Uh-oh. Enrique tried to break the tension. “Please call me Enrique. When you say Señor Montez, I think of my dad.”
“I’ll call you Joseph tomorrow.”
Enrique raised his eyebrow at her. “Oh yeah? What will you call me on Wednesday?”
She licked her lower lip. “Nothing. Because after Las Posadas ends, I’ll never lay eyes on you again.”
Enrique laughed. He reached out his hand to her, and she offered it up in a shake, but he flipped the script and kissed it. “We’ll see about that. Good night, mi amor.”
She glared at him. “Mi amor?”
His hand grazed hers. “Yeah. You’re my wife, right?”
“For one night only. And then I’ll never be anyone’s wife again. Meet me at the St. Mary of the Assumption Catholic Church tomorrow at five. Adiós, José.”
Enrique waved goodbye and walked back to his SUV. This meeting hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but it didn’t matter. He had another chance with her mañana.
And he wasn’t going to blow it.
Chapter Four
Carolina shut the front door. Nerves and anger swirled in her body. What on earth had just happened? Carolina could murder Blanca. How dare her little sister put her in that situation. She knew better.
Carolina never, ever wanted to let competitors or industry big shots on her farm. Tourists were one thing—they took tractor rides around the farm, picked some fruit while posing for Instagram photos, then shopped for treats in their gift shop. The sweet strawberry syrup and spicy salsas were their bestsellers.
But Enrique Montez wanted something else. Carolina wasn’t quite sure what, but she was more than certain that she wouldn’t like it.
At all.
He couldn’t possibly have good intentions toward her farm. After she’d bought it, it had taken a while to turn a profit. They were fine now; comfortable, not rich.
She didn’t need a new restaurant to provide produce for—especially when the restaurant was a chain. Something like that could ruin her reputation with the high-end farm-to-table places she serviced. She didn’t want her long-term clients to desert her, which was a realistic possibility. Especially if the Montez brothers tried to squeeze her for more produce, lower prices, faster turnarounds—which they would. People like that always did—she’d have all her eggs in one basket. No thank you.
But Enrique had given her the one thing she wanted most for Christmas—a partner for Las Posadas. If it wasn’t for him, she would be the laughingstock of the town, the only woman in the history of Santa Maria’s Las Posadas who couldn’t find a man to play Joseph to her Mary.
Her father roused from his sleep, squinting, the deep lines on his eyes making him look even older than his age of fifty-five. Years of backbreaking labor in the bright, hot sun of the fields and a lack of medical care had taken a toll on him. “What time is it, mija?”
She knelt by his side. “Time for dinner, Papá.” She inhaled the scent from the kitchen. “I’ll go help Mamá.”
He kissed Carolina on her cheek. A rough, wheezy cough escaped. Papá had suffered respiratory issues for years, but this cough sounded different. She hoped it wasn’t bronchitis. She made a mental note to schedule an appointment tomorrow for him to see the doctor. Then she stood up and went to the kitchen.
“Hola, Mamá.” She leaned on the kitchen counter. “What’s for dinner?”
Mamá was chopping up cilantro, her hair in a tight bun and her body wrapped in a loose apron.
“Carnitas. Call your sisters to set the table. They just got back from Tío Alberto’s. He needed help painting his house. I was going to tell you to go, but Blanca told me that you had a very important meeting.”
Ah, so that was where they all were. And of course, everyone knew about the meeting but Carolina.
Carolina went to the backyard. “Dinner!” Sofía, the youngest at five, who they all affectionately called Baby, ran up to Carolina. “Did you meet him?”
“Who?”
“Your future husband!” She made a kissy-face. “Blanca told me that tonight you both were meeting the men you were going to marry.”
Ay! Carolina would never forgive Blanca for this. “I’m not getting married, Baby.” Not now. Not ever. Her body shuddered in horror at the thought. “Go inside before Mamá yells.”
The rest of her sisters, Adela, age nineteen, Eva, age seventeen, Juanita, age fifteen, Valentina, age thirteen, Pia, age eleven, Daniela, age nine, and Victoria, age seven, trickled inside in pecking order, and the house was bustling with laughter and chaos.
