To do something stupidly nice. “I’m in the mood for Cisco’s.”
I walk away before I come to my senses and remember all the reasons why Dahlia is bad news.
CHAPTER SIX
Dahlia
Step one of my plan to get over my ex-fiancé includes mango-flavored nieve de garrafa from Cisco’s, also known as the best food truck around. I devour my dessert while Julian taps away at his phone, doing whatever important things billionaires do on a Sunday night. At one point, he steps out of the truck to answer a call, leaving his lemon-flavored nieve unsupervised and available for the taking.
I can’t be held responsible for my actions. If anything, I’m doing Julian’s abs a favor by taking his dessert off his hands.
Once I finish both cups, he tosses them out before we drive away from the park with Morat on full blast. While Julian and I are very different, we share the same great taste in music, a fact I would never admit to his face.
Unlike my first night here, I take in the town and how much it has grown in my time away. While some businesses shut down during the slow winter season since not many people want to hang out by the lake when it’s cold outside, most have remained open all year since they were first founded in the late 1800s.
Some of my favorite shops, like Hole in the Wall Hardware, Holy Smokes BBQ, and the Surf & Turf Meat Market, have been passed down for generations, while a few newer shops, like the Sweets & Treats Bake Shop, catch my eye.
“Where are we going?” I ask after a minute.
He lowers the volume. “One of my construction sites.”
“I swear I’ll haunt you forever if I end up being buried beneath six feet of concrete tonight.”
“I’m flattered you want to hang around me for all eternity.” His eyes sparkle.
Mine narrow into slits.
He raises his right hand. “No need to worry. So long as my mother loves you, I’ll let you live.”
“I’m not sure whether to be horrified by the threat or impressed you’re willing to put up with me solely because your mother loves me.”
He answers my question by increasing the volume of the music.
Cabrón.
When Julian suggested getting rid of my ring, visiting a construction site was not what I had in mind.
“Come on. Let’s go.” Julian switches his sneakers for worn construction boots before forcing me into a hideous pair of large plastic ones that squeak with every step I take toward the fence.
He grabs a white hard hat from behind the barrier and places it on my head.
My nose scrunches. “Seriously?”
“Safety first.” He turns my headlamp on before setting up his own.
Screw guys in backward ball caps and gray sweatpants. Men in hard hats and work boots are my new kink, thanks to Construction Ken standing in front of me with muscular arms and killer cheekbones.
I already know my therapist is going to dive right into this topic during next week’s session.
“You good?” Julian’s voice startles me.
“Yup,” I manage to get out.
He opens the gate and leads the way toward the backyard of the semi-finished house. I follow behind him while watching out for tools and supplies scattered around.
Julian stops beside an empty concrete mixer near the exterior back wall overlooking the lake.
“You’re joking.” Of all the things Julian could have suggested, I would have never guessed this.
“Do you have a better idea?”
“No, but this feels criminal.”
He keeps quiet while gathering supplies. His white T-shirt quickly loses its crisp color as construction dust clings to the material. His jeans suffer a similar fate, with the blue color turning gray when he pours the dry mixture inside the machine.
Though Julian probably hasn’t touched a shovel since he broke ground on his fancy office at the corner of Main Street, he exudes confidence as he works.
If only his dad could see him now.
It was difficult to tear those two away from each other, especially when they were boots-deep in a project together. But then Luis Senior suddenly passed away from a heart attack, leaving a twenty-year-old Julian to grapple with a family business and his mourning mother.
I might dislike Julian for a hundred different reasons, but I will always respect the hell out of him and the sacrifices he made for his family, including dropping out of Stanford.
Julian curses to himself for the second time as he glares at the electrical panel.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” I ask.
“Just because I don’t work on-site anymore doesn’t mean I’m incompetent.”
“Could have fooled me with how you kicked the machine when you thought I wasn’t paying attention.”
He scratches his nose with his middle finger, spreading gray dust all over the bridge. I reach out and wipe it away without a second thought.
He stares up at me like one does the sun—in equal parts pain and wonder.
I take one long step back and tuck my hands behind my back. “So, what’s the point of being a billionaire if you don’t have people at your beck and call ready to handle messy tasks like these?”
“Who says I don’t?”
“Then why not call someone to come help us with this master plan of yours?”
His eyes narrow. “Because if my dad were still around, he would kick my ass if I asked for help making concrete. He taught me this stuff when I was Nico’s age.”
A pain echoes through my chest at his casual mention of his father. How many times did I beg Julian to open up to me after his dad passed away? Tens? Hundreds? He erected a wall around himself to effectively keep everyone out, including me.
He stabs at the power button, only to curse when nothing happens.
“Need any help?”
His back tenses. “I got it.”
We fall into a comfortable silence as he takes apart the machinery. I become distracted by the stars twinkling off the surface of the lake while Julian reads through the user manual on his phone.
“?Chingada!”
My head snaps in his direction. “What happened?”
He drops the cable like a live snake. “Nothing.”
“Please tell me you didn’t forget to check if it was plugged in.”
“Of course I checked.” The moon above us highlights the faint blush creeping up his neck.
The idea of Julian obsessively checking everything but whether or not the machine was plugged in has me curling over and laughing until my lungs hurt.
Chingada: Oh, fuck.
“This is the last time I do something nice for you.” He grumbles something else under his breath.
“I’m sorry!” My voice comes out wheezy.
“No, you’re not.”
“Forgive me? Please?” I bat my lashes.
He glowers. “Only if you don’t repeat this story to anyone. Especially Rafa.”
“Cross my heart.” I draw an invisible X over the spot.
“Tell anyone and I’ll share that boxed wine video I have of you.”
My eyes widen. “You kept it?”
“Blackmail has no expiration date.”