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zablife · 1 year

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Tachipen (Part 5)

Summary: With the flip of a coin, Tommy makes a deal to bring a young gypsy girl into the Shelby clan. Considering her too young to marry, he takes pity on her and employs her as a nanny for John’s children instead. The arrangement soon sours when Tommy believes his horse has been cursed and demands her help stealing from the Lees. When she seeks solace in John’s company, an innocent romance blossoms, but a war with the Lees and Polly’s poorly-timed advice drive them apart in a way that will change their history forever. As the scenes from the present reveal, Y/n must watch the Shelby men go on to love others while she is shut out. However, the events of one tragic afternoon could change everything.

Author’s Note: After a 5 month hiatus, this story is back! I'll be updating more regularly now that I've outlined more of the fic. The story is told through flashbacks, but I will note the year. Tommy meets y/n in 1919 and the story goes thru present time which is the year of the vendetta, 1925.

Warnings: language, ethnic slur, implied smut, mention of pregnancy, mention of arranged marriage

Part 4

1924

The frosted glass shook as Polly forcefully closed John’s office door, her eyes darting from you to her nephew. “What is this I hear about the two of you sniping at one another like bloody children?”

You and John both started speaking at once and Polly shouted over you to assert authority. “That’s enough! John, perhaps you could explain why you’re even in the office today?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Y/n is perfectly capable of supervising the other girls.”

John opened and closed his mouth a few times in shock, giving the appearance of a fish out of water before you interjected. “He’s been hovering over me for weeks, Pol. Won’t let me finish one fucking job without trying to find a mistake!”

John pointed a finger in your direction as he retorted, “If she could keep her mind on her work instead of her love life for a change--”

“Would you stop?!" you screamed, interrupting him mid-sentence. You felt the emotion welling in your chest and did your best to keep from crying. Running a shaky hand through your hair, you took a deep breath to regain control before continuing your plea to Polly. "I did as I was told. I broke up with Angel and I apologized…” you stopped before you broke down, then continued with the part that stung most, “for the inconvenience.” Those had been the words Arthur insisted you use. He’d probably consulted Linda about it at the first sign of trouble, you thought bitterly.

Polly softened at your show of emotion, reaching across the table for your hand. “Alright, I think I understand. John, would you leave us, please?” John nodded with clenched jaw, pushing out of his chair with more force than necessary. He looked back at you as he crossed to the door and you swore you saw a brief shadow of remorse cross his handsome features though you couldn’t be sure with the lingering tension between you.

When you were finally alone, Polly began, “Y/n, I’m sorry about this. I know you’re upset about the Changretta boy and I don’t blame you, but what’s done is done. And you must understand that John is under a lot of stress at home. I’m not sure if you know this, but there's another little one on the way,” she said hesitantly.

“Again?” you nearly shrieked. It was the third time in the nearly four years he'd been married.

Polly nodded slowly. “You see why he’s so on edge lately?”

You swallowed thickly, thinking of how chaotic the household must be with six children, soon to be seven. Although you attempted a shred of compassion for his new wife, you couldn’t manage it. “Yes, I understand,” you said in a quiet monotone. “He has a lot of people depending on him.” It was what Polly wanted to hear so you spoke the words, turning your head away so she couldn’t read your expression.

“Exactly. I know it doesn’t excuse his behavior here, but we all have to learn to get along,” she advised, giving your hand a gentle squeeze before leaving you alone in the room. A bitter laugh escaped your throat at the thought of any of you living peacefully after all you’d inflicted upon one another.

—————————————————-

1919

As the first rays of dawn broke, you sat up in bed, face aching from the bruise across your cheek and your mind reeling from the events of the previous day. If Tommy hadn’t trusted you before, there was no hope for you now with so much cash missing from the betting shop, especially when he learned the Lees were to blame. How could he not think you were involved?

Panic setting into your bones, you decided to make a hasty retreat from Polly’s house while you still could. Despite the throbbing in your wrist, you slipped your dress over your head and silently turned the bedroom doorknob, giving the hallway a quick glance for occupants. With no signs of activity, you slipped quietly down the steps and right to the front door, knowing this would be the most difficult part of your escape. The rusty hinges creaked loudly and you cringed at the noise, well aware of how it carried throughout the house. Rightfully so as Tommy’s voice beckoned to you at the sound. “Where are you off to so early?” his husky voice called out.

You spun around to face him, heart pounding in your chest as you waited for his wrath to rain down upon you. You calculated the distance to the street, wondering if you might still be able to outrun him, when he suddenly closed the distance between you, shutting the door with a gentle push.

As he stared into your eyes, he spoke again in a much softer voice. “I misjudged you."

You held your breath realizing how close he stood, the heat radiating off his body into yours. Transfixed by the intensity of his bright, blue eyes, you couldn’t help but stare back at him. The anxious flutter you felt in your stomach intensified as you waited to hear what he thought he knew about you.

“What you did for Ada last night was…” he looked away for a moment as he tried to find the words to express the gratitude he felt upon hearing of Ada’s difficult labor and delivery. “Well, my sister and nephew are alive because of you. You could have gone with the Lees, but you stayed here,” he said, emphasizing the last part. You realized he was recognizing the loyalty in your decision, though for you it had been a matter of common decency.

“Thank you,” he added hesitantly and you could tell from the way he said it, he didn’t make a habit of ingratiating himself to others.

“I only did what I thought was right,” you said, averting your eyes to the floorboards.

One look at your tense posture and Tommy took a step back to give you air. He gestured toward the table as he asked, “Will you sit with me?” You nodded slowly, crossing to join him at the kitchen table. Tommy took a seat and lit a cigarette, leaning back and tilting his head as he searched the ceiling through the rings of smoke. Then the words tumbled forth, breaking the awkward silence unexpectedly.

“About that night in the stable… I brought you here to look after my family and I had to know I could trust you. Charlie thought you might have put a spell on the horse and for a moment I believed him.” Sitting up and looking you in the eye he added, “But when I asked you for the truth, I could tell by your reaction that it wasn’t your doing.”

Your eyes grew wide at his confession. You hadn’t expected him to speak of it ever again and the thought of him bringing it up now made you shudder. With a dismissive air and bitter tone you pushed it away saying, “M used to it. No one trusts gypsies.” You hugged your arms around your body to still your trembling limbs, hoping Tommy would’t recognize weakness in you.

“It’s not right though,” he said looking you in the eye. “I should never have…”

“No, you shouldn’t, you bastard” you interjected, jaw firmly set at the mention of his cruel treatment.

Tommy sucked his teeth as he flicked ash into a mug, giving your jab a moment to wash over him before responding. “I suppose I deserve that, but I want to make amends. Can we start fresh?” Tommy asked, blue eyes searching yours intently.

“Yes, I think so,” you agreed reluctantly, unsure how this turn of events had happened.

“Good,” he said with a nod. “Because I’d like to invite you to have a seat at the next family meeting.”

Your head was still swimming with Tommy’s apology so you weren’t quite sure you heard correctly. “What? When?” you sputtered.

“Today, we have to go on the offensive now that the Lees have struck a blow and you’re our best hope of understanding their way of thinking,” Tommy explained.

You touched the bruise on the right side of your face that was turning to a dark shade of purple, thinking of how your sister was one of them by now. What would your scheming do to her, you wondered?

While you were lost in thought, Tommy leaned forward to examine your swollen wrist and you cried out at his touch. He lifted your hand and moved it carefully to see if there were any broken bones, a skill he’d learned during the war while attending to his men. Nodding thoughtfully he replied, “You’ve got a sprain. You should let me wrap it.”

“Alright,” you agreed, watching as Tommy fetched a bandage and efficiently went about his work, a fresh cigarette hanging from his lower lip. His touch was surprisingly gentle and your mind wandered to the times you’d watched him with the horses. You recalled how they’d responded to him without the use of a whip, only the sound of his voice over the noise of the scrap metal yard. You couldn’t deny that there was something about his presence in this moment that you found calming.

The roughness of his voice cut the silence as he spoke for the first time since he began tending to you. “I’ll be off to John’s now,” he said with a nod as he stamped out his smoke and before you could ask anything more he was gone, leaving you in quiet contemplation of your new role within the family and everything you thought you knew about Tommy.

————————————-

“Open up!” A voice bellowed out before John’s front door swung open, footsteps falling hard and fast on the stairs leading to the bedroom.

John sat up quickly, pulling the duvet over his naked body before reaching for his revolver on the nightstand. Tommy burst in with John cursing, “Fuck, Tommy! When will you learn to knock?”

“When will you learn to lock your bloody door? The Lees could still be in town for all we know,” Tommy scolded.

As the brothers argued, the woman beside John began to stir at the sound of their shouting. As she rolled over to face John, Tommy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as he caught sight of the woman’s familiar dark curls. John covered her quickly though he knew Tommy had already spied his secretary.

John tossed his gun onto the bedside table as he waved his brother off. “Alright, that’s enough! Get out!”

“Fine, but get dressed quickly. There’s business to discuss,” Tommy said, turning to leave. Then hesitating for a moment he called over his shoulder, “Lizzie, I want you at work by nine!”

She inhaled a sharp breath beneath the covers, embarrassed at being caught in bed with the boss’s younger brother. She’d gone to the Garrison to celebrate the new baby with everyone else from the office, but it was Tommy she’d been after. John just happened to be the brother who stumbled into the snug first.

After donning her dress and shoes, Lizzie leaned over with a warm smile and gave John a tender goodbye kiss. His head pounding from the hangover, he gave her only a sliver of affection in return, the reality of what he’d done hitting him full force. When he closed his eyes the only person he could see was you.

“I’ll be going, but I’d like to do this again. You never call me anymore,” she said biting her lip. Pulling back to study him she noticed John’s baby blue eyes didn’t dance with light as they had the night before.

“Listen, Lizzie…” he began, but Tommy interrupted, calling to him from downstairs. “We’ll talk later, yeah?” he said and she nodded cheerfully before pulling on her heels and clicking down the hall.

By the time John joined Tommy in the kitchen, Tommy was pacing like a wild animal. “Where the fuck were you yesterday, eh?” he asked, pointing a finger at his brother.

John rubbed a hand over his face and shook his head slightly. He couldn’t think clearly. What had happened? Before he had time to reply, Tommy was stalking toward him angrily. “The betting shop was robbed by the Lees. Y/n and Ada could have been killed because you left your post, John!”

“Oh, fuck off, Tommy!” John replied. “This is not my fault! How was I meant to do collections for Arthur and run the shop? Scudboat was there anyhow,” he asserted, pulling his suspenders up with an annoyed roll of his neck.

“Except he wasn’t. He went to Charlie’s yard for the arrival of the new shipment which is why you were supposed to have been back by four!” Tommy said, slamming the kitchen table with his palm for emphasis. Running a hand through his hair he shook his head muttering, “You never fucking listen.”

John closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, another vision of you suddenly dancing across his eyelids. He’d noticed a deep red mark on your cheek and how you winced when Ada put too much pressure on your hand, but you’d both been so consumed with Ada’s labor. You’d been steadfast delivering the baby, but that was how you were when you were scared, carrying on despite the fear. John’s head shot up as he asked, “Y/n? How is she?”

Tommy let out a heavy sigh as he realized he was finally getting through to his brother, plopping down in a chair he replied, “She has some bruises and a sprained wrist. She was lucky this time, brother, but the danger will increase. The Lees know she gave us information about their operation. They took their money, but now they want blood,” Tommy said ominously.

John nodded in understanding. He wouldn’t let his concentration lapse again. You were too important and he was determined to do everything in his power to protect you this time. He only needed to bring you home.

———————————————-

The family assembled in the betting shop without noticing you hovering in the corner, feeling woefully out of place. Polly and Arthur were already seated, talking quietly as Polly smoked her clove cigarettes. Lizzie sat with pencil and paper in hand to take notes if necessary, but she didn’t appear nearly as concerned as the others. In fact, she was positively radiant, as though she couldn't stop smiling. You wondered what she had to be so cheerful about, when Isaiah appeared in the doorway, remarking to her, “Looks as though someone had a good night.”

“You know, John,” Lizzie replied with a giggle. Your heart stopped as you watched her bite her lip seductively, wondering what she meant by that.

Moving to the kitchen to help yourself to a cup of tea, Isaiah sauntered in behind you, clearing his throat to announce his presence. “Why didn’t you come to the Garrison last night?” he asked, leaning against the cupboards with a casual charm he directed at most ladies.

“I was tired. Delivering a baby will do that,” you replied with a smile.

“Of course. John said you were brilliant,” Isaiah complimented you as he removed his cap and smoothed his hair.

“Isaiah, was Lizzie with you and John last night?” you asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

A wide grin spread across Isaiah’s face as he accepted the mug of tea you offered exclaiming, “Yeah, for a bit. Then they told me to piss off. I mean, you know how they are.”

“N-no, I don’t,” you stuttered, hands beginning to tremble around your cup.

“Those two can’t keep their hands off each other! It’s been that way since the war ended. John used to blind her other customers just so he could see her more often,” he said with a laugh. When Isaiah observed your blank expression he continued saying, “You know what Lizzie used to do, don’t you?”

Shaking your head, you felt your stomach drop and your mouth go dry as he explained their arrangement. Apparently John had been paying her for sex for years. The words stabbed into you as you held yourself up against the cupboards, willing your face not to betray your tender heart in front of a blinder.

But the terrible feeling of betrayal was overwhelming as you remembered Katie’s words about her father and his whores. You thought John had feelings for you, but clearly you’d been wrong. The pit in your stomach grew as you relived the kiss you shared the night before outside Polly’s house. He must have sensed your hesitation and gone back to someone more experienced and familiar. You felt another twist of the knife as you wondered if he ever wanted you. His brother had forced him to take you in after all and suddenly you felt terribly foolish. Worried your legs might give out at any moment, you excused yourself to take a seat at the table.

The pain only worsened as Lizzie turned to address you with an air of worldly sophistication. “Y/n, it was kind of you to leave John and me last night. One day you’ll see how important it is that a man and a woman have their privacy. I know John appreciates it,” she said with a wink and a knowing smile. As heat seeped into your cheeks with the overwhelming feeling of humiliation, it was almost more than you could bare. Did everyone know John saw you as a child who wasn’t worthy of his attention?

Soon Tommy and John arrived, taking their seats at the table and you found yourself shifting uncomfortably in your seat as you tried to avoid John’s gaze.

As Tommy called the meeting to order you noticed all eyes on you, making you painfully aware that as a non blood relative nor a blinder, you shouldn’t be there. Tommy quickly put everyone’s fears to rest, making it known that he had asked you to be his adviser and no one dared go against Tommy.

The meeting progressed quickly after that with John proposing an all out war against the Lees. He wanted to see them all cut to ribbons and you could tell by the dangerous gleam in his eye he was more than capable. Lizzie gave him a nod of approval from across the table and your blood boiled at the thought of them discussing strategy together, plotting and scheming as they lay tangled between the sheets. You were past the point of tears by now, coiling your hands into fists below the table.

While no one else came forward with a different thought right away, Arthur quickly agreed to John’s plan. Not one for ideas himself, he went along with the quickest method of handling enemies.

However, Polly was next to speak and interjected reason before the men could become too blood hungry. “This all began because of greed, Thomas. If we propose to share our contacts with Erasmus and thus the earnings, it might convince them to stop trying to kill us.” You could see Polly favored peace above all else, but you knew Tommy would never settle for half his take.

Then the idea came to you, born of resentment and retaliation, but an age old solution that would work nonetheless. You knew how to achieve peace if only you could convince your aunt and Tommy.

“There’s another way, but it requires discussion with an elder, my aunt, Zilpha,” you proposed, glancing up at Tommy.

“She’ll see me after everything that’s happened?” Tommy asked, a note of skepticism in his voice.

“No, but she’ll see me,” you promised him. You could see the wheels in his mind turning as he pondered what you might say to your aunt. If he truly trusted you, he would agree to let you speak on their behalf, however.

With a small nod he agreed. “Alright, I’ll take you tomorrow,” Tommy said. “You’d better get some rest.” And with that, he left everyone in stunned silence, their fate in your hands.

As everyone filed out of the room, John remained, leaning on a desk. When you attempted to walk past, he stopped you, reaching out to capture your arm. “Y/n, wait,” he called out.

Your eyebrows shot up at his request, unsure why he hadn’t dashed out after Lizzie. It seemed her company was what he craved now so why was he here waiting for you? “What is it, John?” you asked, voice tinged with irritation.

“I wanted to see how you are,” he said, looking you over with what appeared to be genuine concern. His opposite hand traced the bandage that covered your wrist, eyes trained on your injury as though he felt the pain concealed beneath it.

“I’m fine,” you said, attempting to break away, but John held you to him.

Reaching up to caress your bruised cheek he spoke earnestly, “Look, I’m sorry about yesterday. I should have been at the shop. If I had been, none of this would have happened.”

“Well you can’t change it now,” you replied, locking eyes with him, wanting to scream at him about Lizzie, but knowing it wouldn’t help.

“Let me at least try to make it up to you,” John pleaded, rubbing his thumb over your hand. “Come home,” he suggested in a voice so soft you almost didn’t hear him.

“Why?” you asked, snatching your hand away.

The biting tone had obviously hurt John, a wounded look crossing his face immediately as he shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at the floor. “Because…because the children and I need you,” he reasoned, furrowing his brow. He’d never been good with words, but he hoped you would hear how much he cared for you with that simple phrase.

The words pricked the hairs at the back of your neck, confirming what you already suspected. There was no love there, only a life of convenience. Biting your cheek to keep from crying, you sucked in a quick breath before replying, “I’m sorry, John, but I’m needed elsewhere at the moment.” You turned on your heel and disappeared into the house.

—————————————-

You spent another night at Polly’s, too upset to return to John’s. When you closed the bedroom door before having your dinner, Tommy urged the others not to pry into the cause of your sudden mood change. He explained there was a long drive ahead of you in the morning and reasoned you must be anxious at the thought of returning to a camp full of angry relatives.

As you drove to the Lee camp in comfortable silence, you were relieved that Tommy wasn’t the curious sort. However, you knew he deserved to hear what you intended on proposing to your aunt so you began explaining your plan for ushering in peace between the two families. While you expected him to question it a bit more, he only chain smoked as he kept his eyes trained on the road. When you’d finished, you swore you heard a low hum of approval emanate from his pursed lips, though you weren’t entirely sure from his stoic expression.

There was no time for doubt in any case as the car jerked to a halt. You exited your side cautiously, eyes scanning the horizon to find men with rifles stood at attention above you. “Slowly now,” Tommy advised as he stooped to gather a stick and dug into his pocket for a white handkerchief to tie at the top. As he walked up the dirt road toward the vardos circled on the ridge, he waved the makeshift flag. You allowed him to lead until he leaned toward you to whisper, “You’re sure you still want to do this? What of your future, eh?” It was the first he had mentioned you in any of the plans and you swallowed harshly at his insinuation that your fate mattered either way.

