Indefinitely.
The word appears on his tongue faster than he can come up with a more realistic answer. He presses his mouth closed to keep from saying it, though he wishes it were true. Life in California isn’t what it used to be, and the one person he wanted most who is there is no longer his.
But he knows he must return soon.
“I’m thinking a couple of weeks, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all. You’re welcome to stay longer. In fact, I’d love for you and the kids to stay longer. I haven’t seen them for a while. They don’t start school until August, right?” He nods and she rests a hand on his forearm. “Will you stay?”
“I think the boys will like that.”
“What about you?” Her gaze searches him. “Do you want to stay?”
James thinks of the engagement ring in his suitcase, which he’ll probably transfer to his pocket after he showers and changes. He thinks of his sons eating in the kitchen and how this woman beside him offered to help bring them all together.
“Yes, I want to stay.”
“Excellent,” she says, smiling. “Though you might change your mind when Dad arrives.”
“Have we met yet?”
“Once. At your wedding.”
His stomach drops and his mind jumps to Aimee and the wedding they never had. Instead, she spent that special day they’d reserved on their calendar for almost a year at his funeral and burial. Then he remembers Carlos married Raquel.
“What happened at the wedding?” There wasn’t much information in the journals. At that time, Carlos hadn’t been writing as though the journals were a life preserver.
“Well . . .” Natalya rubs her hands and stands. She picks up Marc’s backpack and pulls out his books. She stacks them on the coffee table. “Dad’s a womanizer and he was harassing Imelda, the woman you were told was your sister,” she adds when he frowns. “He wasn’t being too obnoxious. But she was annoyed, so you clocked him.”
James’s brows shoot to his hairline.
Natalya unzips each pocket. She shoves her hand inside and adds whatever she finds to the growing pile on the coffee table. “When you were Carlos, it didn’t take much to get you fired up. You were a very physical man.”
She ducks her head and the loose bun comes undone. Her hair falls forward, obscuring her face, but not fast enough. James caught the blush tingeing her cheeks. She’s embarrassed; nervous, too, judging by the way she’s searched each pocket more than once.
James stands and takes the pack. He wants to tell her she doesn’t have to be nervous around him, but she looks so darn uncomfortable that he’s concerned he may spook her and she’ll retreat behind her cold front again.
He sets the backpack aside. “I take it your dad doesn’t like me very much.”
“Not really.”
For some reason, the admission makes him laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
He laughs harder. He wipes the corners of his eyes. “Oh God. I can’t tell you how good it is to hear I’m not the only one with a screwed-up family. Here I thought you were perfect.” His tone is light and teasing.
“Well . . . he is your father-in-law.”
His eyes bug. “Good point. Don’t worry about him, though. I’ll do what I can to make amends. God knows what that’ll be.”
“Just be yourself. He’ll like you.”
He fights a smile as he looks down at her. He catches the scent of her lotion Carlos wrote about more than once. Warmth coils inside him as he breathes her in and his pulse quickens.
“And James?”
“Hmm?” he asks, his gaze transfixed on the line of her collarbone that disappears under her shirt’s neckline. He has the urge to kiss the dip between that bone and her shoulder.
“You stink.”
“Oh jeez. I ran twelve miles today.” His face heats. He chuckles and moves back, circling to the opposite side of the table.
“Is that for me?” She gestures at the coffee.
“Yes. I picked them up at the roasters a couple of blocks from here.” He gives her a cup.
She lifts the lid, blows across the top, and takes a cautious sip. Her eyes open wider. “How did you know the way I like my coffee?”
“It’s your favorite, right?” A touch of coconut milk with a shot of macadamia-nut syrup.
“Yes, but . . .” She traces a finger around the lip, looking uncomfortable. He can tell she’s thinking about Carlos’s journals. Maybe he shouldn’t make it obvious about how much he knows about her. The situation between them is already weird enough as it is.
“It doesn’t seem fair you know so much about me and I have to get to know you all over again,” she says, her thoughts aligning with his. But there’s an invitation in her observation.
“Do you want to, though?”
She taps the cup rim and nods.
He smiles, pleased she does. He picks up his cup, toasts hers, and sips through the lid opening. “Don’t worry about your dad. I’m looking forward to meeting him.” He grins broadly. “Again.”
While Julian surfs with his aunt, James borrows Natalya’s car and takes Marc and his mother grocery shopping. They barely make it through the produce aisle before Marc starts complaining. He’s bored. He wants to build sand castles at the beach with Tía Natalya. And he wants to color.
“Help me select the zucchini,” James suggests, bagging the squash he plans to grill.
Marc slumps, arms hanging loose. “This is booooring.”
James pushes the cart to the tropical fruit bin. Marc reluctantly follows, his flip-flops sliding along the linoleum floor. James selects two pineapples and compares their weight. “I can’t tell which one is ripe.” He had no problem selecting a cut of meat to go with potatoes and salad. Aimee always did the shopping for the other stuff. She’d been the cook in their relationship.
“Smell them.” Claire drops a bag of spiny maroon fruit in the cart. James sniffs each pineapple. “Scent or no scent?” his mother asks.
“This one smells sweet.” He bounces the pineapple balancing in his dominant left hand. “And this has no scent.”
His mother points at the unscented pineapple and he returns the sweet, overly ripe pineapple.
Marc peeks inside the cart and points at the spiny fruit. “What are those?”
“Dragon fruit,” Claire says.
“Whoa.” He pokes the fruit. “Do dragons eat them?”
“Maybe,” Claire says, playing along. “We’ll try one when we return to your aunt’s house.” She inspects the apple-bananas, a smaller, more flavorful banana varietal, as noted on the label James reads beside the price. He adds the pineapple to their groceries.
Marc swings from the cart. “Are we done yet?”
“Almost. We’ll go to the toy store next.”
“How about I take him there now?”
“What?” James tightens his grip on the cart handle.
“Sí, sí, sí!” Marc tugs Claire’s hand. “I mean, yes! Let’s go.” He tries dragging Claire away.
“I won’t wander off with him. I have no car.”
He scowls, and not because he suspects his mother will leave with her grandson like she thinks he believes. He wants to spend time with Marc.