Page 43 of Trick of the Flesh
“Thanks,” I croak. “I’ll do that.Gracias, Mama.”She smiles at that, leaning down to kiss my cheek.
Miguel’s eyes stay on me a beat longer, and there’s nothing mocking in them. Only that same unreadable heat.
The rest of breakfast is a blur. Dad goes to fix something in the shed. Celeste disappears with a basket of laundry, and suddenly it’s just me and Miguel at the table. The silence hums between us. He leans back in his chair, arms folding over his chest. “You’re quiet this morning.”
My fingers tighten on my coffee mug. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not.” His voice is even, not sharp. “I just want to know where your head’s at.”
The question throws me more than any filthy whisper he used last night. My laugh comes out shaky. “Where my head’s at? You really want me to spell that out?”
“Yeah,” he says simply. “I do.”
I stare at him, throat dry. I want to say I’m fine. That it was a mistake. That I’ll forget all about it when I’m back at school. But my body can’t tell that lie—heat crawling up my neck, my hands shaking against the mug.
Miguel watches, patient. Waiting.
Finally I blurt, “I don’t know how to feel.”
Something eases in his expression, like that was the only answer he needed. “That’s honest. We’ll make it work, Caleb.”
The words hit me harder than any dirty name he’s ever called me.
I sink back in my chair, trying to breathe. “You shouldn’t—” My voice cracks. “We shouldn’t?—”
“Maybe.” He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t deny it. He just studies me like he’s memorizing my face. Then, quieter, “But I meant what I said last night.”
My chest squeezes. My ears burn. I want to ask what exactly he meant—the praise, the tenderness, or the slip of Spanish that he thinks I didn’t hear. I’m not brave enough to push him, though.
Instead I whisper, “You’re dangerous.”
Miguel smiles, not cruelly but achingly. “Yeah. But I’ll never hurt you.”
I don’t know what to do with that, so I look away.
The restof the day slides by in snapshots—helping Celeste put away the decorations, Dad snoring through a movie, and candy passed around while the wind rattles the windows. Miguel is always there, close enough that our shoulders brush, his hand brushing mine when we reach for the popcorn. Not demanding of public affection. Not pushing. Just… there. Like he belongs in my space, like he’s already settled into me.
By the time I’m packing my bag for campus, my chest feels hollow. Not empty, not broken. Just full of something I don’t have words for. I pause at my bedroom window, looking out atthe sagging pumpkins on the porch, the yard stripped of Halloween lights. The world looks the same. It feels the same.
Except, I don’t.
My reflection in the glass is different now. More secrets, only this time the secret is one that makes me feel alive.
And wanted.
When I close my eyes, I can still feel Miguel’s hands steadying me, his voice whispering praise, and the way his arms wrapped around me after, like he couldn’t let go. I know then, as sure as I know my own name—whatever this is, I’ll come back.
Maybe that’s the scariest part.
Or maybe it’s the sweetest.
EPILOGUE
CALEB
Two MonthsLater
Caleb