“Let me worry about that,” you replied stubbornly, marching ahead. Tommy wanted to laugh at your determination, but thought better of it considering the circumstances. He shook his head as he followed after you, admiration for your courage swelling in his throat.

Zilpha greeted you with a wary expression upon your approach, face as dark and stormy as the clouds overhead threatening rain. Standing at the doorway of her vardo, she refused to descend until you had both been searched for weapons. Although you understood her hesitation, it stung to be treated as a traitor when you still held love for your family.

When she was satisfied you weren’t there to harm her, she allowed you to ascend the steps and you breathed a sigh of relief when she extended a wrinkled hand to you, pulling you inside.

Despite having convinced her of your own good intentions, Tommy was made to wait outside. You could tell from her knitted brow, he would never gain her full approval and you knew you would have to work hard to sell his good points.

After the preamble of commenting on your thin frame and offering up a hearty stew, Zilpha asked why you had come and you wasted no time with your appeal.

“He’s a smart man, aunt. But he needs strong men,” you explained.

“For what?” she asked harshly, turning to face you with such force, her jewelry crashed together creating a tinny clinking that echoed out like a warning.

“Protection for his growing business. They get the winner in one of every three races before the race even starts. No need for chalks or rafflers. It’s a certainty,” you promised her, believing in Tommy’s operations so that she would have faith as well.

“It sounds like this Shelby man’s got his hooks in ya,” she said, eyeing you suspiciously.

You bristled at her assumptions, holding your head high. “No Shelby has me, aunt. In fact, I have a unique proposal for you to end the war between you and them.”

“And what might that be?” she said, leaning forward elbows on her knees to hear you better.

“Rumors say Erasmus’s cousin Esme has been running wild. If I could promise a good husband for her, would you give Tommy soldiers? If you do, this alliance will make you a rich woman,” you promised.

Zilpha thought for a moment, recalling the trouble she’d had finding a suitable groom to take on the headstrong young woman.

“And what man do you suggest?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at you.

“Tommy’s younger brother, John Shelby,” you said, hoping she didn’t notice the way your voice wavered as you said his name. She hadn’t, too preoccupied by your talk of fortune. Without hesitation, she extended a hand in agreement.

As you both emerged, Tommy searched your face for a sign that the negotiations had been a success. You gave him a small nod and he turned to Zilpha. “He’ll do then?” Tommy asked.

“Bring him round in a fortnight and it will be done,” Zilpha proclaimed.

The drive back to Small Heath was cloaked in thick silence as you looked out the passenger window. Exhaustion from the long day was beginning to take hold of you, but something wouldn’t let you give in to the need for rest. Although you hoped your plan of revenge might heal your broken heart, the ache only grew stronger. You didn’t yet know it, but regret would soon take hold and there would be nothing you could do to reverse it.

——————————————

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furious-rogue-stuff · 8 months

Text

Heat Chapter 43: Still

I apologize for the long hiatus! Hopefully this chapter makes up for the delay in posting 😊 This is the longest chapter to date, so sorry in advance!

Pairing: Javier Peña x OFC | Javi x Querida

Disclaimer: Written in 2nd person narrative, you can safely assume our heroine and love/lust interest is a Latina, written by a Latina. Here's my philosophy on my writing, for further context.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word Count: 28,000+

Summary: As you try to achieve peace in your personal life, you find yourself struggling against melancholy and self-reproach during an important anniversary. When all you want is for time to stand still, can you find serenity with Javier in the emotional chaos?

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of sex, including masturbation and unprotected sex. Mentions of raunchy sexual acts, grieving, melancholy, toxic coping mechanisms, and loneliness. Descriptions of power play, praise kink, and dirty talk. Allusions to mourning, family strife, foreboding threats, and emotional angst. Some Protective!Javi, Dom! Javi, Boss!Javi, Sub!Reader. In the vein of Narcos being a bilingual show, and Javier Peña being fluent, I felt it was apropos to include Spanglish and Spanish throughout.

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Previous chapter - Chapter 42: Reflection

Chapter 43: Still

There had been a time, not so long ago, that you'd made peace with being alone.

It was mostly subconscious – the idea that you weren't on the same track as everyone else, but after you'd left Puerto Rico at the end of that summer, you'd felt like a different person than the one who'd reluctantly arrived from graduating college. If forced to articulate it, you would've struggled to decompartmentalize everything enough to be able to adequately represent why you'd felt different.

Even after years of working and building your professional life, you'd seldom let new people into your personal one. When you'd worked in the New York offices of the State Department, you'd always spend your free time with Irina and Sasha. And during your brief stint at the Washington D.C. offices, you'd kept to yourself, only making superficial connections with some of the other clerical staffers; making acquaintances you kept at arm's length.

You'd avoided dating during that period especially, feeling lonely but settled. Once you'd volunteered for the placement at the U.S. embassy in Bogotá, the protective bubble you'd crafted for yourself ebbed away by the time you'd settled down in the Colombian capital.

It helped to feel in a familiar, yet different place. But mostly, with your mother's side of the family being so accessible, you'd been able to soften more to the idea of a life shared pleasantly with others.

Ellis had worn you down – quickly going from the annoying gringo you shared an office corner with to a very close confidante and dear friend. Thanks to his congenial wife, they eventually dragged you out to be more social, and soon you felt like a normal, single, professional woman in a big city that still felt homey and sheltering. You dated, but nothing serious that ever lasted more than a few outings – or sleepovers at their place – and you had no qualms about keeping yourself guarded from being truly courted by anyone.

Just when you'd finally felt confident in your space and accomplished with yourself, you'd ended up staring when a cool, ridiculously handsome guy had crossed your field of vision one afternoon while you'd sat with the building's cleaning ladies during lunch at one of the gazebos facing the path leading into the building's back entry.

You'd looked over at the building in mid-answer to something Marisol had quipped, and saw Javier striding down a couple of steps to stop someone and chat. He had on aviator sunglasses, the kind with the amber-tinted lenses, dark hair combed with a side-part that was practically non-existent with how his unruly hair curled about in thick tufts. His tall muscularly built torso filled out the tropical blue button-down shirt while his brawny arms crossed over his strong chest as he nodded along listening to the other person he was conversing with. You were tantalized by the ratio of his broad shoulders to narrow hips, and how those dark grayish Levi's jeans seemed tailored to his strong long legs and perfect tush. He seemed almost unreal – a throwback to a handsome 70's stud you could've only daydreamed about.

Gaze lingering on him, you'd been thankful that you were far away enough to be able to stare from the safe distance, and ask Marisol, "Who is that?"

Marisol and the girls had looked over and exchanged varying snickers, and girlish giggles, before the older woman chimed knowingly, "Oh, that is one of the agentes de la DEA. Has made quite a reputation for himself, eh, girls?"

You couldn't get over how handsome he was and how he looked out of place for the buttoned-up vibe of the consulate, but really what got you was how he had a jawline for days. Quickly, all your pining from afar accelerated to lust when you admired how his full lips had pulled into a wry smirk before he tipped the sunglasses down amusedly at something the other person had said, which gave you a view at the way his smile made his eyes crinkle.

Heat had radiated in the apples of your cheeks as you'd feigned aloofness before going back to the conversation, ignoring Marisol's knowing smile, with aplomb.

It'd been the first time your pulse had raced for someone since…well since a time you'd worked very hard to put behind you, so it'd given you pause.

What a silly thing. Crushing over some tight-jean-wearing, mustachioed DEA bad boy, had been your internal scoff as you'd stubbornly shelved the notion.

You hadn't expected for said crush for the roguish agent to become even more concrete from afar after witnessing him leaving to some kind of raid one late afternoon.

He'd marched confidently through the embassy lobby in his army green tac vest like a man on a mission and laser focused, none the wiser to having caught your eye. You had just come around the corner from the atrium and almost got whiplash from doing a double take, only to then end up watching him stride towards the exit in those classic-blue Levi's jeans, a light khaki-colored button-down shirt with the sleeves tapered at his muscular biceps, and his dark, unruly tufts of hair curling boyishly after they got tousled by his thick fingers absently carding through them as he stormed off.

If the woman who'd stood there, idly replaying the smirk you'd seen grace his gorgeous features prior, would've known you'd be the woman who'd gotten that swagger-rich DEA stud to fall madly in love with, let alone gun-ho about wanting to live a life together, even? That he'd forsake the trappings of his previous rakish lifestyle? And that you would end up being the woman who was now unable to see the rest of your life without him in it? You're sure your psyche would've burst into blazing sparks at trying to rationalize it all.

And when you'd woken next to him and ended up staring at his serene, sleeping features in the waxy orange veil of dawn that'd begun filling your bedroom the morning after your spectacular Valentine's Day night, the need to rationalize your feelings did not intrude into your mind or heart. Instead, you couldn't help fawn at how grateful you were to have found your way back to each other. To feeling loved and safe again – no longer content with being alone, and relieved to be free of the loneliness that had been your anesthetizing companion since you'd left your life in Colombia.

To say that the night of the double date had cemented things between you and Javi as being back on track, would've felt much too simple to properly do everything that had transpired prior and led up to it, proper justice.

At least that's what you're telling yourself after having had time to reflect back on it.

However, new worries settled in now, like knowing how much to share with the people around you who'd surely noticed the shift in your day-to-day routine and the priorities of your personal time. Of course, the usual suspects didn't worry you.

Ellis and Anita, as well as Steve and Connie obviously knew. And when you'd called to thank Zoraida for the reservation again, she'd made you divulge, telling you not to spare a salacious detail of the night. You'd been happy to do so – albeit giving her the abbreviated version of your history with Javier to date. She'd been cheekily enthralled to hear about the guy who'd be monopolizing your time, showing not a hint of umbrage when you'd scoffed and assured that you wouldn't pull a her and just disappear on a long tryst.

Hell, she'd even gone as far as to snicker to you, "Sure, like you don't plan on going missing every weekend from now on – catching up on all that fun with your papisongo!"

You trusted she'd tell the other girls so they wouldn't get too peeved with you skipping out on the group hangouts over brunch or happy hour drinks.

So, the only remaining hurdle you figured would require a finer tact around, would be your father.

Still, there was nothing you wanted to let intrude in the rekindling of your relationship now, and by the way Javier talked, his only concern was making up for lost time with you. You were more than content with that, and were committed to just going with the flow – to not putting pressure on yourself or worrying about setting expectations for things to come.

It was your time to embrace the hopeful feelings you'd taken for granted. To enjoying what you'd both missed out on prior: being together without the stigma of ominous judgment or danger.

After all, even that morning, when you had amorously kissed Javi awake, and he'd surprised you by surging out of bed to get in his running clothes as he jibed, "Rise and shine, malvadita. Let's go for this grueling jog of yours," the prospect of being seen with him out and beyond the haven of your stomping grounds? Of taking it to your professional territory by getting spotted canoodling with the DEA's Special Agent in Charge, in and around the Federal building? It made excitement bloom in your chest.

When he'd yanked his shirt over his head and eyed you challengingly, you'd ended up snickering, totally enticed by his suggestion and his debonair airs enough to toss the blanket aside as you'd climbed out of bed and hurriedly got dressed before heading out on the early morning jog route with him.

You two hadn't gotten to the elevator before running into Jodalys, who you'd go on jogs with on occasion when she wasn't going with her group of girlfriends. Your neighbor and friend had given you a conspiratorial wink of approval after you'd introduced her to Javi and parted ways at the courtyard's entry. She'd also made it a point to tell you how hot Javi was the next time you ran into her in the lobby later that evening.

But then you'd gone up to your place right after and listened to a voicemail on the answering machine from your father reminding you of the plans for Sunday, and you'd hedged on calling him back.

Later that night, when Javier had come over and you'd vivaciously taken him to bed, you'd sidled close to him after the amorous coupling, and whispered, "When should we put it out there?"

"What – us, you mean?" he'd murmured, and at your nod against his chest, he'd cupped your cheek and tipped your face up to his in the dark of the bedroom, admiring your features thanks to the scant light coming from the lamp left on in the living room. "I'll send out a memo building-wide tomorrow," had been his quip, smirking when you scoffed irreverently at the notion. "This isn't like the embassy, so, we can be as discreet or overt as we want, I think. Mercer isn't really empowered to do much, and it's not like there's any ethical conflicts of interest. We don't impact each other's departments—"

"Still, it's about keeping professional appearances and avoiding any possible HR concerns. Rumors about us aside, it's something we'd have to address, since we've rekindled things," you sheepishly muse, and at Javi humming in acknowledgement of your point, you add, "I think we'll have to disclose our relationship to Mercer, at the very least."

"Hmm, ok. It'll have to be after I come back from Santo Domingo, ideally," Javi had mused, then detailed his upcoming trip, which would coincide with the anniversary of your mother's death. "—I'm flying out Friday end of day so I can meet with the commander of the operation there and try to be back before that—"

You'd kissed his cheek, then assured, "It's ok, Javi. I…I usually spend that day by myself anyway. Just, promise to call me? So I know you're all right?"

"Of course, mi amor," he'd answered devotedly and kissed you before wrapping his arms around you after you curled into him and sighed.

You were fine with waiting. After all, the foreboding worry that had once hung over you both like the sword of Damocles was no longer there, and even with Javier traveling for work more than he'd done before, he was nowhere near the action. And with Steve overseeing the field ops on the island, you felt a keener sense of security that Javier wouldn't be hung out to dry, or end up being the heavy, or the fall guy.

The night before he was due to fly out, you'd both gone over to Steve and Connie's for dinner. It had been a charming evening, spent enjoying the meal and internally fawning at how cute Isabel was when she'd smile and reach for Javi to pick her up. The six-month-old seemed to be drawn to him, and you'd be in denial if you neglected to acknowledge how something warm and fuzzy tingled in your tummy watching Javi prop her up in his arms while making silly muecas when she tried to reach for his moustache.

And little Olivia was a riot. Javi had told you so beforehand, but the precocious little girl hadn't missed a beat when you'd walked in together and Javi had introduced you to her.

"Are you uncle Javi's wife?" she'd queried and given you a guileless, warm-eyed stare, looking rambunctious in her little blue and white-butterfly-patterned overalls and pink polo.

You could feel Javi tense behind you, before you'd crouched down at Olivia's level.

With an impish smile, you'd began to say, "No, I'm his friend—"

"His girlfriend?" she piped and smirked up at him when Connie comically admonished her while Steve shook his head and held Isabel in the crook of his arm.

"Actually, yes. And that makes him my boyfriend, too," you'd chuckled and winked at her before remarking, "That probably sounds silly, since we're both grownups, huh."

Sitting now on the bench across from the 'Kid's Escape' upstairs and adjacent to the mall's food court, you were just fawning at the memory of Javier trying to suppress a kooky grin at the way Olivia had stated, "All grownups are silly. But you should marry each other so you can be happy and silly together," when Connie sat next to you and pulled you from your reveries.

You'd volunteered to keep watch over the strollers – one empty thanks to Anita taking Delilah for a diaper change, and the other with a sleeping Isabel next to you while Connie had taken Olivia in to run around in the playscape.

"It's going to be hell, getting her out of there," Connie snickers as she plops her purse next to her so she can take a load off.

"But she'll be tuckered out for sure on the drive home," you muse as you smirk at her and over at the indoor playground bustling with precocious kids.

You could see the little girl happily crawling up the tunnel to get to the slide, and it makes you think of how cute she was when she'd asked Javi to help her color in the latest page of her coloring book after dinner the other night.

Isabel sleepily shifts in her stroller, little fist curling into her cheek as she settled back down before she lets out a soft sigh that stirs your attention back at her.

Noticing your stare, Connie can't help endorse in an inconspicuous lilt, "Javi is great with her. Same with Olivia, when she was that little."

Pursing your lips knowingly, you tuck your hair behind your ear as you give her a side glance and drawl, "So you've let him babysit, then?"

"Not yet, no," Connie chuckles, adding, "Up until recently, I'd been under the impression that he was spending his free time galivanting around—"

"You mean 'skanking' around," you interject wryly, snickering when she gives you a nervous laugh. "It's ok. He had that rep when we met."

"I have to say, if Steve had that ladies' man status, I don't know if I would've been able to overlook it," Connie confides as she idly folds one of the baby's blankies into a neat square. "Although, I don't think I could keep my guard up for long. Not with how sweet he was."

"Well, Javi wore me down," you quip, and give her a musing shrug before adding, "I mean, not to say there weren't bumps in the road. Bumps shaped like conniving floozies, for one…"

Hands pausing in their absent folding and refolding, Connie's wide blue eyes stare at you as she whispers, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to dredge it up—"

You shake your head and exhale humorously. "No, it's fine! That probably sounded bitchy. Really, there was only one time I had any right at being miffed," you dismiss, but at Connie's curious stare, you can't help elaborating, "Early on, after the siege at the Palace of Justice? He'd been MIA, and then he'd called me one night – when we'd had plans for him to come over, to tell me he couldn't make it, and some woman was in his apartment. She was like, 'How're we gonna handle this arrangement, then?' with this seductive tone?"

Connie's expression etches with sympathy and guilt, as she mentions, "I remember that time. He and Steve were helping out an acquaintance of mine, who was worried she was a target for the cartel and the government."

"Don't worry, I know all that now. But at the time? I'd been crushed. And he'd tried to say nothing was going on, but I hung up on him and didn't talk to him for a while. And then we reconciled after that Tolu raid he was part of, and while we'd been arguing in the car about what happened, he let it slip that he had been with her," you find yourself volunteering, feeling like you were telling a story about someone you used to know.

Her reaction, though, grounds you back in the reality that it had happened to you, not someone else.

"Ugh, I'd tried to set him up with Elisa, but had I known then about you two, I would've never even introduced them! Oh but then the siege happened and she showed up outside the apartment begging for help, and I could only think to take her to Javi's so she could lay low," Connie tells you contritely before frowning as she recalls, "Oh no…on the day I drove her out of the capital, she'd mentioned something about that – the call."

"Oh?" you query, arching a brow.

"I never thought much of it and didn't put two and two together, until now. I guess she'd heard him. She'd said he sounded preoccupied, and she'd simply wanted to remind him that she wasn't just furniture being kept in his care," Connie answers, frowning, as she adds, "That he'd had the gall to gab with one of his girls like she wasn't even there—"

"I knew it," you can't help hiss as you cross your arms and shake your head. "He swore that he didn't even know why she said that while he was on the phone, and that after that, she'd been naked and waiting for him in bed—" you bite back your retroactive disdain and scoff, uncrossing your arms and looking down to make sure you didn't wake the baby in the stroller. "…Good to know I wasn't just inferring things."

Connie pats your shoulder. "Safe to say, he's made up for it, since?" she asks in a light tone.

