Page 13 of The Last Call Home
The moment the bell above the door jingles behind him, my mom lets out a sigh so theatrical she could win a Premios TVyNovelas for best emotional performance.
“Mamá,” I start, but she waves her hand to cut me off as if I’m a rerun she’s already seen.
“You know,” she says, licking sugar from her thumb as if the biscotti just revealed the secrets of the universe, “that Cassian has a look.”
I blink.“What look?”
She tilts her head, smiling in that way that always spells trouble.“The one that says he’s either going to break your heart or save your life.”
I freeze.Because I know exactly what she means.
It’s the look that pulls you in before you even realize you’re drowning.The look that makes you forget caution exists.That makes you hope—dangerously, stupidly—that maybe, just maybe, this time will be different.
Maybe you won’t be the one left to pick up the pieces.
“Or maybe both,” she adds, tossing her napkin like a mic drop before strolling toward the kitchen as if she didn’t just drop a truth bomb straight into my chest.“He might be the man of your dreams.”
“Really, a heartbreaker?”I stare at her confused.
“Just think about it, chiquita,” she calls over her shoulder.“Life’s too short for lukewarm coffee and men who don’t fight for you.”
And damn it, I do think about it.
Not just Cassian.Not just Malerick.But what I’m doing.
Who I’m becoming.
Who I’m letting in—and who’s already inside, rearranging the furniture of my heart as if they have a lease.
I swipe at the counter, pretending I’m cleaning, but really, I’m just trying to steady myself.
Because the truth is, I don’t want to be broken again.
But I’m beginning to think that I already am.
ChapterFive
Cassian
Who knewa trip to the coffee shop would end in ...whatever the fuck that was?
Did I come on too strong?
Fuck.I probably did, but I couldn’t help myself.
Let’s rewind.
The woman who owns The Honey Drop café?Yeah.I noticed her the second she arrived.It was almost four in the goddamn morning, and she was all bundled up and beautiful, unlocking the back door like it didn’t take the wind three seconds to bite through bone.Her name’s Delilah Mora and she’s been wrecking my focus since the first time I laid eyes on her.
Did I run a background check on her?
...Don’t judge me.It wasn’t personal.Just protocol.Let’s call it a smart move.Someone who shows up that early to a café that doesn’t open until six-thirty?That screams something.Commitment, sure.Secrets, maybe.Crime ...what if she’s laundering money?Smuggling drugs?
Okay, I’ve been doing this job for too long and I don’t trust easily.
I could’ve bundled up and gone downstairs.Introduce myself and figure out her angle with a charming smile.But of course, I didn’t.I’m too fucking tired.That’s what you get when you don’t sleep for more than twenty-four hours.
Since I arrived, I’ve been behind screens—monitoring feeds from the cameras we planted, as well as a few I borrowed from the town without permission.Mapping alleyways and escape routes.Evaluating the terrain and the people with surgical precision.In under twenty-four hours, I already know more about this town than most people who’ve lived here their whole damn lives.
