Page 64 of Not For Keeps
I laugh, but my chest feels too tight.
“I’m just saying,” he adds, resting his chin lightly on my shoulder, “I’ve basically earned honorary abuelito status. At this rate, your family’s gonna ask me to host Nochebuena next year.”
I roll my eyes and elbow him gently. “You’re ridiculous.”
“But you like it.”
I don’t answer. Because he’s right. I do like it. Too damn much. For a second, I almost turn. Almost lean back into the warmth of his chest. Almost ask him what we’re even doing—if he feels what I’m feeling, too. But I don’t.
Instead, I turn back to the stove, focusing on the pot of rice. “You better focus,” I say, voice light. “You still have to grate the coconut.”
“Already on it,” he says, stepping back, and I hate how much colder the room feels the second he does.
Mateo hums as he grates the coconut, shoulders moving with every stroke, completely in his element like this is just another Saturday morning. Except it’s not. It’s the day before Christmas Eve, and here he is, fitting into my life, my world, so seamlessly. He’s here like he was always meant to be here. Like he has always been here. We move together in synchronicity as if we’ve done this our whole lives.
He glances up. “You’re staring.”
I blink. “No, I’m not.”
He smiles knowingly. “It’s okay, chula. You can admit you’re impressed.”
“I’m not impressed,” I lie, turning back toward the stove. “You’re just not as useless in the kitchen as I expected.
“That sounds like progress.”
I laugh despite myself and shake my head. “You know what? I’ll take it.”
From the corner of my eye, I see him fake a bow. “Gracias, chef.”
We fall into a rhythm after that—Mateo measuring and pouring while I work on the glaze for the ham. Every so often, Maya runs in from the living room to show off a cookie or ask if she can lick the spoon. And every time, Mateo lights up like she’s the best part of his entire day. Maybe she is. Maybe we both are. I shouldn’t think like that. We’re not real.
This whole fake dating thing was supposed to be temporary. A Band-Aid to get Nico off my back and keep things simple for Maya. I’m stirring the glaze when I feel him behind me again, not touching, but close enough to feel the warmth of him.
“I forgot to ask,” he says casually. “What’s the dress code for tomorrow? Are we going Christmas sweaters or full glam?”
I smirk. “Mateo. Do you not know Latinas at all? This is our time to shine, baby. Full glam.”
He chuckles. “How could I forget? You guys love getting dressed up to sit in the living room.”
I spin around to face him, still holding the spoon. “If you want to survive tomorrow, you better iron a shirt. A real one. With buttons.”
He makes a face. “Fine. But only because I like you.”
My stomach flips. It’s not the first time he’s said it. Not the first time he’s thrown a little line into a conversation like it’s no big deal. But tonight, with the house smelling like coconuts and sugar, and Christmas music floating in from the living room, it lands different.
“You’re going to make this complicated,” I murmur, mostly to myself.
“What?” he asks, stepping closer. “What did you say?”
I shake my head, heart thudding. “Nothing”
But his eyes are sharp. “You said I’m going to make this complicated. Why?”
“It’s nothing, Mateo. Please just forget I said anything.”
“What if I don’t want to forget?”
For a second, we just stare at each other. The air between us thickens, and I hate how much I want to close the space, to see how his lips would feel against mine. But I don’t. I can’t.