You huff amusedly, and nod. "Yes, he's more than made up for it. But best believe, if I ever run into that Elisa, I'm beating her like a piñata," you tell her glibly, but your narrow smile speaks volumes for how serious you are.

At that, Connie can't help liking you a whole lot more than she already did.

Anita returns with Delilah, looking a bit harried as she puts the now fussy baby in her carriage. "Oof, sorry. She's all cranky," your friend explains as she tries to get her to settle.

"Ah, nap time?" Connie asks as she gives her seat to Anita so she can more comfortably tend to the baby.

"Yeah, she's just like her father. Whiny when she can't get any sleep," Anita jokes, and you all chuckle. "Did you want to check out Sears before heading out?"

Brightly, Connie agrees, "That'd be great! Let me grab Olivia."

You and Anita stay with the strollers so Connie can go collect Olivia from the playscape while you try to entertain the squirmy little one with silly coos and playful bops of her binky onto her chin, giving Anita a chance to finish her soft drink.

"Oh, did I tell you Ellis wants to do a barbecue?" Anita chimes as she tosses her finished cup into a nearby trash receptacle. "I'm going to invite Connie, too."

Smiling, you chit chat some more until Connie returns with Olivia in tow.

The mall outing was a nice way to spend the morning, and by the time you're exiting the department store, you're all agreeing to coordinating a good day to hang for the barbecue.

On the drive home after dropping Anita and the baby off, you can't help reminisce on the other night. Of how nice it'd been to stroll from Steve and Connie's to Javier's house a block or so away, walking hand in hand in the cool night air. The sound of the coquí filled the ambient hum over the breeze as you both talked, and served as the main nocturnal chorus once you both got into his bungalow. You hadn't finished placing your purse onto his dresser before he'd come up behind you and wrapped you up in his arms.

The sex had been ardent and magnificent after such an emotionally fulfilling week.

Javi had made you feel like the most sumptuous, scrumptious being as he unspooled pleasure from you with every part of him. His lips, hands, the press of him spreading you out into a pliant, writhing thing underneath him while he fucked you with all the passion that blazed in his heart and burned in his veins for you while he husked sweet, fervent things to you had been your undoing. He'd made you reach bliss so many times that night, you'd been quivering – reduced to a sinewy vessel, burned down to embers. But when you'd sobbed his name and begged him to make you his, new life had tingled through your nerve endings and pulsed in your core from how fierce and carnally he'd stared down at you as he'd reached his climax.

You're thinking of how his mouth had fallen open on his shout of ecstasy as he'd thrust home into your fluttering sheath and surged down to bury his wrecked whine into your neck as he spilled his orgasm deep, and the sense-memory of it has need blooming like a throbbing ache between your thighs, as you drive. It has you yearning for Javi, and having to remind yourself it's only been a day since you've been apart.

Annoyed with yourself, your mind wanders back to spending the night at his place, post-mind-blowing coupling.

Javier had reasoned with you beforehand to stay over, and you'd happily been cajoled into bringing a travel bag with a change of clothes for work the next day. He'd gone to the trouble to make his place immaculate and stocked the fridge with your favorite juices and drinks, which you couldn't help melt over.

Your infatuation has you thinking now of the quirky thing Javi did, as you pull into the driveway to your condo and punch in the security keycode.

After taking a soothing shower together and affectionately lotioning each other up with some silky cream you had in your travel tote, Javier had gone to the kitchen to get you a glass of water while you dreamily sat under the sheet on the side of the bed closest to the bedroom door, idly massaging the remnants of the lotion you'd used on the rest of your body along your arms. He'd come in, rounded the bed to the unoccupied side, placed the glass of water on the nightstand, then gone to shut the light off in the hall before tugging the towel around his hips off to be tossed into the bathroom before going to where you were under the sheet and lifting it to bossily, albeit affectionately, herd you to glide over to the opposite side of the bed as he climbed in after you.

You'd been so tired that you'd just exhaled an amused huff, greedily chugged half the water in the glass, and flopped down to curl into him after he'd shut the bedside lamp off on his side and pulled the rest of the covers up to snuggle up with you.

Riding up in the elevator now, it dawns on you.

Javier has always made sure to put himself between you and the door.

He's done it since you'd first been together. You'd not noticed before since you'd always absently preferred sleeping on the left side of the bed, and your place and Javi's back in Bogotá – hell, even his crash house in Medellín and the hotel room in Cartagena – had the doorway closer to the right side of the bed. But here? Your condo and his place's bedroom had the doors close to the left side.

Awestruck, you wander down to your door and key in, floored by the realization that Javier has always been compelled – maybe hardwired, even – to put himself between you and possible danger.

It makes butterflies flutter in your tummy the more you think about it.

The reveries of all the ways Javi's made you feel worthy and precious fill your head and keep you in a daydreamy bubble the rest of the day as you busy yourself with chores.

Javier, on the flipside, is trying to make heads and tails of what's before him in this latest anti-cartel crusade that he'd signed up for.

At the time, what no one knew, and what he was starting to suspect, was that the drug trade network between the islands of the Greater Antilles were supplied by several cartel factions in Central America. The biggest distributor, the Gulf cartel, had shipping lanes mapped into the Caribbean for years. And even though things in the Sinaloan, Guadalajaran, and Juárez plazas had become a veritable civil war, the coastal factions eked out revenue focusing on pumping marijuana, heroin and cocaine into the Caribbean, avoiding the hassle of increased boarder security and aggressive surveillance from the U.S.

Instead of 'trampolining' product over the boarder like Amado had perfected, traffickers in the Gulf cartel were applying a 'slingshot' style tactic for transporting the product to the network across the islands. That, however, required establishing partnerships with local gangs, who by coercion, bribery, or intimidation, succeeded in moving the drugs throughout their territory.

Junior Capsula's crew had been the best at cornering the market on the larger islands, and with time, he'd kowtowed rival factions to falling in line and working for him and his other capos. Nowhere was that more prevalent than in the Dominican Republic.

After getting the leads from his contacts, Nic Lopez had briefed Javier on how La Familia got their inventory for local trafficking from Santo Domingo, the capital of the Dominican Republic. A few calls and a lot of political compromise later, and Javier had coordinated a joint taskforce with the authorities there, so he and Nic flew out Friday to hit the ground running.

The plan was to find the pipeline there and turn the spigot off, or at the very least isolate who the players were and who they used to ferry the product and cash to the network of public housing points, just like what was found at the crime scene at the caserío hit.

Javier's counterpart was the head of the Dominican Republic's Dirección Nacional de Control de Drogas, aka their version of the Colombian National Police that specialized in drug enforcement. A man known as Comandante Ayala. His first impression of him was good, but he'd learned never to let first impressions dissuade him of a sad truth:

Most men could be bought. No matter how pious, or principled they're lauded to be.

One thing he did to give Javier a hopeful outlook, though, was confirm a few things only the well-connected knew: José Figueroa Agosto had ties on both islands. The narco wannabe kingpin had homes all over the Dominican Republic and Puerto Rico, tons of luxury cars, boats – and deep pockets for bribes.

No matter how many busts or seizures were undertaken, how many drug points or transport operations were dismantled, the inconspicuous thug was always ahead. Nothing had been making a dent. But, curiously, the massacre at the public housing complex had shaken some partners. Enough to make them gripe to those who didn't mind passing the complaints along to diligent and crafty guys like Nic Lopez.

At dinner, when it was just the two of them in the crowded cantina across from the military base they were staying in, Nic had confirmed what had now become the most obvious.

"…There's some other pipeline of distribution. Maybe someone in the syndicate is trying to mobilize everything to flow from that rather than out of Santo Domingo? It would explain why no reprisals have happened," is the intrepid agent's musing as he swirls his tequila idly. "That bust in St. Thomas? It could be from that other stream—"

"Yeah, that's what I've been thinking," Javi cuts in before downing the rest of his whiskey, letting the burn of the amber liquid temper his next statement. "Or, it could be a diversion. Their attempt at 'diversifying the portfolio.' Cali did the same thing, with Medellín, with the Sinaloans…"

It was a possibility. Really, anything was. Still, it didn't give him or Nic much comfort.

Deciding to call it a night not soon after, they both returned to the private dorms they'd been given to stay in for the next couple of days.

Once showered and in a pair of dark green boxers, Javi stretched out on the narrow bed against the wall to lounge in the direction the window-unit air conditioner was undulating cold air, and let himself unwind. Closing his eyes, he let his mind relax.

Of course, it wanders over to thinking of you.

He remembers how good it'd been to wake up with you in his bed the other morning. How wonderful the night before had been.

A primal yearning had pulsed beseechingly within him at watching you with Steve's kids. You hadn't missed a beat at contending with Olivia and her precocious questions. No matter how silly or nosy. He swore she got that trait from Steve. But he couldn't muster an ounce of umbrage when it came from the adorable little girl.

The image of you holding Isabel and smiling at the way she yawned before resting her head on your shoulder flashed across his mind's eye now, making that effervescent feeling expand behind his sternum and heat his blood. It had him aching in his chest for the future – for what it would feel like to look upon you while you held your future first-born, to cuddle and smile lovingly down at his child.

Was it a wonder that he could barely think straight the rest of the evening you all chit-chatted around the coffee table? Coloring with Olivia before she'd been herded to bed had been the only way he could keep from staring at you with want in his dark eyes. Hell, the urge to claim you had been so intoxicating that he'd almost considered coming up with an excuse for you two to leave abruptly. He'd even debated about taking a sleeping Isabel from your arms in order to hand her to Connie so he could grab your hand and tow you away back to his place already.

As soon as you'd made the overture to call it a night, Javier had been burning with a feral, primordial need for you. He'd barely contained his impulses on the stroll home, but the moment you were in his bedroom, Javi's restraint dissolved, and he'd been on you – stripping you with deft hands while his mouth claimed yours.

Parting ways the next morning had weighed on him more than he'd expected, especially knowing what you would be dealing with.

He'd called you that first night in Santo Domingo, and you'd told him the plans you'd confirmed with your father for Sunday. You'd been so tired from the workday, though, that when you'd stifled a sleepy yawn, Javier had insisted you go to bed, and promised to call you every night.

You'd needed to keep yourself occupied. The chores had helped, and so did fawning over Javier most of the day. Hell, even now, you sighed dreamily after staring over at the lovely bouquet he'd given you for Valentine's Day. It was sitting in the vase at the center of your glass dining table, still looking vibrant and lush thanks to your doting to keep the roses and lilies luscious as long as possible.

But now that you'd finished with the last 'to-do' – having just folded up the ironing board after leaving the starching and steaming for last to do while the TV played the evening news, you were just resigning yourself to the melancholy waiting for you, when the house phone rang.

Picking it up from the base as you simultaneously grabbed the remote from the side table, you turned the TV off as you pressed the button to pick up the call.

"Hello?"

"Hey, hermosa. How're things?"

You feel that beaming, tingly glee crest up in you at the sound of his canela-spiced baritone.

"Better, now that you've called," you tell him with genuine delight as you shut the lamp off in the living room and start to lope down the hall towards your bedroom. With a sigh, you murmur, "I miss you. Been thinking about you all day."

"Oh?" he purrs in that roguish tone that hints at intrigue.

"Mmhmm. After this week, can you blame me?" you flirt now, entering your room after switching the hall light off.

"Not at all, especially since I miss the hell out of you too, and have my mind wandering. I was just remembering how sexy you looked in that little jogging outfit from the other day. Among other things," he chuckles in a velvety rasp that has arousal tickling warmth into your core.

Tossing yourself onto your cozy bed, you chime casually, "On the drive home from spending the day at the mall with the girls? I kept replaying the other night."

You expect him to take the bait you just so meatily dangled for him, but instead, Javi hums, "Have fun shopping?"

Pursing your lips to stifle your goofy huff, you roll to adjust your lounging position on the bed so you can sit up against your propped pillows. "Yes. Oh! We have tentative plans to go over to Ellis and Anita's for a barbecue. Us girls will coordinate on the date and let you boys know," you tell him spiritedly, smiling when you hear him hum a pleased grunt. "How're things there? I don't imagine you and Nic had enough time to go sightseeing around the capital?"

"Pfft, not in the least. It's bustling, and the base is close to the shoreline, but aside from some government office meetings, all we've seen a lot of is the cantina and the taskforce headquarters," he retorts, and you can hear him shifting onto a bed before he lets out a relaxed exhale. "We're going to Punta Cana in the morning to ride along on a raid. I have a meeting at the Fortaleza Wednesday morning., so I'll have to be back by then. Hopefully we get the intel we need from here quick," is his remark before he tentatively asks, "Everything still on? I mean, you and your father are still spending the day together?"

With a sigh, you absently toy with a few strands of hair as you reply, "Yes. I'm meeting him in Dorado."

He hums, and you can sense he's being cautious, not wanting to linger on the topic for fear it could trigger your melancholy. It actually makes your heart twinge – knowing how much he cares.

Javier is thinking of a delicate way to ask whether you really would spend the day alone on the anniversary of your mother's death, when he hears the shifting of the pillows you're lounging on, as if you'd just stretched out.

"So, what're you wearing, papisongo?"

Heat flares from his apex to radiate arousal into his loins at your seductive query.

Stretching to lie on the bed so he can rest his head on the pillows, propping the phone between his shoulder and ear, Javi adjusts himself, already feeling want pool in his core and fill out his length. He licks his bottom lip before rumbling, "Just a pair of boxers—"

"Oh?" you purr in his ear, and the timbre is playful, full of promise. "Paint me a picture, stud."

He gets rock-hard at the petition.

With a gravelly hum, he drawls, "Not much to paint, guapita. I'm in a military dorm room, on a narrow bed that's more of a cot than anything, and lying on it so the air conditioner can fan on me. This Caribbean heat is something else."

You chuckle at that.

"Which boxers?" is your melodious ask.

Smirking, he tucks his hand behind his head to stretch more comfortably while his other palm caresses down his torso languidly. "The dark green ones," he answers before scoffing at himself, admitting, "Christ, you're getting me worked up already…"

"Tell me, Javi," is your smoky murmur that sends a charge of pulsing desire to throb in his cock.

Palming himself over his boxers, he closes his eyes and lets out a raspy exhale. "I'm so fucking hard. You got me turned on, wishing you were touching me right now," he tells you in a husky pitch. His hand slips below the waistband to stroke his heavy erection, and a shiver goes up his spine when you hum a pleased sound of approval. "W-What're you wearing, mi amor?"

Looking down at your worn, oversized plum t-shirt and the slouchy sleep shorts your fingers paused skimming along the crotch of, you bite your lip before fibbing in a sultry chime, "I'm wearing the red lace teddy."

Javier blows a raspberry at your answer before grumbling freshly, "Yeah fucking right. C'mon, what do you really have on?"

Snickering, you gripe, "Nothing sexy—"

"I doubt that. Anyway, you gotta paint a picture for me too, seductora," is Javi's puckish drawl that has thrill pulsing warmth between your thighs.

"It's a ratty and baggy sleep set, chavón. I'm laying on my bed, thinking of you looking like a sexy centerfold and touching myself. Does that do it for you?" is your haughty mutter, expecting him to snort at you.

Instead, he lets out a husky hum that sends a tickle down to your core, before he sets it aflame with, "Mmm, it does, naughty girl. Tell me: you grinding that sweet little clit, thinking about me?"

Clenching your thighs around your hand to rut against the heel of your palm, you let out a breathy mewl while your other hand keeps the phone to your ear. You get wet, picturing Javi naked and stretched out on his back as he pleasures himself for you. "Yes. Yes, Javi. Wish I could watch you, like that time. Wanna see you get yourself off for me," you're telling him as you slip your hand beneath your shorts and start to circle your fingertips over the hood of your clit before grinding just the right amount of pressure that has you aching for climax.

You can just make out the sound of him shifting over the covers of the bed he's lying on over his gruff swear of, 'Fuck,' before you whine, "Javi, talk to me."

Javier's just finished hastily kicking off his boxers so he can pleasure himself without the barrier of them stifling the vigor of his stroking. And at your needy order, he audibly spits in his hand before fisting his cock, groaning at the added glide. "You got me jacking off like a hard-up fucker, bravita. F-Fuck, wish I was with you. Need to feel you, smell you, taste how wet you are—" at your flitty mewl, he bares his teeth from how hard he squeezes himself and husks, "You like that, baby? Knowing how fucking bad I wanna drop to my knees and bury my face in your pussy?"

"Oh Javi!" your cry of bliss shoots electricity through him and has him chasing his orgasm. It snaps loose within the tangled pleasure in his apex when you beg, "Please, I need you, mi rey—"

"Dios mío, Celina—!" he croaks out as his wits are stolen from him when his hand mindlessly strokes him into rapturous completion. So much so, that he doesn't even realize he growls in a pitched baritone, "I'm coming—f-fuck, m'coming!" as he spills his climax, shooting thick ropes of pearly seed to coat his stomach.

The sound you let out at hearing him reach ecstasy and being propelled by it into your own searing orgasm anchors Javier back from the fuzzy afterglow to coo in a velvety husk, "Such a good girl. Sound so sexy and sweet, coming hard for me like that. Helping me get off so fucking good."

In a warm, tremulous fog, you lie in a relaxed heap on your bed, languidly gliding your touch through the slick damp of your climax as it seeps into the crotch of your shorts. "Yeah?" you dreamily lilt, and at his mellow hum of confirmation, you smile and silkily sigh, "How good, mi cariñito?"

He lets out a sated, humored exhale from deep in his chest, before purring over the line, "Got me laying here on this glorified cot, naked and covered in my cum, still buzzing. That's how good, malvadita. Can't move yet…"

The image he conjures has delight zinging through you. "Sounds like a delicious sight. Wish I was there to take care of you," is your sultry murmur. He grunts drolly at that, so you tell him, "I kept my pjs on, but now my shorts are damp; fingers are all slick—"

He groans, as if lamenting he can't be there to do anything about it. You snicker, wiping your digits on the pant leg of your shorts before using the back of your hand to push your hair away from your forehead, chiming, "How you feeling over there, hm?"

"Hmph, like a dirty perv," is his deadpan, but you can hear the lopsided smile in his tone. "Shit, I needed that. Been tense. Felt good – having the release," he tells you in a relaxed murmur, then adds acerbically, "And I've been too sore to hit the gym since that insane jog you took me on—"

"Hah, oh yeah? And you'd been so sure that my 'little jog' would be no sweat for you," is your deriding snicker, loving how he gives you a grumpy huff in response, so you goad, "Guess I'll have to skip the beach leg of the jog to accommodate you—"

"My quads still ache from trudging through the sand trying to sprint after you," he haughtily razzes, and you can't help recall how he'd pouted when you'd heckled him to keep up.

"Well, I did offer to rub them for you, but you decided you'd rather spend the time being a filthy beyako instead," you singsong daringly, squeezing your thighs together idly at the reminder that plays in your head.

