We’re going to the Woodhouse’s tonight. Be ready by 5:00
I groaned. “Sorry, I have to get going. Do you want to rehearse again tomorrow?”
“I’ve got a studio session in the morning and a hockey game in the evening, but I’m free in the afternoon.”
“Let’s plan for Thursday, then. I’ll be having lunch with myabuelotomorrow afternoon,” I said. “We do it every week.”
“I bet he loves that. My grandparents live with my parents, so I see them a lot. I’d probably live there too if Eddie hadn’t invited me to be his roommate.”
I smiled. It was strange to hear him talk about a member of the Grey Doors like he was just a regular guy. Although the more I got to know Neto, the more I realized they were all just regular guys.
“Why did you all decide to move back to Austen Heights?” I asked.
“For me, it was because I liked the idea of being closer to family. Plus, people in Austen Heights don’t fawn over us. For the others, I’m not sure. I know it’s nice for the fae members of the band to be in a magical community.”
The reminder that I was fae and Neto wasnotpierced me like a deep sliver, but I shoved the thought away. It didn’t matter. This didn’t have to last. I had nine more days to enjoy every minute I could with him before we sang together and he inevitably moved on.
Chapter 7
Myabuelos’housewasall the things Rosings Park was not: warm, inviting, and absolutely brimming with personality. I’d been coming here every Wednesday for as long as I could remember, and even though things had changed in the past few years since myabuelitahad died of Moonrot, visiting them was always one of the highlights of my week.
The cobblestone path I knew so well was lit with copper lanterns, their flames flickering cheerfully as I walked by.Abuelohad set up a Christmas tree so large the top was flattened against the ceiling. The grinch ornament I’d made in fourth grade pressed up against the glass, grinning at me.
I pushed through the intricately carved teal door, breathing in the familiar smells: the cedar beams, the light scent of the cleaning product on the hand-painted terra cotta floors, and the delicious aroma of roasted chiles. This was every bit as much my home as Rosings Park. Maybe more so.
Abuelowalked out of the kitchen and met me in the hallway, wrapping me in a huge hug. He only came up to my chin,but when he hugged me I felt completely swallowed up in his affection. He pulled back and kissed both of my cheeks.
“Hi,Abuelo.” I turned to theofrenda, running my thumb along the glass ofAbuelita’spicture. I set a fuschia peony on the table. “Hi,Abuelita.”
A green glass vase floated over to theofrenda. I set the flower inside, then followedAbuelointo the kitchen.
“You look like someone just gave you the moon,”Abuelosaid, grinning at me.
“You’ll never guess who I met.”
“Who did you meet?”
“Ernesto Garcia!” Warmth filled me as I spoke his name, and Neto’s teasing smile flashed before my eyes.
Abuelo looked at me blankly.
“You know, the lead singer of the Grey Doors?”
He nodded, but there was no flicker of recognition on his face.
The little yellow radio on the windowsill began playing one of their bigger hits,Never Mine.
“Thanks,Abuelita,” I said.
Abuelosmacked his knee when the song got to the chorus. “Okay, I remember this one.”
Abuelita’scookbook nudged its way out of its space on the counter and flipped open to the page for cinnamon hot chocolate, andAbuelogot it started on the stove. “You were going to their concert, no? Is that where you met him?”
“No, that concert is in a couple of weeks. I met him through the orchestra. He’s a friend of the conductor and he’s going to sing a duet with me.”
He shook his head. “You’ve been in love with this boy since before yourquinceanera,and now suddenly you have this opportunity?Dios escoge a los humildes.”
The cinnamon vibrated on the counter until he added a bit more to the hot chocolate.
