But she’s not my girl. At least not yet. We’ve shared one kiss and…
“What?” I murmur, realizing I’ve tuned Ale out.
“The magazine is growing and does a lot of collabs now. It could be a good connection for Bianca too,” Ale repeats.
“Oh, yeah, cool. Why did Carla and the guy break up?” I wonder, hating how obvious I’m being.
But Alejandro snorts and shakes his head. “You know my sister. It was something insane. I think she accused him of tucking his shirt into his boxers or some shit.” He laughs. “Carla’s the best girl in the world. As long as you’re not dating her.”
My stomach sours at Ale’s assessment. Because I think Carla’s the best too…and I want to date her. But it’s too soon to tell my best friend that. I don’t even know what Carla and I are or where this is going…
But I do know that if she tries to break up with me because I sleep on the left side of my bed or once used Comic Sans in an email, I won’t accept it.
I breathe a little easier now that Carla’s on board for the summer camp. In fact, with her support, I’m able to dive into the logistics and details of camp management. Paolo sends me all the confirmed information up until his departure and I spend a few days going through the documents, making notes, and drafting up plans.
“You’re working too hard,” Álvaro accuses in Castellano when I pop by the hospital to visit him.
“I hear you’re getting discharged tomorrow,” I reply, sitting in the chair beside his bed. “Then, you can start PT.”
He offers a tight smile and flicks a dismissive wrist in my direction.
“What’s the prognosis, old man?” I ask, knowing the hospital never would have kept him this long if something wasn’t wrong.
“I’m not dying yet.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
Álvaro gives me a cheeky grin. “You worry too much, Luca. You’re going to go prematurely gray.”
“With these curls?” I give my head a little shake. “I can pull it off.”
He chuckles. Then sighs heavily. “It’s my heart,” he admits slowly. “The rhythm is off. The doctor says I’ll need a pacemaker.”
I release the breath I’m holding. “Alright. What does that mean long-term?”
“Argh,” Álvaro huffs. “It means changing my lifestyle and diet, that’s what it means,” he harrumphs. “The doctor says I need to take it easy?—”
“Like retirement?”
Álvaro gives me a look.
“It’s time, you know?”
“I know,” he admits sullenly.
I lean forward. “Álvaro, I can help?—”
“I don’t need help, Luca,” he says seriously. “I’ll be seventy-five next month. My wife passed twenty-three years ago, and in that time, I’ve shown up for work, fed my cats, and played cards on Friday nights. I’ve saved enough money to last my lifetime.”
“Then, why?—”
“I like the kids,” he interjects. His expression darkens. “If you tell them that, I’ll kill you.”
I snort.
“I have a reputation to maintain, you know?”
“Sure.”