He remembers too. How he'd greedily chugged the green juice you'd gotten at the stand on the way back through El Condado. How surly he'd been while you both strolled through the park across from the busy avenue leading to the pedestrian bridge to the residential area your condo resides in. How he'd stared at your ass when you bent over to tie your sneaker's shoelace while you tutted at him about the folly of trying to show you up. The way your sweaty skin had made him buzz with salacious need while you'd both rode up in the elevator. And how amazing you'd tasted when he'd stripped you of your jogging clothes to bend you over the foot of your bed so he could eat your pussy out from behind.

"As if I would've passed up the chance to get you in that 'downward dog' pose," he smugly quips, smirking when you chortle at his logic, so he adds, "I'd opt for sore muscles over skipping having you any day." At your unconvinced laugh, he gloats, "Hey, we took advantage of the workout hormones already in our systems. I know I felt fucking great the rest of the day—"

"Hah, well I can't argue with that. It felt amazing," you cut in impishly while caressing your fingertips languidly along your exposed belly as you think of how content he'd looked after the raunchy post-workout sex, all freshly showered, watching you get dressed while he towel-dried his hair.

His velvety hum at your comment filters through the phone, stirring a warm smile to tug your dreamy features as you tuck wayward strands of hair behind your ear, and when it's proceeded by a yawn, you murmur dotingly, "Alright, I love you, bebito. Now be a good boy and come home to me soon."

A familiar, incandescent feeling fills his chest, making him ache with a yearning and prolonging the wistful post-bliss daze clinging to him. It has him professing worshipfully, "I will. Eres mi vida, preciosa. M'gonna take care of you. Make you come for me, have you feeling as amazing as you always make me feel. Show you how much I love you—"

You giggle enchantedly. "Javi. You already do all of that," is your sultry insistence, which makes him smile. "You're mine, and I can't wait to have you in my arms again, so I can kiss you silly and get you off like you deserve, chulito."

He grazes his teeth over his bottom lip and grunts an enticed sound as he sits up and snatches up his rumpled boxers, using them to wipe the sticky mess from his midriff. "Well, with promises like that," Javi drawls cockily, and you scoff spiritedly at him. "I'll be home soon, corazón. Until then, be sure to keep thinking naughty things so you'll have plenty to tell me," is his velvet over steel rumble, smirking when he hears your charmed hum. "Goodnight, querida."

"Goodnight, mi amor."

You set the phone aside on the nightstand, turn the lamp off, curl up under the covers, and dream of Javier.

It's a wonderful one. You're both together, lying under the mango tree in your grandmother's backyard, the grass cool and soft under you while you gaze at Javi while he sits up on his propped elbow and caresses your cheek.

He's murmuring to you about catching Escobar, telling you how great it was to see him in prison with the Cali Godfathers, watching them all fight each other. That it was all over, and that he had all the time in the world now to be with you.

"What else do you want, Javi?"

With a beaming smile that unearths his boyish dimple, he cups your jaw and guides you closer so he can whisper, "I have everything I want now, Celina."

The breeze whooshes around you both and rustles the leaves of the tree above head and undulates the cornucopia of flowers that fill the yard around you. A few petals get carried up in the current and waft towards the house. You follow their trajectory and notice your mother standing on the back patio. She's wearing a flower-print wrap dress that accentuates her round baby bump, and she's waving at you while cradling the basket filled with viandas and eggs against her hip.

You're just about to call over to her, but the breeze whips around you now, and just as you feel Javier caress his big, warm hand over your tummy – stirring you to look up into his stare and get lost in his coffee-brewed brown eyes, your alarm goes off and snaps you awake.

A flood of warm, fuzzy tranquility fills you as you lie there, trying to keep all the pieces of the dream from slipping away into that obscure haze that tends to muddle the details the more alert your mind becomes.

What a weird dream, you think, but your smile doesn't wane as you get out of bed and set out to get ready for your day.

The smile is on your face now as you sit at the table in the club house's outdoor dining area, stare faraway as you look out at the rolling green of the nearest golf hole just beyond the shade-covered terrace.

You'd gone over to your father's place, like agreed, and he'd cajoled you into having brunch before going off on the daytrip he'd planned. Of course, though, you hadn't gotten to enjoy the savory dishes you'd both ordered before your father was pulled away by a jovial member here and there who just had to bend his ear about this or that.

Truthfully, you didn't mind having the distraction to gaze off and think about the dream some more. Wondering what the meaning behind it could be naturally led you to thinking about Javier, and fantasizing about him in a dorm room's cot, naked and in a rut for you. It made heat tingle up to the apples of your cheeks while it warmed your core with cloying desire.

You're sipping your passionfruit mimosa, continuing to stare off at the palm trees in the distance while thinking about how gorgeous Javi looked asleep in your bed post-Valentine's Day, when your father finally returns to the table and slips back into his seat across from you.

"Sorry about that. Anyway, where were we?" he's asking in his cool, bass-filled baritone stirring you back from the mental image of Javi's eyes looking like dark chocolate chips when the sunlight made him squint after he sat up in his bed and smiled down at you the other morning.

"…You were promising to have a nice surprise at the end of this road trip?" you retort, adjusting your napkin over your lap before resuming eating. "And I was asking if the surprise would be to make up for Camille's inevitable stupid comment—"

"Mija, don't start," your father quickly grumbles, eyes plaintive as he murmurs, "She is more than aware about the importance of today, and has made arrangements to stay at her sister's. So no, she won't be around to make any comments—"

"Good. I'm so glad she's learned her place," you cut in facetiously before taking another sip of your mimosa.

His deep, mustachioed scowl tells you how unamused he is by you, so you change the subject with an aloof hum of, "You mentioned you'd be traveling back to D.C.?"

With a grunt, he nods as he cuts into his omelet. "Yes. I suppose I can tell you now, that I'm being considered for an Admiral position—"

You pause in your noshing and place your cutlery down to give him your undivided attention as you exclaim, "Really?! Congratulations! That's great, Pá—"

He holds up a hand to gesture for you to not get too spirited as he mutters, "None of that. There isn't anything to congratulate over. Not yet, anyway. It's a very competitive process for the appointment. So, I'll be meeting with the chief of naval operations. If all goes well, then I meet with the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff."

Giving him a defiant scoff, you insist, "Just being considered for that is an accomplishment, Pá. It's a big deal, so quit trying to be so cool."

Raising his brows sardonically at you, he deadpans, "I've never had to try at being anything. I just am, chistosa."

You snicker and grin, impish as you chime, "Whatever you say, Admiral-in-waiting."

His chuckle is amused, but he shakes his head ruefully at you.

A pleasant lull passes between you in which you both finish your brunch and partake in idle chit-chat over your second drink before he gestures to the server for the check.

You're just grabbing your purse in preparation to leave after he's just handed the server the bi-fold, when he reclines in his chair to nurse his iced parcha drink before conversationally inquiring, "How're things going with Javier Peña?"

The standoffish part of you winds up like a rattlesnake seething in your chest, but you feign neutrality in your demeanor as you aloofly retort, "Is that your best attempt at getting some form of corroboration regarding my personal life?"

Instead of the overbearing recrimination you expected, your father answers you with a mild remark, delivered cavalierly after he finishes his drink.

"Your acknowledgement is enough corroboration, tesoro. So, ready to go?"

A bit miffed, you take your time finishing your grapefruit mimosa before plunking the empty flute down on the table, pushing your chair out, and swiftly rising before sauntering out from the terrace through the crowded club house – without waiting for him.

Without batting an eye, your father vacates the table and strolls out, finding you sat at a bench overlooking the parking lot.

You know he's testing your boundaries because you only divulge things to him when you're activated and want to put him in his place, but you learned long ago that is a futile endeavor, because you end up walking away more upset than victorious.

So, when he approaches the side of the bench that's vacant, clearly expecting you to tell him off, you look up at him stoically.

"I don't want to be baited by you. Not today."

His stony expression dissolves, and his wide, expressive eyes soften the split second before he diverts his gaze and turns to look in direction of the car.

"Is it so wrong, that I would want to know if this man is making you happy?"

You exhale and stand, gripping your purse to be pinned at your hip as you reply, "You forfeited that privilege a long time ago, so please respect my privacy," before walking away from him to go wait by the car.

With your back to him, you don't see his genuine frown as he watches you go.

While you both drive away in silence out of the Dorado Beach golf club's gated entrance en route for the destination your father had planned to take you in order to celebrate your mother and honor her memory, Javier is walking through the seized warehouse acquired during the military raid just that morning.

He and Nic rode along, but did not go in with the soldiers until after they'd taken the site and ushered in the 'all clear' callsign over the radio.

Compared to Search Bloc, this was a relatively bloodshed-free outing.

"Jav, take a look at this," Lopez calls over from just inside the loading dock's storage area, gesturing at a large crate that had just been crowbarred open.

Coming over to peer in, he's not surprised to find bricks of cocaine hidden under a fragrant layer of coffee grounds. However, it's the contraband found in the adjoining room that surprises him.

"Looks like they were in the middle of breaking down a shipment for local distribution. Notice anything?" Nic queries as they move through the room of tables with the product broken out.

"It's all packaged the same way as the stuff found at the caseríos," Javi ruminates out loud.

The interrogation of the suspects swept up in the raid doesn't net out much, but with confirmation that the warehouse was a stop off for getting the heroin and cocaine from the Mexican cartels, he had enough to piece together some possible routes used to ferry the stuff from the Dominican Republic into Puerto Rico.

Still, the organization was so opaque, it was hard to conclude who of the Familia was responsible for facilitating the operation from D.R. to P.R.

What Javier doesn't know, and what is established almost a decade later, is that Junior Capsula ran the operation that had made him a millionaire, with the help from two trusted partners: Elvin Torres Estrada, aka El Muñecón, and Ramon Antonio Del Rosario-Puente, aka Toño Leña. The three of them had been able to carve out a racket thanks to the spillover from the Mexican and Colombian drug wars of the late 80s and early 90s, using their organization to transport cocaine and heroin from three routes. While the cartels fought for turf and supremacy in trafficking drugs up to the U.S., Junior and his associates took advantage of the bottlenecking and provided the alternate routes needed.

The Caribbean had long been a way station for drug shipments to the U.S. and Europe, but with the increasing militarized 'War on Drugs' along the southern border, traffickers began to look at Puerto Rico as a sought-after drug territory. This was due to the island's status as a U.S. territory, and a major perk that came with it: much of the cargo transported from the island did not have to clear customs before entering the eastern U.S. seaboard. That allowed Junior – who'd began his career in narco-trafficking as a drug-boat driver until 1993, when he struck out on his own by carrying out a hit on a truck driver who'd allegedly stolen a shipment of Colombian cocaine – to build the narco network that had him controlling 90% of the drug trade in the Caribbean.

With Toño Leña overseeing the transportation side, they would use small airplanes to drop bundles ferried from the three drug pipelines, dropped them in the Dominican Republic where they'd be collected, repackaged and moved to Puerto Rico or the U.S. The product that made it to the island would then be distributed out by El Muñecón, who'd supply the Puerto Rican drug gangs with the most territory and dealing points the bulk of the product. Said gangs, like the ones hit at the caserío massacres, would then supply drugs to smaller dealers who'd kick up dues to them, as well as to other traffickers with networks moving drugs up to the Northeast and over the Atlantic to Europe.

In all, Junior's core organization was made up of hundreds of people, insulated across all echelons of society, who helped obscure the hierarchy of the network to outside forces. The millions made went into luxury cars, boats, homes – all under shell company names, or "straw owners" or "jockeys." The latter were co-conspirators with legitimate standing who would help conceal the true ownership of assets, as well as facilitated laundering the money through property and business ventures. They'd do so with 'reputable' facilitators who'd assist with the placement, layering or integration of the organization's narcotics proceeds within lawful economic or financial systems.

In essence, Junior was the mastermind of making an illegal organization that acted as a symbiote for 'legitimate' business entities, developing a beneficial relationship, encouraged by corruption and greed. Which meant there was little appetite to uncover the organization's dealings, no matter how much violence and bloodshed skyrocketed on the island.

Javier suspected there was a system at play, just under the surface, though. So, he and Nic requested to see any deeds, titles, and business licenses with any association to the people and places that had been raided.

They'd been walked into a stuffy, humid back office Comandante Ayala supplied for them so they could dig through everything on the case so far, and for once in his life, Javier lamented not having a computerized way to research everything. Instead, there were boxes and boxes with no discernable filing system piled around the room for the two of them to work their way through.

"So…you take the ones on the left, and I'll work on the ones to the right?" Nic quips dryly as he wipes the back of his palm along his brow to sweep away the already beading perspiration dripping from his hairline.

"…Whatever we do find in all this shit? Remind me to have someone scan and copy it all over so it's on a computer," Javi deadpans as he flips the top of the nearest stacked box off, digging into the cluster of manila folders as he gripes, "At the very least, we'll be able to type into a search bar when we need to find something…"

Nic grunts flatly, already plunking down into a swivel chair by the window, and reading through some files while he unseeingly fiddles with the air-conditioning unit's on switch and temperature setting.

It isn't until he sits himself and lets out a weary exhale that his mind triggers a realization: Jesus. I actually would kill to have all of this in a laptop.

He smirks to himself, knowing how gleeful you'd be to know he's been worn down of his abhorrence towards the 'digital age' you've been foretelling to him, let alone that he'd kill to have the convenience of a file search at the tips of his fingers. Well, more like the tips of his pointer fingers.

While he internally admonishes himself for already starting to daydream about you instead of concentrating on the file he's buried in currently, you're trying not to succumb to the impulse of putting your guard up even more than you already have with your father.

The drive on Route 2 West had never been your favorite, and doing it now when there's so much tension definitely had your hackles up.

"Why didn't you take the highway?" you can't help ask as you stare out the window at the traffic trekking by.

"Because, you can't get any of those off the side of the highway," he answers and points ahead to a cluster of stands just ahead. "Your mother loved stopping and perusing. She'd make me pull over, no matter if it was a sunny day or during a downpour."

You look out the windshield to see the kiosks lined up along the right side of the busy road. They were bustling with patrons who'd pulled over to stretch their legs and have a look at the fruit, viandas, artisanal treats and crafts, or to grab something to nibble on or drink before heading back onto the route.

Unbidden, you crack a smile as the memory of your mother holding your hand while she talked to the fruit stand owner whilst they bagged everything, crossed your mind. It was then proceeded by the image of her patiently watching you while she let you pick out the mangos and guayabas you thought were the best from the bunch.

Blinking free from the memories, you realize your father's pulled the car over along the grassy side of the road up ahead from the bulk of the other parked cars.

"Just a little pitstop?" your father suggests and gives you an expectant look.

You relent, smiling at him as you nod. "But I get to pick the fruits," you tell him as you eject your seatbelt and grab your purse.

"Fine by me, tesoro," he chuckles as he follows suit.

Before long, you're cradling a paper bag with a bounty of fresh fruits tucked in it while you wait in line at the food truck selling pastries and fritters, as well as a fragrant-smelling coffee that has you swooning.

Your father had gone back to the car to drop off the bundle of plátano, guineo, ñame and panapén he'd gotten from one stand, so you had a moment to yourself while you stepped to the front of the order window and requested the two coffees, then stood aside to wait. Hope Javier's doing ok, you can't help think as you idle, and are so lost in thought that you miss when they call out your order.

When you realize it, you rush to the pickup window, but your father has come just in time to grab both to-go cups for you. Placing a few folded bills into the tip jar, he takes each cup and gestures for you to walk ahead back to the car.

Once the bag is secure in the back seat and you're in the passenger seat, your father passes you one of the cups.

"Are we going to veer over to the coastal route next?" you ask as you peel the plastic lip on the lid back before taking a sip of the coffee.

"No, I wanted to take you somewhere special. A place I used to bring your mother to," he answers in a pensive baritone timbre that stirs you to look curiously at him. For some reason, your stare looks dubious to him, so he grumbles, "We had moments like that, you know—"

"I didn't say anything to the contrary," you scoff and squint at him before sniping, "You seem to forget I was around and remember a time when you and her were happy…"

That douses his umbrage instantly with cold water and has him exhaling before tersely muttering, "It's going to be a winding, bumpy drive the rest of the way, so get comfortable…"

Needless to say, the rest of the drive from Route 2 up into the mountainous roads winding up through the lush terrain that makes up the scenery of most central municipalities of the island, is a silent once, save for the radio playing Puerto Rican oldies. At least when the signal would be unincumbered by the occasional flare of static caused by the interference of the elevation and surroundings.

Still, you manage to use the silent drive to gain some docility by continually reminding yourself, He's trying. You have to try too.

You're so invested in your internal recitation of this new mantra that you don't realize you've stopped until he's turned the ignition off. Snapping out of your faraway daze, you look around at the site he's parked in front of and gape in awe.

"Come, I set a reservation for us," your father is remarking as he exits the driver's side.

Bemused, you quickly undo your seatbelt and follow, still staring at the expansive view before you.

He turns and notices your transfixed look and smiles, coming to stand next to you so you both can look towards the almost ethereal view of the splendor that is being on top of a mountain at the center of the island that looks down at rolling hills and valleys of every shade of tropical green you can imagine.

"Your mother always said being up here reminded her of Medellín," is his rumbled remark. "The view is even better from the restaurant."

Indeed, your father was right.

Once you've been sat at the top terrace with the veranda that faces out to the sprawling view, you dreamily stare at how the sunset cresting in the West casts a bronzed, blushed hue over the valleys over yonder, with the twinkle of distant lights from humble homes dusting through the frondy foliage and canopies that make up the timeless terrain.

"Estamos en el campo," you remark wistfully as you admire the scenery, unable to avoid being reminded of the lovely view Javier had taken you up to once – overlooking that gorgeous dusky view of Medellín in early twilight.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say the jibarita in you misses being in the peace and calm of campesina life," he can't help jibe before he sips the ron he ordered.

You snicker, musing, "Well seeing as I had no say in the matter, I'd learned to appreciate living en el monte and getting bossed around by grandma."

He hums, smiling ruefully as he concedes, "My mother wasn't the easiest to deal with, but she loved having you stay with her. You came back much more self-reliant—"

"That's because she made me fend for myself when I complained. Once, she said, 'You're not sleeping and eating in my house if you don't know how to be grateful'," is your charge, but you sit back in your seat to sip your Cuba libre before shrugging, and adding, "But when she found me by the river a few days later where I'd set up camp – eating boiled plantains and eggs I'd foraged – she told me I could go back to the house."

Your father frowns. Sure, he'd taught you survival skills from the time you were old enough to talk and retain information, but hearing you inoffensively replay having to put them to use because of his own mother, has made the knot in his chest loosen.

"She never told me that. Why didn't you ever mention it before?" is his low-octave query, intense gaze softening at your dismissive wave of your hand as you finished your drink.

