Linda walked into the kitchen. “You boys hungry?”
“Starved,” Tiburón answered without a beat.
Enrique didn’t want Linda to cook for him. “I could eat, but we can get takeout. This is supposed to be your vacation.”
She flapped her hand. “Cooking inthiskitchen is a vacation.”
Enrique paused to reflect on how food for Linda and Julieta represented family, while food for the Montezes was a means of making money.
He glanced back at the fabric, which had begun to take shape. He barely knew about this holiday, but Carolina had been so happy to have a Joseph. He couldn’t participate half-assed—he had to take this seriously and not screw this up for her.
He left the dining room and relaxed on the sofa. He searched on his phone and read more about the celebration. Carolina had said at the end there would be music and dancing and food.
He clicked on a video from last year’s Las Posadas in Santa Maria. Carolina caught his eye immediately. She hadn’t played Mary but instead was dressed in an elaborate, frilly, bright purple Ballet Folklórico costume adorned with multicolored ribbons. She held her skirt out wide and tapped to the music, a series of intricate steps that Enrique couldn’t follow, waving her dress like it was a fan. Thoughmany of the other dancers had partners, Carolina danced solo. But she smiled wider and brighter than the other girls, pure joy on her face.
It was how Enrique thought Ramón looked when he was playing mariachi music, or how Julieta looked when she was cooking.
What gave Enrique that joy? Gardening, for sure... but was that enough? He liked yoga and loved surfing but didn’t really have a creative pursuit. Even Jaime had photography. Maybe Enrique should take up a new hobby. He let his mind wander as the music played on.
Thirty minutes later, Tiburón finished the robe. He stood and grandly shook out the garment, which Enrique threw on over the top of his T-shirt and board shorts. He walked over to the nautical rope-encased mirror and glanced at himself.
“This is great, Tib. You’re really talented.”
Tiburón grinned. “That I am. I’ve been sketching some designs I want to do. Real stuff. From our culture.”
“What are you doing working at Las Pescas? You should make and sell your clothes.”
His eyes lit up. “I want to, man, but it’s not that easy. I need inventory, a website, models.”
“Jaime’s a model. And I can build you a website.”
Tiburón craned his neck, causing the shark tattoo to snarl. “I don’t need no handouts. I’ve been saving up.”
“It wouldn’t be a handout. I can be an investor.”
Tiburón’s posture softened. “Thanks, bro.” Tiburón hugged Enrique, which for some reason Enrique thought was as binding as a handshake.
“And besides that,”—he shook Tiburón’s hand—“we’re family.”
Chapter Six
Carolina secured the baby bump to her belly, then slipped her white top with blue trim over her head. Her skirt hung low on her hips. Wow, the pressure on her stomach and hips was super uncomfortable. How could Mamá possibly have endured ten pregnancies?
Mamá helped affix the traditional headdress onto her hair. The stale scent of smoke and mothballs overtook Carolina, and the rough fabric irritated her skin. But none of those inconveniences mattered.
What an honor it was to be chosen to play Mary in this year’s Las Posadas. And it was even more of a blessing that a Joseph had literally shown up on her doorstep. That had to be a sign, or even a miracle.
The church that she had grown up in was small but ornate. The paint on the walls was chipped and the pews were wobbly. But she had been baptized, received her First Communion, and been confirmed here. This place was her home. When she was a girl, she dreamed of walking down the aisle here, but many years ago she had stopped being able to envision herself as a bride.
She glanced at the clock hanging on the wall between all the Jesus sculptures. It was four in the afternoon. Enrique would be here soon.
Or would he?
A chill swept over her. Maybe he’d been just joking about playing Joseph. Why on earth would a handsome, rich man want to waste a day of his beach vacation in Montecito walking around her small town with her, pretending to seek shelter? Had he been a good Catholic, thenmaybeshe could understand him thinking that joining her could be his duty, but he’d readily admitted that he wasn’t practicing.
And being a devout Catholic was a requirement by her father for any man who wanted to date her.
Luckily, she wasn’t interested in him. At all.
