“At the store, silly. Now sit.” She pulled him onto a chair in the dining room. “We don’t have much time to prepare.” She took out a pattern for a robe. What was she making a robe for? Surely, she couldn’t—
Oh.
Ohno.
Lord, what had Enrique gotten himself into? “Señora Campos. You don’t need to make me a costume. I’m sure Carolina has an outfit ready.”
Linda ignored him, put the machine down on the table, pluggedit in, and whipped out a measuring tape. She tugged on Enrique’s sleeve, calculated the length of his arm, scratched out some numbers on a yellow notepad, and then sat in front of the machine to wind up the bobbin.
“I’m serious. It’s your holiday. You shouldn’t waste your time sewing.”
“It isn’t a waste; it’s an honor to remember the journey of Mary and Joseph. And yes, you’re right. The church probably does have an outfit, but it could be big and old and smelly. You are a Montez! You can’t look shabby. Especially since you are playing José.” She made a quick sign of the cross. “I will create something suitable for you. No, it will be exquisite.”
Enrique shook his head. He’d gone a bit overboard by volunteering to play Joseph, but what was the harm? He welcomed learning about the Mexican traditions that his family had never participated in... though he had to admit, he felt uncomfortable playing Joseph when he himself didn’t practice the religion. He definitely should’ve paid more attention in catechism. But the nun was mean to him. Plus, he didn’t see the point of going to church after his parents stopped attending. They didn’t take their vows seriously, so why should he be expected to be pious?
Tiburón walked inside and pointed at Linda’s fabric. “What are you doing?”
“I am making Enrique an outfit fit for a king,” she said as the machine whirred to life.
“Ah. For your debut as Joseph.” Tiburón grinned. “So how do you feel about your wife being pregnant with another man’s child? You don’t buy into this Immaculate Conception bullshit, do you?”
Linda’s hands dramatically dropped to the fabric. She stood up and smacked Tiburón on the head. “You will not talk about the Virgin like that!”
“Ay, Tía, it was a joke.”
Linda scowled at him, made another sign of the cross, and sat back down. The buzz from the machine drowned out the words she was murmuring.
Enrique smirked. “I’ll never hear the end of this, will I? I just really want to convince Carolina to partner with us.”
Tiburón high-fived him. “I get it, bro. I’d make an ass out of myself, too, for a woman that fine. Hell, I’d do anything for that sister of hers. I’d even be one of the Three Kings. Blanca. Did you see that booty? She’s fire.”
Enrique nodded. “Yeah, she’s pretty. They both are. But we aren’t here to hit on them.”
Tiburón grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. “Speak for yourself. That’s exactly why I’m here. It’s Christmas vacation, and I’m not a Montez. I can hit on who I want—I don’t have to listen to you, foo.” He lightly shoulder-checked Enrique as he passed.
Of course, Tiburón was right—he could do whatever he wanted. The Montez men had always been taught to focus on duty over desire.
But Tiburón better not ruin Enrique’s chance to get to know Carolina.
“Good luck with that. Señor Flores is super traditional.”
Tiburón rubbed his hands together. “Traditional is my thing. Don’t worry about me. I never have a problem with the ladies.” He leaned over his aunt’s shoulder. “Tía Linda, you got that seam all wrong. Get up. I’ll do it.”
She stood and patted him on the back. “Gracias, Tiburón.”
Tiburón sat down, pulled the fabric taut, and fed it through the foot. The hum from the machine blended with the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks outside.
Tiburón sewed? Enrique took a step closer to the machine and eyed his even work. “You stitch, Tib?”
Tiburón cocked his eyebrow, and Enrique focused on the vertical slit separating it into two parts. He’d noticed it before but had never mentioned it. Was that a scar?
“Yup. You got a problem with that?”
“No. I think it’s cool. When did you learn?”
He glared at Enrique. “In prison.”
Alrighty then. It wasn’t a secret that Tiburón had a record. But he hadn’t opened up about his past, and, though they were cool, Enrique didn’t feel like it was his place to ask about what happened. Tiburón would tell him when he was ready.