"Because you left me there, so I figured you'd intended for her to teach me lessons like that," you tell him honestly.

After all, you'd been ten or eleven years old, and not unaware of the tension starting to form between your parents, so when he'd gotten stationed overseas for ops training, and your mother had agreed to go with him, they'd thought having you spend that time with family would be for the best. That they could try to rekindle their relationship without having you see any more arguments and fights that would likely occur when things were tenuous between them. At least – overtime – that's what you concluded was the reasoning for getting dropped into the rural hills of Puerto Rico, or left for months at a time to live with your 'Buela in Medellín during summer breaks.

So, the juxtaposition of having a splendid, charmed life at your Buela's house in Medellín, versus the more rigorous, jíbara life of your Grandma's finca in Orocovis, never bothered you, let alone figure into any of your resentments. No, those would come later…

Still, you'd also compartmentalized so many of your feelings towards those times, that looking at the sad expression on your father's face now has you vacantly wondering out loud, "What? You always said experiences fortify the person you become; turns a person to steel towards the hardships of life. That being forged by adversity makes for the strongest steel of them all."

His silence is weighty, expression carving into a stony scowl at your assertion, while his eyes shone with conflict.

Just as he's about to open his mouth, though, the waitress appears with your entrees.

The mouth-watering mofongo con camarones a la criolla – your favorite dish – is piping hot and steaming with the fragrant aroma of the sazón, onions, tomato and garlic that comprise the bisque-like creole sauce saturating the shrimp-covered dome of fried, mashed plantains. You're eager to indulge in the delicacy, but once the waitress departs, you can't help notice how your father just stares at his arróz mamposteao y bistec encebollado guardedly – not making a move to place his napkin on his lap and pick up the utensils to dig in.

Thus, you find yourself sighing, before changing the subject.

"So, what would Ma order when you brought her up here? I bet it wasn't anything with gandules in it," you drawl goofily, cracking a smile when he scoffs and shakes his head. "She thought they were so gross—"

"Which I think she only said so to annoy me, since I like arróz con gandules and ordered it for us the first time we came here. I learned never to make that mistake again," is his snickered rumble as he shifts his chair further into the table and drapes the napkin over his lap now. "Her favorite was the white rice, red beans, and carne guisada. With a big slice of aguacate on the side," is his wry remark, chuckling when you playfully point your fork at his own hefty piece of avocado on his side plate. "It's the best up here. Have some."

Humored, you cut a sliver of it with your fork before partaking. "Mmm, like butter," you sardonically swoon, earning a warm chuckle from your father.

The rest of dinner is nice, filled with irreverent chatter and the delectable meal. After you're both sated and the bill is settled, you exit to return to the car, where you expect to just hop in and make the trek back down the mountain, but instead your father surprises you by going into the backseat for something.

"Before we head down, I thought we could have another of your mother's favorites."

He produces a rectangular carton from a paper bag, and you instantly beam with mirth. "A brazo gitano?! I haven't had one in ages," you marvel after he's handed it to you. "When did you get this?!"

He sits on the front of the car's hood and watches as you merrily open up the box to produce the Spanish cake roll that was filled with guava. With a nostalgic smile, he murmurs, "While you were picking fruit, I got the last one for sale at the pastry truck. I figured we could have it for dessert while looking at the view before it gets dark."

You sit on the hood next to him and offer him first slice of the artisanal roll, which he cuts into with the Swiss Army knife he's produced from his pants pocket.

Once you're both eating the fluffy and sweet confection while admiring how the sun finally dips behind the mountain range and a shroud of stars is revealed in the navy blue of the sky above while the cool breeze flits across the fronds and tall grasses, you spare a glance towards your dad.

"Was this the surprise?" you ask, affection lightening your tone.

"Nope. That's still to come."

Intrigued, you are more than content to drive back and wait for said surprise, especially when any tension between you both has finally dissolved away. You both talked and joked, reminisced about long ago family trips, silly anecdotes, and even bantered about old times. Like the time he'd taken you to see The Godfather in the theater with him, and him insisting it was a completely acceptable film to let an elementary school-aged child watch at the cinema.

"—Movies are for everyone! Especially great cinematic films like that."

"I don't disagree, but do you remember the looks you got from the ticket taker?"

"Looks que looks – as if I gave a damn what some punk with long hair thought—"

"Ok, fair point. But you did take me to Rosemary's Baby when I was little—"

"…That was your mother's fault. I didn't know what it was about," he rasps in a bass-filled grumble, scowling when you laugh. "I thought about grabbing you and heading for the exit pretty close to the start of it, but we were sat too far in the center of the row—"

The irreverent giggle bubbles out of you just before you snicker, "Was it the bedroom scene?"

You're unaware that he has a vivid recollection of how you'd watched, perplexed at the infamous scene. And he can still hear your little voice, piping up with a barrage of questions the entire drive home after the movie, with your child-like innocence, albeit perturbed confusion, inquiring, 'Why all the lady's friends were bad,' among other things.

"Yes. That was definitely not a film for a child. Your mother eventually agreed, albeit amusedly…" is his dolefully sardonic retort as he pulls into the driveway now to the stately tropical home in the gated, beachfront community in Dorado he uses as his main residence on the island.

Once he's parked in the vacant carport adjacent the two-story house with the tiled roof, you both unload the car of the road stand purchases and head into the home via the door located in the interior of the marquesina. And once you've placed the bag of fruit onto the kitchen island's counter, your father hangs his keys on the nearby hook next to the pantry before gesturing for you to go into the living room.

"So, the surprise," he announces as he rounds you to go to the entertainment system against the far wall that the large tufted couch faces, and retrieves something before turning to you. "I had this made for you."

You blink at him curiously before looking at the jacketed VHS tape he's handing to you, perplexed when you don't see any feature film or studio labels on it to identify what the movie cassette could be. Before you can ask, though, he gestures for you to sit on the couch, and after you've sat down, you finally notice the file box tucked in a bottom shelf of the entertainment system once your father has bent down and grabbed it.

"And, I thought you could have these so you can put them in an album, if you want," he's telling you as he puts the box down on the coffee table before he removes the lid and sets it aside.

He sits next to you and watches as you lean forward to peer into the box.

It's filled with neatly-stacked photo envelopes filled with developed prints. When you look closer, you realize many of them have your father's scribbled handwriting on the corner, marking the location and year the photos were taken. Some even have your mother's cursive script. One reads, Celina's first beach day, 1963.

Overcome, you look with wide, tear-brimming eyes at your father.

"I don't think you've seen most, since we moved around so much, but I always kept them stored, for safe keeping—" your father's calm baritone elaboration is cut short by you hugging him tight.

He reciprocates by winding his strong arms around you and relishing the tender moment.

When you're sure you can pull away without so much as an emotional sniffle, you clear your throat and ask, "What is the video tape of?"

His smile is barely subdued as he grabs the VHS and removes it from the sleeve before going to the VCR. Once the tape is in and he's turned on the television, he presses 'Play' on the remote and goes back to sit next to you.

The screen crackles to life with an at-first granny countdown sequence before the beginning of a super 8 home movie starts to play. The camera lens is pointed up at the clouds of a sunny day before the camera pans down and over at someone sitting under a leafy tree.

The instrumental melody of 'Here Comes the Sun' by The Beatles plays over the home movie as the person holding the camera nears the figure under the tree.

Looking up and over her shoulder, your mother smiles and scrunches her nose at the camera, mouthing what looks like, '¿Que haces con eso?'

You realize the camera is held by your father when he comes into view after sitting next to her on the blanket and pivoting it so he can film them both as he leans in and kisses her cheek. She smiles and funnily pats his clean-shaven features before wrinkling her nose cutely at something he says, which from your lip-reading, looks like, 'Bellísima.'

"Most of these don't have sound. I remembered how much you both liked this song, so I had them use it," he tells you, watching your transfixed expression while you watch unblinkingly as more footage from different home movies play.

While the video of your mother wearing a bohemian dress and doing a silly cha-cha dance for the camera plays, you remember that indeed, your mother would sing this song to you in the car to cheer you up when you were in a mood, sat grumpily in the backseat, or obstinately in your room while refusing to go play outside.

Your heart swells with pure joy seeing her vibrant and youthful, as she holds up the basket of flowers she's just picked up to the camera and grins at something your father must've said to her whilst he filmed.

The delighted bubble of laughter bursts in you at the footage going to your 'Buela sat on the front patio of her house, waving at the camera and giving a Cheshire smile when you toddle into frame and drape over her lap, little hands pulling on her skirt for her to give you attention before your 'Buelo comes into the shot to pick you up and hold you up to bounce you in his arms.

Happy tears brim and spill from your eyes to roll down your cheeks as more wonderful moments you'd been too little to remember play out over the instrumental song.

You feel still, completely content – like you've been dipped back to a time when nothing had been lost.

So, you don't expect the added surprise of when the song's ending chords are strummed, for a new series of home movies to play, that have actual recorded sound.

"—Ay Diego. You're really going to mess around with that camera now?"

"Why not? Vamos, bellísima. Give me a smile? Before la fiera comes down—"

"Don't call her that!" your mother chastises and swats his arm, causing the camera to swivel momentarily about the Sunday afternoon sun-lit kitchen before your father scoffs amusedly and resumes pointing it to your mother as she stands near the sink in mid-lunch prep. Squinting impishly at the lens, she derides, "Salió a ti, chistoso—"

"Oh, no. Not in the least. Es pura hija tuya—"

"You're really using that camera for the first time and wasting the fancy film con huevonadas?" is her wry snicker as she goes back to chopping a green pepper.

"Yes."

"Ah pues bien."

"Mami, is lunch ready?"

The camera pans around to focus on the doorway just as you come around from the living room and don't even spare your father a glance.

"Not yet. Come help, and it'll be ready quicker."

"Ok," you say dutifully as you retrieve the foot stool and carry it over to place it down next to her.

"Look, Celina. Smile for the camera," your father cajoles from behind the lens as you stand on the stool and get ready to help wash the rice sitting in the bowl by the sink.

You roll your eyes and look at the camera lens, brow furrowed. "Daddy, that's stupid. Why would I smile when I'm washing rice?"

At your mother's humored hum, you relent and smile, showing your child-like grin that's missing a few baby teeth before shaking your head and going to work sifting your hands to rinse the rice grains in the bowl with water they've been soaking in.

"Ah, look at my two beautiful girls, in the kitchen," is your father's smug, albeit affectionate observation. At your mother blowing a raspberry and pursing her lips derisively at his musing, your father makes a quippy grumble before heckling, as if to the audience, "Rosario, ever the skeptic. Mi bellísima—"

"Ay, Pá, cut it out!" you jeer, grimacing the way a little kid grossed out by her parents being mushy towards each other would while your mother laughs melodiously next to you.

You laugh as the video cuts with your father's grumbled huff before going to the next home movie.

The rest of the time watching the VHS tape is spent that way, with laughter and merry reminiscing. Before long, you end up curled up on the couch, with your head on your father's shoulder, rewatching the anthology of home movies he strung together for you.

When you fall asleep, he lays you down on the sofa and places a throw blanket over you before kissing your forehead and wishing you a goodnight.

You're disoriented when you wake the next morning, and gasp after awareness sets in. Luckily, your father had already put a pot of coffee on and had the presence of mind to have a change of clothes ready for you, so after a quick breakfast, you get ready and make a mad dash to your car, heading to your condo in order to shower and get dressed for work.

As you collect your work tote and rifle through it to make sure you have everything you need, you press 'Play' on the answering machine to check the messages left while you were out.

"—Hola, nena! Wanted to see if you were free for happy hour drinks. Llámame," is the first message, left by Zoraida. No doubt, wanting to catch up and distract you about tomorrow…

The answering machine's robotic recording announces the next message, pulling you from your thoughts.

"Hey, querida. Just calling to check in. Hope you had a nice day, and that all went well with your dad. I'll call you tomorrow. Love you."

Any melancholy that was about to set in was scattered by the light that filled your heart at hearing Javier's soulful baritone voice. You wanted to call him immediately, but decided against it, figuring he'd be very busy.

And, he was, thanks to the bureaucratic hurdles he'd encountered in Santo Domingo that morning.

One thing he did not miss was dealing with the sabotage and stonewalling from officials who should have stopping the traffickers be at the top of their priority list, let alone within their best interests to cooperate. Luckily his lack of patience helped him figure out a resolution.

"—My contact in the State Department made it clear that they would spearhead a measure to increase the U.S. National Guard's patrol of the waters of the Mona Passage. Frankly I'm inclined to lend my backing and speak to the governor, seeing as we're not getting the kind of cooperation we'd hoped for," he's elucidating in a non-negotiable tone now to the government official who'd refused his request for the DEA to have access to surveillance ops data collected by the local authorities.

It seemed to do the trick, since within an hour he received a call from the Ayala confirming he was given clearance to hand over classified surveillance findings to him. While he left Nic to coordinate the handoff with his counterpart assigned to the capital, Javier went outside to get some air.

He was craving a cigarette badly, and was trying not to succumb to the impulse of going to the breakroom and putting money in the vending machine for a pack. So, he checks his watch and decides he needs something to take the edge off.

You're just in the middle of reading over some requisitions while you nibble on a sandwich from the cafeteria when your cell phone starts ringing in your purse. Sitting up from your desk to retrieve it, you answer it as you dab your lips with a napkin.

"Hey, corazón. I'm not interrupting you from anything—?"

"No, not at all," you eagerly cut in, smiling as you sit back down and tell him sweetly, "I wanted to call you this morning after I got in and heard your message, but figured you'd be busy. I miss you."

"I miss you too," he says with genuine warmth, as if he needed to say it to get a load off his shoulders. "So, everything went alright?"

"Yes. It was a nice day. I'll tell you more later," you say easily, more interested in hearing how he's doing than possibly getting emotional on the phone. "How're things there? Everything ok?"

"It's the same shit, different day. But making progress, I think. Hoping to tie up a few things here before we head back," he remarks in that way you know means he doesn't want to give you the particulars. "Anyway, I won't keep you. I just wanted to check in. I'll call you tonight—"

"Oh, Zoraida badgered me to go out for drinks tonight," you tell him, frowning before you assure, "I'll try and make it an early night—"

"No, don't do that. She's been after you to catch up for a while," Javier insists good-naturedly, adding in a rumble, "You gotta tell her all about your jevo and how good he gives it to you, no?"

You snicker coquettishly, feeling titillated by his confident, umbrage-free recall and his ability to make it a sexy taunt. "Mmm, well I can always count on you to remind me of such things, mandón. I'll try and keep it as PG as possible," you silkily muse as you idly run your fingers through your hair, toying with a few strands as you add, "Can I call you when I get in? I'm going to need my jevo to make sweet, naughty promises to hold me over for another night without him."

Javi groans, as if tantalized by your suggestion. "Yes, call me, guapita," he tells you in a gravel pitch. But then he pauses, before asking concernedly, "What're you planning to do tomorrow? I mean, are you going into work? Or taking the day?"

You sigh, tugging on the strands of hair you've looped around your finger. "I have a big meeting in the morning that I don't want to miss, but I'll probably take a half day…not sure I'll be of much use after that, so I'll go to my place and just…just decompress and not be in the way…"

Scowling, Javier feels a pang of hurt, knowing you'll be self-isolating for fear of being too emotionally vulnerable in your bereavement.

"…I'll let you go. Promise you'll keep your cool and stay safe?" is your pensive query.

"I will, querida. I love you."

"I love you too. Call you tonight, hermoso. Be good until then."

He smiles, despite himself, before purring, "Mira quien habla. Take care, cariño."

"I will, chulito. Bye."

The rest of both your day are busy. You're thankful for it, seeing as that stubborn melancholy keeps trying to wiggle its way free from where you've buried it deep down. Javi, on the other hand, is getting more and more aggravated by the red tape regarding getting all the copies of the financial documents transferred to the office in San Juan.

He had a few DOJ lawyers putting pressure on the banks trying to block complying with a subpoena, but he was loathe to idle around for another day while you were in self-imposed solitude. It was weighing on him.

Nic could sense it.

While they both sat eating dinner in the stuffy file room that they'd made their homebase, the other agent eyed him over his can of beer before finally deciding to do some fishing.

"Something on your mind?"

Javi popped a plantain chip into his mouth, crunching on it and shaking his head while he kept his eyes on the file he was skimming over.

"Some one on your mind, then?"

That got him to give Nic a flinty glance before he chewed on the next chip, but this time, he didn't give an answer.

"You know, we heard the rumor. It made it all the way back to headquarters," the keen-eyed man muses, adding nonchalantly, "Must've been a nice coincidence, you two ending up in the San Juan federal office—"

"Let's just keep it to the case, Nic," is the sharp retort Javier lobs his way as he shuts the file's folder and reaches for his own can of beer.

Nic raises his brows and leans back in his chair, so Javi assumes that's the end of his querying.

"…If by chance you needed to head back before things are squared away for the financials transfer, I could stay and oversee that," Nic comments, the suggestion woven into his aloof tone. "No need for both of us to sit here sweating our asses off."

Javi glances sidelong at him while he sips his beer. Nic gives a one-shouldered shrug before returning to his own log he'd been tinkering with all day.

"…I might take you up on that…"

It was the most admittance he'd be getting from the boss man, so the other agent smirked to himself and nodded.

You, on the flipside, are admitting it all to the girls over drinks at the go-to beachy bar your clique loves hanging out at.

Coming straight from work, you'd walked into the bar expecting only Zoraida to be waiting, but were surprised to see Naida and Tayra at the corner booth as well, ready to shower you with gifts. The former gave you another wonderful scented candle she'd gotten you addicted to since moving back to the island, while the latter slid the box of rich dark chocolates you love across to you with a wink.

Zoraida broke the ice regarding the long-awaited topic of your love life by handing you a gift bag with a cunning smirk. You pulled out the very risqué see-through black lingerie – a halter-top style onesie with a thong crotch – and balk at your friends before they bossily cajole you to tell them everything and not spare a single detail.

So, you do. Albeit skipping as much of the tumultuous times of your on-again-off-again relationship with Javier to date. Over a couple of hours and several tropical cocktails and appetizers later, you've dished everything, including the absolutely wonderful weekend leading into the spectacular Valentine's Day. You'd even gone into your purse and retrieved the group photo from the dinner with Steve and Connie so you could show them how handsome your jevo is, as well as give them proof at how infatuated you two are for each other.

"—Ok, he's guapísimo and you got him wrapped around your little finger. Tell us how good he is—"

"Zory, obviously if she's put up with him this long? El señorito Javi sabe chingar," Tayra counters sassily.

"And she said he was a papi chulo when she met him, so what else does she need to say?" Naida tries to give you a reprieve in giving raunchy, salacious details.

But Zoraida will have none of it. "Detalles ahora, doña," she singsongs playfully as she taps the table to the rhythm of her cadence.

