujer, I’m over here measuring the ingredients for the coquito like my life depends on it.”
I fight the smile tugging at my lips. “You read the recipe off your phone, Mateo.”
He leans in a little, his voice low and cocky. “Yeah, but I read with intention. You can’t teach that.”
