"Pedro." Sergio's voice carries a warning.
"What? I'm not allowed to call him what he is?"
"Let her finish." Sergio's looking at me, his brown eyes soft despite the tension in his jaw.
I take another bite. Chew mechanically. The pancake is fluffy and sweet and perfect and I want to cry.
"The bank said it could take thirty days to unfreeze them." My voice sounds hollow. Far away. "Thirty days before I can access any of it. My money."
I set down my fork. Grip the edge of the table. The wood is smooth under my palms, worn soft by years of family meals.
"I have three dollars and forty-seven cents to my name. Total. That's everything I own in the world that he can't freeze or control or take away."
Silence.
Then Nacho: "The bank will unfreeze them. You just need to file a dispute, prove you didn't authorize—"
"I did authorize it. I signed the papers." I'm gripping the table so hard my knuckles are white. "That's the whole problem. I signed them. I gave him permission."
"Under false pretenses," Nacho argues. "That's fraud. We can—"
"In thirty days." My voice cracks. "Maybe. If they believe me. If Callum doesn't convince them I'm lying. If everything goes perfectly."
"I can't just live here for free for thirty days. Eating your food. Sleeping in your guest room. Wearing your clothes." I yank at Carlos's hoodie. The fabric is soft and worn and smells like him and I want to bury my face in it and never come out. "I need to contribute ..."
He's quiet for a moment. His fingers tap against the table - a rhythmic pattern like he's working through calculations in his head. Then his face splits into a grin that's equal parts mischief and something I can't quite name.
"Work for me."
I blink. "What?"
"My assistant quit last month. Moved to Phoenix to be with her boyfriend. I've been doing everything myself since then, and frankly, it sucks." He leans back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. The movement makes his flannel pull tight across his chest. "It's mostly grunt work. Carrying supplies. Holding things in place while I nail them. Cleaning up job sites. Nothing complicated."
"I don't know anything about carpentry." I grip the back of my chair, fingers digging into the wood.
"You don't need to. I know about carpentry. I just need someone to hand me the right tool when I ask for it and not drop things on my head."
"That seems like a low bar."
"You'd be surprised how many people can't clear it." His grin widens. Dimples appear. "Come on, Jess. It's outdoor work. Fresh air. Physical labor that'll make you so tired you can't overthink. And I pay cash. End of every day. No banks. No accounts. No Callum."
Cash.
Money he can't freeze. Can't control. Can't take away.
I move back to the table. Sit down slowly. Pick up my fork and cut another piece of pancake.
"How much?" My voice sounds steadier now.
"Twenty an hour. Time and a half for anything over eight hours. Lunch included."
I do the math in my head. Eight hours a day, five days a week. $800 a week. More than enough to cover my share of groceries and utilities and still have money left over to save.
My own money. Mine.
"Fine." I shove the pancake in my mouth. Chew. Swallow. It tastes better this time. "When do I start?"
"Soon as you finish breakfast." Carlos stands and stretches, his t-shirt riding up to reveal a strip of tanned stomach. Dark hair disappears into the waistband of his jeans. "I've got a deck to build in Maple Grove. Wear comfortable shoes and clothes you don't mind getting dirty."