You dramatically roll your eyes, but your smile is mischievous as you declare, "He's the best lover I've ever had. I don't think I could be with anyone else…which is why I was celibate the whole time after I came home."

The girls exchange looks of surprise, floored by your candor.

"Javier is the most sensual, selfless, and shamelessly amazing amante – like, there's no one else who even compares. And, he's loving, but naughty, secure in letting me take the lead when I want to be in control, but super sexy when he's in control. I sometimes tease him just to get him riled up to manhandle me – to get all bossy and dominant – and make me his. He talks dirty like no one else I've ever been with, but not like in a meaningless way. Everything he says is hot, but caring – like, he checks in and makes sure he's doing what I want—"

You pause in your rambling admittance when the waitress comes by to check in, and you all politely ask for another round.

Snickering, you continue in a hushed tone, "I've never been with someone who cares so much about me, and who's so committed to my needs, and is so attentive towards my desires and my pleasure."

Naida whistles at that, while Tayra nods as if that is a glorious statement.

Zoraida narrows her gaze and hits you with the question you know she's been waiting to blurt.

"Does he make you come?"

"If Javi doesn't make me come at least twice when we do it, he takes it as a personal failure – and then makes me come with his mouth or fingers," you state unabashedly before sipping the last of your drink.

That finally cracks Zoraida.

She proudly grins and puts her arm around you as she whispers conspiratorially, but loud enough for the other girls to hear, "It sounds to me like Mr. Javier Peña is a keeper!"

You snort and nudge your shoulder into her wryly before the girls start teasing you gleefully.

"Can we talk about all your sex lives now?!"

The girls humor you, regaling you of their recent sexcapades for the rest of the time until you all have to call it a night and head home.

It's a while later after, and bone tired after spending the day in the drudgery of file reading, Javier decompresses with a hot shower. He is finishing drying his hair post-shower and eyeing his duffle, wondering if he should start packing it when his phone starts ringing.

He tosses the towel aside and grabs for it off the charger, dropping down on the narrow bed as he answers, "Wild night with the girls?"

You chuckle, drawling, "Drinks and sex talk is hardly a wild night with the girls, stud."

"Sex talk, eh?" he questions appealingly, smiling when you hum flirtatiously in response. The air-conditioned room is cool and comfortable as he stretches out on the bed in his pajama bottoms, so he relaxes backwards into the propped pillows as he idly scratches at his chest while he asks, "Care to share some?"

He hears the shift and rustling of the bedding as you adjust to lounge up in your pillows. "Well, after the girls nagged me to spill everything 'Javi Peña,' they filled me in on their love lives; how they spent Valentine's. Naida's been dating the same guy for a couple of years. They live together, and she told us how they tried roleplay the other day," you tell him brazenly, and he can hear the smile in your tone. "Tayra's a serial dater. She's never kept a guy around longer than a few dates or hookups. She told us about the last guy that she let go down on her in her office late one night. Oh! And Zoraida has a roster of guys she sees – you know, like on rotation, so she told us about the baseball player that asked to lick her ass—"

"Whoa," Javi sputters at the unfiltered gossip, exhaling sardonically before he snickers, "So much for keeping it PG. And what did you tell 'em?"

Your giggle is smoky before you purr, "Que eres el amante más asombroso de mi vida."

That you're the most amazing lover of my life.

His pulse rushes at that, shooting warm desire into his apex and making him lustful, so he murmurs, "Oh yeah? And what sexy details did you give to prove that?"

"Nothing as bawdy, don't worry! Well, actually, I guess the most detailed tidbit was that you always make me come – that if you don't make me come at least twice, you take it as a personal failure and make it your mission to make me come with your mouth or fingers—"

"Cristo amado, woman!" he exclaims, incredulous smile quirking his features while an embarrassed flush rises up from his neck while you guffaw a sultry laugh. Tracing the inner rim of his bottom lip with his tongue, he deadpans, "Great. Now I'm going to have to pretend I don't know that you told them all that—"

"Why pretend? It's not like I said a bad thing! You can tell your friends about how good you make me come, if you want, chulito," you taunt knowingly. "Or whatever naughty details about our sex life you'd want to brag about. It's only fair—"

"That is never gonna happen, atrevida. No matter how much I get hounded," he huffs in a faux-grumpy tone, but he can't help smile when you make a disappointed little grumble. "I think you're just being naughty to get a rise out of me, eh, malvadita?"

You hum dramatically before chiming, "Maybe," then pause, and sigh tiredly before musing, "It was nice, having the distraction…"

Javi hears the sadness just under your tone, and sits up on the cot.

"Querida…you want to talk about it?"

"No, I just…it's late, and I'm being silly. You get some rest, mi amor. I'll be better after tomorrow."

He frowns, running his hand impulsively through his hair to stifle the ache of not being able to instead pull you close and hold you tight. "Ok, preciosa. Sleep well. I love you."

"I love you too, mi cariñito. Be safe. Goodnight."

The solace you felt thanks to Javi promising to be home soon allowed you to go on autopilot whilst you got ready for work the following morning. It also helped that there was just one more day of feeling the pull of melancholy you were weary of fending off already. At least that was the mantra you were running in your head until someone knocked on your door.

You didn't expect your father to be on the other side when you answered it.

"Pá," you greet, bemused before frowning confusedly and asking, "Did we make plans—?"

"No, I just wanted to stop by and drop these off for you," is his remark as he greets you with a kiss on the cheek before crouching to pick up the box at his feet, along with the sturdy shopping bag filled with the viandas and frutas from Sunday you'd left in your haste the morning prior. "I, uh, figured you would be busy today, so figured I would drop them off before you left for work."

You smile as you take the bag from him so he can dutifully carry the box to your coffee table and place it onto an unoccupied corner. "Thanks. I was running late yesterday and it slipped my mind to grab them—"

"It's alright," he assures as he faces you and vacillates, as if unsure with what to do next. He scrubs the inside of his hand over his moustache and mouth as he glances over at the dining room table and sees the bouquet of flowers Javi gifted you for Valentine's. "Well, I'll leave you to it—"

"Dad."

He pauses and looks intently at you, and ends up being taken aback when you approach him to give him a thoughtful hug.

"I'll call you soon so we can have another paisa dinner," you whisper against his chest before clearing your throat and stepping back with a small smile.

Nodding, he kisses your forehead, relaxed as he drawls, "I'd like that very much, tesoro."

You chat a bit more on the way to the door – making sure not to address the heavy meaning of the day, and you part on good terms, waving goodbye to him as he heads for the elevator.

With a deep, cleansing breath, you go finish getting ready for work.

By the time you make it to the big meeting, you're feeling like you can hold it together. That you could maybe even get through the day. So much so, you get lost in some busy work when you get back to your office, the kind that make you start itemizing next steps on projects, department to-do's, forming an absent-minded itinerary of things you need to get to as soon as possible.

But then your mind becomes preoccupied with a sense of obligation, a nagging feeling like you're forgetting to do something. It's the kind of thing that feels like it's been routine – something meaningful, but no longer an option, and it needles you the entire time you trek back to your office, until it finally dawns on you.

Oh! I have to call 'Buela and—

The thought skids off the track and derails into a deep ravine of guilt and grieving, filling you with sorrow at the realization that this is the first anniversary you were without your grandmother.

It's like a cold dagger that seeps icy hurt into your chest, overwhelming you with melancholy.

On autopilot, you manage to scrape your wits together to not start bawling until you've made it to your car and driven out of the federal campus. By the time you make it to your apartment, you are frazzled and flushed from crying. The muggy heat is sweltering in the early and sunny afternoon, so you're quickly sprinting through the door and over to turn on the consola de aire acondicionado that's in the main living area before rushing to crank shut all the windows.

You make it into your bedroom and turn on the wall-mounted unit so that cool air can fill the space as you hastily strip out of your work clothes in order to sit and curl up into the pillows to have a good, long cry.

Once you've showered and gotten into the billowy dark gray t-shirt dress you favor for lazying around the house, you feel better enough to find ways to occupy your time – or at least to try to attempt to divert the melancholy threatening to have you fall into a grief spiral.

Looking over, you see the bag on the counter and the box of photos your father had dropped off to you that morning, and feel inspired with a couple of ideas on how to invest your attention into things that will absorb your time.

Hours later, you lean back into the couch and finish the gulp left in your wine glass before pouring a hearty refill from the bottle you've half drained since you'd set up shop in the living room.

You place it back down on the cool floor next to you as you shift forward to return to your project.

A short while later, once the buzz reaches your head, you take a healthy swallow of what's left in your glass and amble backwards up onto the cozy-throw-covered-couch so you can survey your progress. The box of photos is sat on the chair adjacent to the couch, and you have several photo albums arranged in varying stages of completion over the coffee table.

Leaning heavily into the couch cushion, you close your eyes and let the chill of the air-conditioned breeze fan over your toasty senses for a few minutes, before grabbing the VCR remote and pressing 'Play.'

The montage of home movies your father surprised you with begins to play where you'd paused it earlier.

Setting the wine glass aside and shoving the now-mostly-empty bowl of chips away so you could tuck your legs under you more comfortably and pull the cream blanket over your lap, you watch as the little toddler version of you dressed in blue overalls and little yellow sandals holds your mother's hand while she plucks a mango off of the tree in your grandmother's backyard. She places it down int a nearby basket, and you mimic her by picking up a fallen mango from the grass and dropping it into the same basket before tugging on her hand to continue over to the next mango you spot within reach.

Sniffling, you use the sleeve of your dress to dab at your teary eyes, lip trembling as you take in a cleansing inhale to try and clear the emotion from knotting in your throat.

You're startled when three knocks suddenly rap on your door, making you whirl inelegantly in your seat and perplexedly look around for something to tell you the current time. The VCR display says it's close to 4:30pm, which makes you sputter as you press 'Pause' on the remote and kick off your blanket in order to then rush to your feet.

"Un momento," you shout as you hastily shut the TV screen off and put the clutter of empty snack bowls down on the floor, and shove the tissues out of sight from the door before you rush over to unlock it and open it.

Javier stands at your threshold with his travel duffle hung on his shoulder while he holds a bouquet of pretty pink flowers in his hand.

You're so surprised to see him that you gasp and stare with flustered awe at him before bounding forward to throw your arms around his torso. A little 'oof' escapes him as he holds you to him with his strong forearm not currently occupied by the flowers or the weight of the travel bag.

Nuzzling you lovingly, he gets lost in the soft scent of your hair and how nice it feels to have you in his embrace.

You hug him tight as you bury your face in the soft cotton of his safari beige-toned button down, breathing in his warm scent before you snap to your slightly wine-dulled senses and stumble backwards to pull him into the apartment and out of the heat of the outside hall.

"Oh my god, w-when—what're you doing here?" you stammer as you fluster timidly, feeling too much of a mess suddenly.

"I took the earliest flight I could. Lopez stayed behind," he explains as he closes the door behind himself and sets his duffle aside by the entry to turn and hold out the lovely bouquet, murmuring sweetly, "These are for you."

Your heart flutters as you take the flowers and slowly realize they're pink gardenias. Deeply touched, you hug them to your chest and stare up with glossy, trembling eyes at him as you whisper airily, "You remembered?"

With a gentle smile, Javi nods, and you sniffle – overcome, when he pulls you close and kisses your forehead.

Pink gardenias were your mother's favorite flowers. You hadn't seen a pink gardenia since her funeral, so to see the gorgeous pink blossoms nestled together now – knowing that Javi went out of his way to get them to honor her? It has you feeling breathless.

You wrap your arm around his waist and lean into him, melting when he claims your lips with his own.

Hints of merlot still cling to your mouth, and he's just realizing you're seemingly not wearing anything under the cozy t-shirt dress when you lean back and look up at him with open emotion filling your expressive gaze, hugging the flowers to your bosom as you idly scrub the back of your hand across your tear-streaked cheek.

Javier's deep brown, soulful eyes crinkle at the corners as he tells you, "I, uh, know you were just gonna spend today alone, so I hope this is ok."

"I—" you begin and immediately pause when you realize the state you and the apartment are in. There are dishes in the sink, mail stacked carelessly onto the console by the phone, you hadn't gotten around to taking out the trash in the kitchen, several pairs of discarded shoes were left by the entry where he'd just left his bag, and the conspicuous clutter in the living room. It all causes you to feel shame.

"I-I would've gotten things sorted if I'd known you were coming today—that you were going through the trouble," you attempt while looking at the bouquet cradled in your arm, before flinching as you exclaim, "Oh! Let me get these in water—"

Bemused, he looks around and doesn't see what has you fretting, so he walks towards the couch and further into the nice air-conditioned space, as he assures, "It's no trouble, querida. I had to be back here for that meeting at La Fortaleza tomorrow—"

He spots the bunches of used tissues and bowls clustered on the floor by the corner of the couch. A quick glance at the clutter of albums and developed photo sleeves on the coffee table, as well as the bottle of wine tucked behind the leg of said table clue him into what you've been up to.

You're clumsily rifling through cabinets in search for a vase, and once you find the cylindrical shaped one from underneath the sink cupboard, you place it on the counter and notice Javier's made it over to the couch.

"Oh!" you fret as you scamper around the kitchen counter on nimble bare feet, and go to hastily scoop up the plates and bottle, fumbling with grabbing up the mess of tissues as well as you fuss, "Sit, sit! I'll clean up quick—"

"Let me help you," Javi attempts as he tries to take some of the clutter from your arms, but you recoil with embarrassment and rush back to the kitchen.

"N-No, just sit and relax. I—I'm just going to tidy up," you're thinly assuring as you toss the tissues into the zafacón, then place the dishes to clatter into the sink before hurrying to put the wine out of the way by placing it in the corner of the counter so you can quickly grab the vase. But before you can pivot around with it to run the tap and start filling it with water, you fumble it in your hold and it tumbles out of your hands to fall with a crash to the tiled floor. "Shit!"

He'd been already rounding the counter to come help, so he now rushes over to practically pick you up and maneuver you away from possibly stepping on any shards of glass, as he warns, "Careful, cariño."

Once he's placed you down in the hallway away from the broken glass, Javier spots a paper bag left on the elevated dining side of the counter top, so he grabs it and turns to sweep the larger shards together with the side of his boot as he assuages, "Here, I'll just scoop it into this—"

But you're already dashing into the laundry room and back with the broom and dustpan set, clumsily trying to disjoin them as you fluster, "I'll pick it up! Don't touch the glass, I can sweep it up and—"

You're so frazzled that you yank too hard, and the dustpan clatters to the floor while the broom bangs into the wall when you finally un-attach them.

A wave of something fragile, yet chaotic, swirls up in you, and you're not sure if it's the wide-eyed gape Javi gives you, or the scalding sense of embarrassment that lances through you now, that caused it to flare up like hot air in your chest. The latter has you feeling at your lowest. That he's seeing you be a pathetic, drunken mess, and that this whole thing seemingly is establishing what a disaster you truly are.

Whatever it is – likely a combination of everything – has you so mortified that you're suddenly letting the broom clang to the floor as you hide your face in your hands.

"I—I'm sorry. This—this is why I needed to be alone. I'm just a fucking mess," you haltingly hiss around the sobs now wracking through you. "I hate being like this—hate you seeing me like this—"

"Mi amor," Javi croaks thickly, throat feeling tight from how a tangle of conflicting feelings wedges in his windpipe, so he exhales gruffly and cuts the distance between you so he can pull you protectively into his chest, desperate to take your pain away, but helpless with how to do so. Consolingly, he husks, "You're not a mess at all—"

"Yes I am! I-I just keep falling apart, and here you are seeing it and s-seeing how pathetic and pitiful I am when I can't keep my shit together," you frustratedly exclaim as you wring away from him and angrily pick up the broom, as you rail, "I can't even pull it together a-and not scare you off—"

Watching you spiral is something Javier is bemused, stung, overcome and activated by, all at once. It rakes up so many feelings in him, and makes him burn with the compelling need to give you solace in any way he can. Seeing it happen the first time – when your grandmother had passed away – had branded him with a daunting sense of protectiveness over you. But unlike that time, you were truly adrift now, and not begging for him to tether you back and anchor you from the volatile, emotional tempest you were in. That was likely because you'd been drinking and had so much grief compounded within you over time, that you felt your only option was to suffer alone.

And he'd derailed that for you. So, he now had to haul you back from the chasm you were prepared to fling yourself into.

The broom isn't even in your grasp completely before it's flung away by Javi into the corner of the fridge and wall, just as he sweeps you away from the kitchen to be pressed between him and the hallway wall at your back. You gasp as adrenalin hits your bloodstream and zings a lurid thrill through you that clears the buzz enough for you to focus your wild stare on his purposeful glare.

"Do I look scared off, querida?" is his assertive, husky rhetorical question.

Brow furrowing, you shake your head insistently as you hiccup, "N-No, but—"

"Celina."

You pause and stare attentively at him now, feeling like a tuning fork just got chimed inside of your ribs by his firm, grounded baritone use of your name.

When he sees your eyes sharpen and your brows rise in anticipation, Javi cups your cheek with one hand while the other cradles your lower back. Your breath hitches, stare flicking to his mouth and back up to his smoldering gaze when he leans in and rumbles decisively, "I'm not letting you get all worked. You don't have to have all your shit together, especially today. You're going to let me clean this up, and you're going to stop trying to keep things bottled up."

Your eyes flutter at his command, but you're already stubbornly starting to protest, so Javier insists, "Listen to me, corazón. You can trust me. I don't think any less of you for 'not having it all together' today," and pauses to emphasize his point by resting his forehead to yours as he murmurs, "It's ok not to be ok."

Exhaling shakily, you close your eyes and curl vulnerably into him. You're so emotionally raw, that you can't even muster words.

Javier kisses the top of your head and lets you relax against him before he assures in a gravelly mutter, "Now, go sit for me. I'll clean this up quick."

He nuzzles the top of your hairline affectionately and pats your tush in a 'hop to it' gesture.

As soon as you've scooted onto the couch in a way that allows you to peer over at him, Javi goes to work picking up the large broken shards of the vase to plop them into the paper bag, then grabs the broom and swiftly sweeps up the smaller jagged pieces into the dustpan to be dropped in as well before be carefully closes the bag and shoves it into the now-full trashcan. Once he's sure he's gotten all the glass swept up and that there aren't any shards lingering in the bristles of the broom, he ties up the garbage bag preemptively before setting the broom and dustpan back down in the laundry room where they're stored.

You watch him the entire time, eyes wide and glossy with your pining, as he moves around the space while the anxiety still wriggles in your chest.

Getting to stare at his divine, perfect fit blue-jean-clad ass walk down the hall before he lopes back to come towards you makes delight palpitate some of the anxiety away, though. The kind of delight that tingles excitement in your core and makes you fidget with the heat of your arousal spiking through you now when Javi nears.

