“Burned myself with the stove while grabbing a pot.”
“Sorry! I must have forgotten to turn it off.” I reach for the knob and turn it all the way to the left before grabbing his hand. “How bad is it?”
“It’s not a big deal.” He tries to tug his hand free.
I tighten my grip. “Stop moving.”
“I’m fine.”
Based on the way he hisses when I brush my hand over his palm, I would say the opposite. “We have some of that silver burn cream stuff after Lily had an incident with a curling iron.” I pull him toward the fridge.
“Completely unnecessary for a little mark.” He wiggles his fingers.
“Stop fussing and let me help you.”
His deep sigh of resignation shouldn’t be endearing, but Julian has a way of making the most mundane sounds interesting.
I find the cream and open the jar.
He reaches for it. “I got it.”
I pull away. “Seriously, what’s your problem? I’m trying to help you.”
“No need to burden yourself,” he whispers to himself.
I didn’t expect my comment to elicit that kind of response, which makes me momentarily feel bad. “It’s okay to ask for help. In fact, I encourage you to be the biggest burden since it does wonders for my ego.”
“My dad didn’t need anyone else’s help.”
“Your dad was also un cabeza dura, no offense.”
He laughs. “None taken.”
“You can admire your father without trying to emulate everything about him, you know?”
Un cabeza dura: A hard-headed person
He nods. “Yeah, I’m aware. It’s a bad habit I picked up as a kid, and now it’s more of a pride issue than anything else.”
“What happened when you were a kid?”
He gives the door a forlorn glance.
“You can tell me.” I press my hand against his stubbled cheek. My touch only lasts a second, but it does the trick of getting Julian to open up to me.
“It’s no secret my mom suffered from depression. It started as postpartum after giving birth to me, but then it became more permanent after the miscarriages, a stillbirth, and the financial struggles my parents had.”
My nose stings. I always admired Josefina and her battle against depression, but now that I’ve gone through my own experience, I have a whole new level of respect for her. Little by little, I hope to be as carefree and fearless as Julian’s mom.
Julian leans into my hand cupping his cheek. “At first, I didn’t want to add to my dad’s worries because he was already struggling with my mom’s episodes. But then Rafa moved in with my family, and I felt self-conscious about complaining because his problems were so much bigger than mine. Asking for help seemed selfish when he and my mom needed it so much more.”
I can’t keep my eyes from watering.
His gaze hardens. “It’s nothing to feel sad about.”
“I’m not sad. I’m…” Dammit, you are sad. “Emotional.”
Julian’s face reveals nothing. “Why?”
“Because you’ve put other people first, even when it meant struggling on your own.”
He shrugs. “At least I’m living up to my title of Second Best.”
My heart might implode. “Our competitions only made your insecurities worse, didn’t they?”
“No. They pushed me to be better.”
“You were always the best, Julian, with or without the trophies or accolades.”
He blushes.
“Expressing our feelings has never been our strong suit, but I mean it. You’re the best son, brother, godfather, and businessman I know.”
“I’m the best godparent, but we can agree to disagree.”
I laugh, and his dark gaze traces the curve of my face.
“Asking for help doesn’t make you a burden or less than.” I swipe some of the burn cream over his red skin. “So stop telling yourself that.”
His body ripples with tension until I finish treating his burn.
“There.” I give his wrist a squeeze before taking a step back.
He latches on to mine and holds me in place. “Thank you.”
“Thank me by channeling your inner Picasso during Pictionary.”
He laughs. “Deal.”
Turns out losing with Julian is far better than winning against him.
And I can’t wait to do it again next week.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Dahlia
“I want to take you somewhere.” Julian tugs on my hand.
“Now?” I check the empty living room. Josefina, Rafa, and Nico headed out ten minutes ago to see a movie together, while Lily and my mom are busy finding a way to fit all the Thanksgiving leftovers in the fridge.
“Yes.”
I must not answer fast enough because he rushes to say, “I have a surprise.”
“What kind of surprise?”
“Telling you would defeat calling it one.” He leads me toward the front door, but before he opens it, he grabs my winter coat off the rack and helps me into it.
It’s the smallest gestures that send my heart into overdrive, like the way he wraps a scarf around my neck and fixes my hair without me asking.
He’s perfect.
Which makes him that much more dangerous. The more he takes care of me, the less confident I feel about our arrangement.
I peek into the empty living room. “But my mom—”
“Has plans to spend the rest of the night catching up on a telenovela with your sister.”
“If you’re trying to convince me to leave, you’re doing a terrible job.”
“It’ll be worth the sacrifice. I swear.”
“That’s a big promise.”
His smile says he plans on delivering.
“Tonight was…nice,” I say after the first song finishes playing.
Julian turns down the volume. “I thought so, although your turkey was a little dry.”
I slap his shoulder. “Jerk! You’re the one who told me to keep it in the oven longer.”
“I only said that so you had to keep bending over to check on it.”
I laugh until my lungs hurt.
“I like it when you laugh like that,” he says in that quiet, shy voice of his.
A rush of warmth flows through my body, spreading all the way to my toes.
“But I like it even more knowing I’m the reason behind it.”
Forget a rush of warmth. Julian’s words are like an inferno, obliterating whatever ice I had left to protect my heart.
I become fascinated by the window. “When you say things like that…”
“What?” he asks after a few moments of silence.
“It makes me feel things I shouldn’t.”
“According to whom?” His question comes out sharper than a blade directed at my chest.
“Me.”
“Because you’re afraid?”
“Because I’m a mess.”
He focuses on the road, giving me a side view of his jaw clenching. “You’re many things, but a mess isn’t one of them.”
My eyes drop to my lap. “I’ve only just started feeling like myself again.” After fighting my way out of a mental fog, I don’t want to sink back into that black hole.
Julian stays quiet, which emboldens me.
“I’ve been taking the right steps to get better. Therapy. Antidepressants. Exploring who I am post-breakup while forgiving the person I was before it.”
His grip on the steering wheel tightens. “And how is that going?”