The air from the consola fans across you both, and while he's glad for the kiss of the cool breeze against his skin, he can't help notice how it's not cooling you down at all. Your cheeks are flushed, and you look a bit ruffled still, unaware that you're a bit wound up with self-conscious anxiety and yearning.

His dark-coffee brewed eyes lower appraisingly over you as he gets to the side of the couch – lingering on how your nipples are studding through the clingy fabric of the t-shirt dress. Seemingly mystified with the conflict you're exuding in your uncertain state, Javi hesitates on whether to sit next to you, before he settles his features into an earnest regard, and asks in a baritone rumble, "Did I do the wrong thing? Coming over, I mean."

You sit up on your knees and absently clutch the back cushion as you fluster, "N-No, you didn't do anything wrong—"

"I can leave, if you want," Javi says in a steadfast way, a hand at his hip while he gestures with the other to where his duffle sits, as he huffs, "I should've called before coming. It's fine, if you'd rather not have company—"

Deflating onto your haunches, you swallow the lump in your throat before professing tightly, "I don't want to be alone."

It's then Javi sees the indecision crease your brow, and realizes you're truly at a loss, and not used to being out of control like this; at having your desires in conflict and not having a way to regain your calm. He's never seen you so unsure and self-reproachful. It makes him realize you need coaxing towards stable ground.

"Querida. If you want me to stay, then you have to tell me so."

You blink in surprise, and Javier stands his ground – hands on his hips and expression etched in that assertive way from before, but this time his soulful eyes are crinkled almost goadingly at the corners.

A shiver goes up your spine.

"I want you to stay," you tell him, sitting on the couch with your legs folded under you, but still timid.

He cocks an eyebrow and leans his weight onto his left hip as he eyes you challengingly, drawing out in a smoky purr, "I don't believe you."

That gets the reaction he hoped for.

Your brows furrow together and your eyes narrow. "Oh, really. You don't believe me?" you mutter crossly before scooching to the edge of the cushion you're sitting on as you imperiously snark, "And what do I have to do for you to believe me then, hm?"

Javier smirks as he gives you a laconic one-shouldered shrug, before he croons, "Show me that you want me to stay."

A little fire of desire is set inside you at that, and all your squeamish, flustered embarrassment of before is snuffed out by your need to buck up against his challenge.

The buzz from the wine tickles through you still as you stare at him in that searing way that promises sultry, albeit wickedness, from you in response to his self-assuredness, but really, you're feeling the gumption bubble up and clear the fuzzy anxieties of before away. Especially the more you see his dark eyes begin to smolder with lust.

Licking his bottom lip while you stand on your bare feet and cut the short distance between you both, Javi feels anticipation curl deviant thrill up in his apex. That quickly becomes burning arousal when you stand up to him on your tippy toes and grab fistfuls of the front of his shirt to yank him down to meet your kiss.

He ends up hissing in surprise when you suckle on his bottom lip before nipping it possessively and growling, "I want you to stay, Javier."

The urge to just take you pulses in his veins and digs down into his loins, but he wants to wind you up some more – to get the angst and upset of before completely torn asunder; to be replaced with your vivacious, unabashed desires he's become so adept at stoking loose.

"Hmm, is that so?" Javi purrs in that incandescent grouse that always rakes over your titillated senses like sinful velvet, as he gropes his big hands down your curves puckishly before pulling you close so he can order in an audacious whisper, "Fucking prove it, then, bravita."

An exhilarated wave of arousal pulses through you and has you tingling with desire at his instigating command. You want to just pounce on him, but something daring and needy has you wanting to wind him up right back. To rile the urge you saw flash across his dark eyes earlier back to the surface and entice him into carnal hunger with you.

Javier is surprised when you lean back from his embrace and worry your bottom lip between your teeth as you encircle his left wrist and cup his hand, leading it up your skirt and between your thighs.

"I want you to stay, and I want you," is your silky whisper as you guide his digits to touch your warm and bare pussy, emphasizing your point by grinding your slick seam over the pads of his fingers as you look searingly into his hungry stare and ask airily, "Do you want me, mi amor?"

He was hard when you slipped his hand up your skirt, and he's straining against his jeans now from your provocative question while rubbing your dripping cunt along his fingers.

"More than anything," he hoarsely mutters as he starts to part your folds.

At his answer, you nimbly scamper back and out of his reach suddenly, and Javi's expression is priceless when you grin and lilt, "Then fucking prove it, guapito."

It's so brazen and goading, the way you got him wrapped around your little finger only to then snap him back – to push the deviant, primal buttons that spin lurid desire up in him and have him unleashing all his suppressed urges. That provoke him to dominate you in a feral way that has a visceral shudder quivering through him.

Before you can even attempt to sprint off like you'd planned to, Javier's already lassoed his arm around you and pinned you to him as he grabbed the hem of your dress and yanked it up and over your head in a brusque movement that has you gasping and teetering in his hold. He effortlessly spins you around to wring the material off and flings it carelessly away before he manhandles you down onto your hands and knees to the blanket-covered-couch as he hurriedly yanks his belt buckle loose and makes short work of opening his fly.

You're mewling and arching back excitedly when he drops onto his knees behind you and quickly lines himself up before he plunges his ramrod erection into you to the hilt with a rough groan.

His hips slam into you and cause you to almost fold forward, so Javi grips the back of your shoulder and guides you roughly down to position you in a way that'll have you at his mercy, but able to hold onto the armrest for balance.

Just as you arch your spine to rock back into his next thrust, Javi crowds over you and dominates the hell out of you now.

The air-conditioning unit hums along in the ambient beat of the fan swaying to and fro while the sounds of you getting railed by Javi echoes in the living room, getting louder and louder as his pounding thrusts become piston-like slams angled up into that devastating spot inside you.

"Ah! Mmph, oh Javi—" you cry out, feeling spun up by the sensory overload of his weight pressing into you, his cologne and sweat permeating your own overheated scent, his gruff groans and growls of savage approval at how you're reveling in how he's taking you, and the taste of him now when he plunders your mouth with his own in a greedy kiss.

When Javi maneuvers a hand to tease his fingers over the hood of your clit, you whimper, "Nngth!" and break the torrid kiss to bow into the couch cushion under the onslaught of overstimulation.

Your silken walls clench hard around him, making Javi moan and nuzzle you lovingly before he shifts back to balance his weight and take hold of your waist to ground you both in the building crescendo of scintillating sensation that's propelling you both into a tizzy towards release.

He's enthralled on how you're moaning broken little sounds of ecstasy the harder and faster he fucks into your squelching cunt from behind, and he watches you under heavy lids as you reach a hand backwards to cling to his forearm as his grip on your waist becomes more possessive – desperate, even.

Your sheath is fluttering with impending climax, and the throaty way you begin to beg, 'Javi-Javi-Javi!' has something scalding tangling in his chest and making him wild with the need to wreck you with daunting pleasure – the kind that will make you rapturous and euphoric.

Just as your coupling hits an animalistic zenith, you sob his name before wailing a reedy sound as you climax, gushing your orgasm as your sheath clamps down around his cock.

"Oh fuck—!" is Javier's guttural grunt before he pants a harsh groan as his release barrels through him, stealing his breath and having him buckle forward to crowd over you.

In this heightened state, you can feel his climax surge deep inside of you while his heartbeat throbs against your back. The dizzying delight you experience at the bloom of warmth radiating in your womb has you sighing out a luscious sound that makes Javi melt into you.

Before his knees gave out, Javier wraps his arms around you and rolls sidelong into the sofa's back cushions in order to keep you folded backwards into him so he can worshipfully cuddle and nuzzle you while you both recover.

The post-coital bliss has you blitzed out in the most wonderful way. You're dreamily sighing as you come back down from the stratosphere and affectionately interlace your fingers with the hand caressing your womb. As your body temperature begins to normalize, you feel the chill in the air and the cool press of the steel from his watch's band as the wrist it's attached to rests against your sternum. The palm of his hand is just below your clavicle, thumb sweeping soothing along the delicate skin while he noses into the sweaty hair at your nape.

Dimly, you reach around your side to shift your hips so you can turn to kiss him over your shoulder, and end up comically realizing Javier got you completely naked, but left himself fully clothed. He didn't even get a chance to kick off his boots.

"Oh my god," you snicker before caressing your palm along the length of his jean-clad lower thigh before simpering, "Babe, how are you even comfortable like this?!"

He snorts and nudges his temple affectionately against you as he deadpans, "M'not. You got me so riled up though. Stripping down was not a priority."

You laugh, light and effervescent, grinning when he nuzzles your neck and grunts a silly sound.

"Well, it's a priority now, chavón," you simper between giggles as you undulate your hips into him. "Desnúdate, ahora."

Javier impishly pinches your waist and grunts at your order of 'Get naked, now' before eagerly shifting you up with him so he can comply, laughing warmly when you start to help him undress by unbuttoning his beige shirt with hasty fingers, yanking it open and off his shoulders while he hurriedly, and simultaneously, kicks his boots and pushes his jeans off.

Once naked, Javi murmurs, "Lay back for me," and helps you adjust to lie length-wise on the sofa as he maneuvers to sit between your parted legs.

The cool air caresses over you both and keeps you from overheating while Javi takes some tissues from the box on the side table and tends to you. Tenderly swiping up the spill of his seed that's weeping from your still tingling pussy, he makes sure to be delicate with his aftercare so you can relax.

You sigh blissfully and close your eyes as you reach for him after he's set the sullied tissues aside.

"Feel better?" he rumbles when he cuddles up with you across the length of the couch. You nod and tuck yourself against him, so he wraps his arm around your waist and gives you a loving squeeze, as he drawls, "Good."

While you're cooling down together, Javi combs his fingers through the back of your hair soothingly while you caress yours along his forehead and brow, occasionally brushing your lips over his, and sighing happily when he presses soft kisses to your cheek and jaw.

When you start to shiver from the air conditioning, he tries to pull the edge of the throw blanket around you, but much of the length of it is pinned underneath you both, so he murmurs, "Wanna take a hot shower?"

You nod, but before Javier can start sitting up, you hook your leg over his hip and silkily lilt, "But first, I wanna take care of this," and coax his semi into a full erection with a few strokes of your hand before guiding it to your primed entrance.

His groan of approval is quickly followed by him plunging his cock slowly in before maneuvering you both on the sofa so that he can be on his back while you ride him with sensual gusto.

After the amazing romp, you both take a long shower together, dry off, and end up in your bed.

You're under the quilt while Javi lounges with his hands tucked behind his head and in his nude glory, reclined against the propped-up pillows and enjoying the air conditioning in your bedroom while you both talk. He'd noticed you'd moved the vase with the flowers he'd gotten you for Valentine's to the top of your dresser, so you'd explained that you'd intended to pick out some of them so you could tie them together and hang them to dry out in order to preserve them.

"—I'll have to take those out so I can put the new ones you brought in that vase," you're remarking as you shuffle into a sitting position as if you're about to get out of bed and do so now.

Javi tows you close by lassoing his forearm around your waist as he sits propped up on his elbow. "So you're saying you've kept flowers from every single bouquet you've ever gotten?" is his puckish query, giving you a faux haughty look as you scoff.

"No, silly! I've only preserved a few flowers from meaningful arrangements," you insist as you pat his forearm to be let loose so you can shimmy out of bed, and then go retrieve a large ornate cardboard box with an attached flip-open lid and scamper back with it.

He sits up and pulls the quilt back for you so you can slide under it once you've placed the box onto the bed, and gives you his undivided attention as you open the box and reveal that it's where you place very sentimental mementos – including an assortment of individually preserved flowers. Each are wrapped with a ribbon that has the date you received them listed in your handwriting. Along with the flowers are letters, postcards, and other special keepsakes.

"See? These are from the first bouquet you gave me, in Medellín," you tell him as you pull out a trio of preserved red roses tied together by a white ribbon. He is surprised to see indeed, you have the date and location written on it too, and he almost misses your pensive smile as you add, "'Buela saved them for me."

Javi glances at you intently then, so you clear the lump in your throat and retrieve the next trio of dried flowers.

"These are from the time you surprised me for my birthday," is your musing now, smiling as you place them back and gesture to a few others and recite, "These are from my maid of honor bouquet at Irina's wedding, and these are from the arrangement at my cousin's reception—"

You pause before pointing out the white lilies from your grandmother's wake, and the pink gardenias from your mother's velorio, feeling that prickle of grief begin to crest up in you.

Sensing it, Javi interjects in a searching drawl, "What about the roses from the arrangement I had Marisol leave in your office?"

Blinking comically at him, the melancholy is forgotten as you scoff and snipe, "Nope! I didn't get a chance to. And anyway, all of these I saved because they're to honor the moment, or for me to keep the happy memory, and when I saw those roses? I was livid."

His brows rise and his pouty lips are inviting when he irreverently gripes, "So you would've saved flowers from the grand arrangement that mystery admirer had sent to your office—?"

"No, because once you told me you hadn't sent them, I let Ellis take them," you bossily cut in and pat his bare thigh conciliatorily as you tease, "Take a look, tough guy. Only ones I've kept, are yours."

Grunting contrarily, Javi purses his lips and grumbles in a faux huff, "But someone delivered a whole flower shop's worth to you—"

You exhale glibly and busily organize all the flowers to be delicately stored in the box as you sing song, "Yes, mi amor, I've gotten lots of flowers from lots of guys in the past, but you're the only one who's given me a bouquet and made me feel warm and fuzzy, so those are the ones that matter enough to be kept."

You look over at him then, pure moxie in your bright eyes, and Javier feels that funny feeling in his chest that's a combination squeeze and flutter of happiness.

The molten look in those brown orbs makes you tingle, so when he slides the box away in order to gather you to straddle his lap, you're feeling alight. And then he wraps you up in his arms and hugs you so fiercely that all you can do is loop yours around his shoulders and nuzzle into his neck lovingly.

"I felt the same way, giving them to you," he tells you in a soft murmur after you soothingly comb your hand through the back of his hair and kiss the soft skin between his ear and sideburn. At your loving cuddle, he smirks and nudges his temple affectionately into yours as he mutters, "Show me how you pick the flowers and preserve them?"

Smiling against his cheek, you give him a cheeky squeeze before doing just that.

Once the trio of flowers are picked from the bouquet and you've tied a string around the end of the stems and hung them to dry on the curved loop of the dresser's mirror, you rewrap the ribbon around the remaining bouquet and rinse out the vase so you can place the lovely pink gardenias in it.

The entire time, you're telling Javi about the day you spent with your father. He smiles, happy to hear your sentiments, and frankly relieved that it was a mostly pleasant occasion.

When you've finished arranging the flowers, Javi pulls on a pair of sweatpants you'd stored in a drawer for him while you retrieve your silky robe and put it on after having proposed ordering delivery for dinner.

"—All I made were viandas, so want me to order pizza?" you're asking as you pick up the vase now.

"Sure. Whatever you want, cariño," he tells you and chivalrously takes the vase from you and gestures with a nod of his head for you to lead the way.

Feeling a giddy tickle in your tummy, you playfully tow him along by the drawstring of his sweatpants to exit your room and enter the guest bedroom.

He sees you've adjusted your altar of family photos to now include the silver-framed photo of you, your mother, and your grandmother in the center, with a tall continental candle lit next to it. There was a vacant spot on the dresser that Javi places the gardenias onto for you, and before he's able to move back, you take his hand and guide him to stand in front of the wide dresser with you.

"I dreamt about her the other night. Sometimes, I wonder what she'd think – about everything, I mean. What it would be like for her to be around – for you to have met her," you're confessing in a faraway tone, staring at the photo of your mother before glancing up at Javi and smiling dreamily at him, as you admit softly, "I think she would've loved you."

His brown eyes almost shimmer with how the candlelight flickers across them when he caresses his palm to the small of your back while he cups your cheek gently with his warm palm, thumb tracing along the apple of it as he rumbles, "I feel the same, querida. I know my mother would've. I bet they would've gotten along, too."

The sentiment warms your heart, and makes you lean into him so you can stand on your tippy toes and brush a doting kiss over his scrumptious lips.

All the gloomy melancholic feelings of before have been blown away by the beaming unconditional love Javier has given you – by how unrelentingly passionate and tender and irreverent he's been since he showed up at your door like the handsome sweetheart he is.

The rest of the evening is calm.

After you called in for the pizza order, Javier pulled on his college shirt and took out the garbage for you. By the time he was breezing back in, you'd stored the verduras in containers and were finishing with the dishes. He strolled over to start drying the dishware for you while teasing you about being so flustered over nothing earlier.

"—Acted like the place was condemned—"

"I was embarrassed!"

"Over a few dishes and tissues?"

"Not just that. All the clutter, the garbage—"

"Baby, you've not seen clutter. You missed out on the pigsty Steve's place was after Connie went back to Miami. That was some real shit to be mortified by—"

"Ay Javi," you snicker ruefully and cut the faucet before drying your hands on the towel hung on the decorative rack, sighing to yourself before you concede, "The mess felt like a manifestation of how much of a mess I was today…"

Stowing the glass currently in his hand in the cabinet, Javi turns and herds you close by your hip before murmuring, "I know today was hard for you, preciosa. But you don't ever need to feel like you have to keep that bottled up. You can tell me what you need. I should've called before just showing up—"

"No, I just have always thought it would be better to just be alone today…but I didn't want to be alone," you stare up at him with gleaming eyes, worrying your bottom lip before confiding, "It felt safer."

He understands what you mean, but the pang that courses through him is still a sharp one. Hearing you say so and knowing how you've suffered alone out of a lonesome need to protect yourself from more pain has him yearning to be that safe space for you, and leaves him simmering with the need to prove that to you.

Just as he's about to assure that he'll do whatever you need to feel safe, no matter how silly or what not you might feel about it, your house phone starts to ring.

You pick up the phone where you left it on the counter and answer it. "Yes, thank you. Please let them up," you instruct before thanking the night attendant and going to return the phone to the charging base. "Pizza's here. Oh! Let me go put something on," you say hurriedly as you scamper down the hall to put on clothes in order to answer the door.

Of course, though, when you rush back in the matching stretch-knit mint-colored pajama bottom and blouse, Javier's already handing the delivery guy cash and taking the large pizza box, thanking him before quickly shutting the door to keep the cool air in and prevent you from trying to argue with him about it.

"Javi—"

"Hot stuff, comin' through," he retorts glibly as he maneuvers around your cross-armed stance to head to the kitchen. "And the pizza's sizzling, too."

You snicker at his quip and shake your head, relenting in even attempting to admonish him.

"Mmhmm, 'hot stuff' indeed, gracioso," you chuckle and jokingly pat his ass on the way around him to grab plates.

A couple of slices between you and a glass of wine each a short while later, and you're lounging on the sofa together, watching the home video from the start.

Javier loved seeing the younger versions of you – going from adorable baby to sassy elementary-aged little girl – and was intrigued to see the slivers of loving interactions between your parents. Your mother was stunning and sardonic, almost precocious, with a brilliant smile and bright eyes you'd inherited from her. And your father seemed like a completely different person than the hardscrabble, intimidating man with steel in his bones that you'd described previously. Instead, he seemed a wide-smiling, charismatic and wry romantic.

And when the video was rewinding in the VCR, you retrieved the big photo album that had once been your grandmother's and showed him how you'd added some of the new pictures you'd gotten from your father. There was a really nice photo of you as a toddler, holding hands with your father while walking up a hill, and the look in his chiseled features was of pure love for the little girl you were.

"—Oh! And look at these," you're excitedly exclaiming as you pick up a prettily adorned album and show him it contains the photos from your cousin's wedding. You place it on his lap before sitting next to him with your legs tucked under you as you chime, "God, that was such a fun night."

His full lips pull into a mischievous smile as he goes through the photos. "Back in the hotel room? Sure was," he quips, earning a playful swat on his bicep. When he flips to the page that has the photo of you, him and your grandmother, posing at the table together, he's overcome with fondness.

You sniffle, and he quickly clears his throat as he puts his arm around you and kisses the top of your hairline.

With a deep sigh, you sit up and grab for a newer album. It has a shiny cover of blue-on-blue leaf pattern print. As you open it, you amusedly murmur, "Figured we needed our own."

Javi peers down at the open album sitting on your lap, and the delighted pride that fills his chest radiates across his features at seeing the first picture you'd taken together – back in the hotel room in Cartagena. Next to it was the photo of Javi hugging the pillow in his sleep, and below both was the picture you took of him with the sunset warming his handsome visage. When you flipped to the next page, he was taken aback to see you'd clipped out the photo from the newspaper article that had you both standing only a couple people apart, and on the adjacent page was the picture from the Valentine's Day double date with Steve and Connie.

"I still have the doubles from the wedding I can add—" you're telling him when you glance up and find his brown eyes flicking to you with something smoldering that makes a flash of thrill tickle into your core, and before you can finish talking, Javier is kissing you passionately until the album slips from your lap onto the couch from him whisking you up to be cradled against him.

It's all he can do to express just how enamored and happy you make him.

The urge to profess so many things – to blurt out 'Marry me, querida,' – swirl in his heart and have Javier buzzing, but he knows it's not the right time. That you've just achieved a hard sought-after sense of calm, and things between you both were hopeful, albeit delicate.

No, he would wait. He had to, considering there was still so many things he needed to accomplish before being able to drop down onto a knee and ask you.

You're swooning by the time Javier carries you bridal style to bed, having barely had enough time to turn the TV off and place the album back onto the coffee table with the others before he swept you up against him.

Being snuggled against him, skin-to-skin after making love, had you serene – feeling like you wanted to stay still in the moment with him forever.

Waking up early the next morning in his arms was divine, but since he had the meeting at the Fortaleza first thing, you forced him out of bed and into the shower so you could iron his shirt and pants for him. By the time he came back into the bedroom with a towel around his waist, you were already in the kitchen, setting the cafetera onto the stove. He couldn't help smile at how you've picked out a light gray suit, crisp dress shirt, and a necktie already, laying it out on the bed for him.

"Do you want something to eat?" you call out while you retrieve the coffee mugs.

"I'll have whatever you're having," Javi answers back as he quickly dresses. Once he's got everything on but his blazer and dress shoes, he pads down the hall while he fusses with his tie. "Don't go to too much trouble though—"

"I'm just going to heat up the viandas and boil some eggs then," you'd started to say as he started to remark, so you snicker and pause at the stove when he snorts and looks irreverently at you. "What? You said whatever I was having. This is a desayuno típico."

"All right, I'll try it," he assures as he keeps fiddling with his tie. You scoff humorously and swat his hands away so you can do it for him, smiling when he croons, "You trying to turn me into a jibarito?"

"Maybe," you joke and purse your lips teasingly at him as you smoothen his collar and straighten the red, silver and white-striped tie into place for him. "Are you going to the office after the meeting at La Fortaleza?"

"Yeah. The building we're setting up shop in for the DEA field office operations is almost ready, so Steve and me have to spend the afternoon deciding how to divvy up the teams between there and the Federal campus," he explains while you heat up the food and hard boil the eggs after taking the coffee kettle off the burner and setting it aside to cool.

He dutifully serves the coffee into the two mugs you set out while you work around the kitchen as you ask, "So then you'll be splitting your time up between the field office and the main building?"

"Probably not. I'm thinking on stationing Segarra at the field office and staying in the Federal building," he muses before taking a sip of his coffee. He leans his hip into the counter, watching you retrieve bowls from the cabinet before you serve the reheated plátano, ñame, guineo, and panapén into each.

"Oh, that's your ASAC, right?" you query as you retrieve the eggs with a cooking spoon and run cold water over them before removing each from their shell and placing one in each bowl with the viandas. At his dry grunt of acknowledgement, you multitask sprinkling a pinch of salt into each bowl before drizzling olive oil over the meal while inquiring, "So why don't you like the guy?"

Licking his lips of the coffee, he gives a one-shouldered shrug, griping, "He's just an upstart with no real experience. And he's tried to be a get-over, and cut corners—"

"That doesn't sound familiar," you razz as you grab a fork for each of you and wink playfully at him when he frowns with comical displeasure. "Come sit and eat, chulito," is your flirty order as you saunter by him with the food, musing lightly, "You can tell me all about it."

Javier does, explaining all the reasons why he doesn't like Segarra while you have breakfast together at the glass table, after marveling how tasty the campesino-inspired peasant dish really was.

By the time he has to head out for the early meeting, you're seeing him off at the door with an amorous kiss.

"Good luck, agente," you sweetly coo before brushing a rogue wisp of hair back from his forehead for him.

"I'll need it, jefa," he husks and pinches your hip affectionately before giving you a peck on the lips and heading out to the tropically sunny morning.

You feel lighter than you have in days. Like the world has gone still around you and is content to remain blissful, no matter what.

You're practically floating when you get to work later that morning.

All the missed messages and memos don't even make a dent into your serene mood, and even the latest HR nonsense regarding administrative box checking doesn't faze you. Frankly, by the time you're checking emails, you start day dreaming – letting a fantasy unspool in your mind about living a charmed life with Javier. Of being lovestruck peasants who frolic through a countryside meadow and lay in the cool grass together while watching the clouds go by.

Quit being so silly! You have to admonish yourself of the flights of fancy in order to concentrate on your work, but a girlish smile still ghosts your lips as you resume your task.

It's hours later when Javi is in his office, going over the stacks of evidence Lopez had shipped via courier from Santo Domingo. Sans his light gray blazer, he's able to more comfortably stretch out the weary muscles in his back before absently loosening the knot of his tie, eyes remaining glued to the document he's currently skimming over.

After the bureaucratical meeting at the Governor's mansion that morning, he was glad to be back to focusing on the case at hand. He didn't feel cut out for the political jockeying, and while he held his own with the officials and had a pleasant enough exchange with the governor, Javier didn't like going to those kinds of things without something substantial to show. At the very least, though, he had assurances of more cooperation with cabinet departments regarding the leads he wanted to chase down in the privately-owned sectors.

And the promise to put pressure on other leaders in the Caribbean region when it came to cooperating in a joint trans-national task force was one that he felt he could at least believe at face value, for once.

He was just thinking of calling Lopez to check in with him when three swift knocks rap on his closed door.

"Come in," he distractedly calls out as he skims a line at the bottom of a financial disclosure form, trying to make out the signature.

"Is this a good time, Agent Peña?"

Javi whips his attention up to blink surprisedly across at you, almost awestruck to see you peeking around the slightly ajar door. You're in a chic burgundy blouse and matching trouser that looks tailored to perfection on you, hair swept back from your face and up in a bouncy ponytail.

"Celi—I mean, Director Reinosa. Y-Yes, I was just looking over something. Come in," Javi stammers and corrects as he stands from his desk and gestures for you to enter his office.

When you step in, it's then he notices the takeout bag you're holding in one hand. He can see through the momentary vacant sightline out to where his admin's desk faces his door, and spots that the woman seemingly just returned and was shooting him a questioning look. So, Javi intercepted closing the door behind you, and gestured to her in a way that spoke clearly before shutting the door: Do not disturb.

"I figured you hadn't bothered with getting lunch, so I thought we could have a do-over?" you unconcernedly muse as you hold up the bag to show him the logo of the Japanese restaurant from a few weeks prior, leaning up on the tippy toes of your black heels and kissing him on his lips before flouncing towards the sitting area in the corner of his office to unpack the bag onto the glass coffee table in front of the leather couch and side chair.

The unruffled, carefree confidence you're exuding – how unabashedly unconcerned you are about being seen together at work, let alone that you've set up an impromptu lunch date in his office – has heat blooming in his chest, making his heart skip a beat.

As you're setting out the different containers of food, you lilt sardonically, "I took the liberty of ordering you something I thought you'd like more than sushi, and grabbed you more than chopsticks to use this time."

Rolling up his shirt sleeves to his elbows, Javi comes over to join you, and ends up smiling when you kick off your heels and sit lotus style on the carpeted floor instead of the couch before grabbing his steak hibachi meal and handing it to him. He crouches down to sit next to you, and only after you've set everything out and popped the tabs on the soda cans, does he lean over and kiss your cheek.

You grin, giving him a knowing look, so he whispers conspiratorially, "Is this your subtle way of saying we need to disclose our relationship status to Mercer soon?"

"Only if you don't want to sneak around anymore," is your silly counter as you snap your chopsticks apart and prepare to pick up a piece of salmon sushi, as you add, "We can't really go crazy with PDA even after it's known—"

"So I can't just kiss you in the lobby, in front of everyone, you mean?" is his taunt, eyes crinkling mirthfully when you blow a raspberry imperiously at him and squeeze his knee.

"I've had my fill of HR bureaucracy already, fresco," is you snicker, earning a droll hum from him. "So? How was the meeting?"

Javi catalogues all the food in the container before answering, "It was alright. I spoke with the governor for a bit."

"Oh?" you ask before eating a piece of sushi.

"Yeah. He's really gun-ho about the Mano Dura initiative. Promised to make headway with other officials across the Caribbean. Which is good, since we kept hitting roadblocks in Santo Domingo," he remarks before digging into his meal, humming with gusto.

Chewing thoughtfully, you take a sip of your drink before pointing out, "You haven't really talked much about the investigation here. If you don't want to—"

He shakes his head before dabbing his mouth with a napkin to assure, "No, it's just different here. Plus, we've been busy, catching up with each other."

You smile, licking your lips self-consciously before conceding, "True."

"And anyway, I'm still trying to make heads and tails out of things here as it is. We don't have a typical cartel dynamic, like with Medellín and Cali. It's been challenging, figuring out the players, how they network," he elaborates before eating a forkful of fried rice.

You hum thoughtfully, before commenting, "You're right. I haven't really thought about it, but crime is discussed in opaque terms here. There's no reporting on Escobar-level figures or anything like that."

"Exactly. Which is strange. It's starting to make me suspect that it might be by design," Javier rumbles before blinking at your surprised look. "I only mean that things might be more insulated here. Escobar and the Cali Godfathers started on the outside and wormed their way into controlling things by threat and corruption. I'm wondering if it's a different setup here."

That makes you hum bemusedly as you sip your drink.

Deciding to change the subject, Javi leans in to whisper cockily in your ear, "Can we fool around in my office, this time around?"

Huffing sarcastically, you nudge him wryly with your shoulder and sassily scathe, "How long have you been wanting to ask that, beyako atrevido?"

He showily nuzzles your neck, feeling heat zing through his veins at your lovely perfume and warm skin, growling before he gravels, "Only since you sat here licking your lips, smelling fucking good, looking so goddamn sexy."

An exhilarated flutter of desire skitters into your core and makes your pussy throb.

"Well then, I suppose I'll have to make it up to you, sometime," is your silky murmur before looping your fingers around his tie and towing him closer so you can kiss him sultrily on the lips.

Fuck, Javi thinks to himself, beyond turned on now. But even he isn't shameless enough to take a nooner in his office, with a bustling department just beyond his closed door. The filthy allure of it has him so aroused, though, that you end up having to nip his bottom lip when he tries to deepen the kiss into a torrid make-out session.

"Mmph!"

"Down, boy."

"…That's easier said than done, bravita."

You giggle at his grumpy pout, and irreverently use your chopsticks to pick up a piece of hibachi steak in order to feed it to him. He snorts and eats it, winking at you when you hum a silly sound that communicates, 'Be good now?'

The rest of lunch is great, and you depart with a smooch to his smiling lips before exiting with the bag in your grip, leaving only the aromatic scent of the meal as the only evidence of your date in the spacious office.

With all the planning and arrangements for the field office setup, Javier would be busy the next few days, but had asked if you wanted to go to dinner at Steve and Connie's Sunday night when you'd talked on the phone later that night. You were excited for it, and even picked up a nice bottle of wine and whiskey to take over when you went food shopping after the work the following day.

You're merrily humming to yourself as you carry the grocery bags up from your car and enter the lobby of your condo, already thinking of how much you were looking forward to spending the time with Javier and the other couple, when the attendant called out to you.

"Señorita, there was a delivery for you. I didn't want to leave it at your door," the man explains as he retrieves a small bouquet of pink carnations from behind the counter.

You rush over, surprised, and thank the man, taking the cellophane-wrapped flowers that were tied with a baby pink bow with you.

A dreamy smile pulls at your lips as you ride up in the elevator. He must've sent them, just because – and so they'll eventually end up joining the collection preserved in the box. The thought makes you gleeful, so as soon as you're off the elevator, you hustle with everything to your apartment door, unlock it, breeze in, and place the grocery bags on the kitchen counter before walking over to the sofa to sit so you can delicately fish the card out from where it's tucked beyond the stems and sticking to the wrapper.

Plucking it out and free, you set the carnations down on the cushion next to you so you can open the card. It has a simple 'Thinking of you…' written in cursive on the cover.

When you skim the message, your giddiness deflates into perplexed uneasiness, instantly.

Being a shallow, uncaring hypocrite. You deserve to be exposed for it. Only a matter of time.

There was no signature. No other identifiable way to know who the author was, or what they were even referencing.

You were left befuddled first, unnerved second.

Staring down at the carnations, you vacillate with what to do.

You're unaware that the decision you eventually make will only lead to an unexpected confrontation that will tip things into a precarious sequence of events you're woefully unprepared for. Nor do you know how it will change everything in your life.

All you do know, is that you aren't interested in letting anything affect your happiness, so, you decided not to let it.

________________

Read Chapter 44: Deserving - Part 1

Spanish-English Glossary:

Papisongo = Puerto Rican slang for a very sexy man; a stud

Malvadita = Wicked little girl

Mi amor = My love

Muecas = Making funny faces

Coquí = Puerto Rican singing tree frog; named for the sound he croaks

Plaza = Marketplace, or stronghold. In reference to the cartels, it means the general territory, or square of power

Caserío = Public housing; housing project

Hermosa/hermoso = beautiful (female); beautiful (male)

Canela = Cinnamon

Guapita = Sassy/foxy/daring/testy lady

Seductora = Seductress

Chavón = A man that's pestering you

Bravita= Tough girl; feisty girl

Mi rey = My king

Dios mío = My god

Mi cariñito = My sweet little darling

Beyako = Puerto Rican slang for horny/naughty guy; akin to "horn dog"

Bebito = Little baby (male)

Eres mi vida, preciosa = You're my life, precious girl

Chulo/Chulito = Cute guy; little cutie

Corazón = Heart; pet name to signify how deeply you love someone

Querida/querido = Affectionate term, akin to expressing one's want and desire

Mija = Short for mi hija, aka my daughter; my girl

Pá = Short for 'Papá' which means father, or poppa

Chistosa = Funny girl; wisecracker (female)

Parcha = Passionfruit

Tesoro = Treasure; darling

Toño Leña = Nickname that roughly translates to 'Tony Firewood'

El Muñecón = Nickname that roughly translates to 'The Doll Boy"

Viandas = Root vegetables, like plantains (plátanos), yams (ñames), green bananas (guineos) and breadfruit (panapén)

Estamos en el campo = We're out in the country

Jibarita = A little peasant girl

Campesina = Country girl; farm girl

Ron = Rum

En el monte = [Up] In the hill

Finca = Rural property

Mofongo con camarones a la criolla = Fried, mashed plantains with creole stewed shrimp

Arróz mamposteao y bistec encebollado = Stewed rice and beans and steak soaked in onions

Gandules = Pigeon peas

Arróz con gandules = Rice with pigeon peas

Carne guisada = Beef stew

Aguacate = Avocado

Brazo gitano = A Spanish cake roll based from a Swiss-roll-like pastry dessert that resembles a "Gypsy's arm", popular on the West side of Puerto Rico

Marquesina = Open air garage or carport

¿Que haces con eso? = What're you doing with that?

Bellísima = Beautiful woman; 'Most beautiful woman'

Ay Diego = Oh Diego

Vamos, bellísima = C'mon, most beautiful woman

La fiera = The savage girl; wild beast

Salió a ti, chistoso = She takes after you, funny guy

Es pura hija tuya = She's purely your daughter

Con huevonadas = With stupid nonsense

Ah pues bien = Oh, well fine then

Mi bellísima = My most beautiful woman

Hola, nena = Hey, girl

Llámame = Call me

Jevo = Puerto Rican slang for boyfriend

Mandón = Bossy man

Cariño = Darling/sweetheart

Mira quien habla = Look who's talking

Cariño = Darling/sweetheart

Guapísimo = Super hot and handsome

El señorito Javi sabe chingar = Little mister Javi knows how to fuck

Papi chulo = Ladies man

Detalles ahora, doña =Details now, missus

Amante = Lover

Que eres el amante más asombroso de mi vida = That you're the most amazing lover of my life

Cristo amado = Christ beloved

Atrevido/Atrevida = Daring man/Daring woman

Preciosa = Gorgeous; precious

Paisa = Colombian compatriot; term of endearment amongst Colombians, especially in Medellín

Consola de aire acondicionado = Air conditioning unit/console

Un momento = One moment

Zafacón = Trashcan

Guapito = Handsome (said in an affectionate diminutive)

Desnúdate, ahora = Get naked, now

Velorio = Wake; veiling ceremony where people sit vigil

Verduras =Vegetables; usually root vegetables

Gracioso = Funny guy

desayuno típico = Traditional, or typical breakfast

Jibarito = Little peasant boy

La Fortaleza = The Puerto Rican Governor's office and mansion; aka 'The Puerto Rican White House'

Jefa = Boss lady

Fresco = a guy who's being 'fresh', or naughty/pervy Señorita = Miss; little lady

Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving a comment and sharing your feedback. I would be eternally grateful.

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