I kiss her until Wyatt starts to giggle and Gordon clears his throat.
“Mine,” I whisper against her lips.
“If you’ll have me,” she says.
“That’s all I want,” I tell her, and despite the audience, I peck her lips once more.
Epilogue
The street isnothing but dirt. There are chickens crossing the road and an old truck—possibly from the ’70s—parked outside one of the small stucco homes.
This part of Brazil is nothing like the rest I’ve seen. I’ve toured Rio de Janeiro, seen Christ the Redeemer and Sugarloaf Mountain. I’ve sunbathed on the beach while Lucca spent a ridiculous amount of time rubbing lotion on my back. I’ve eaten in Sãn Paulo until I thought I might burst and then danced like I’ve never danced before.
Oh, the Sãn Paulo nightlife.
And now, we’re here. Quiet road, dirt paths, and farm animals wandering wherever they’d like. I’m not sure where Lucca has taken me today. He planned this trip. I came along for the experience. And for Lucca.
Lucca pulls our rental car up to a park that looks almost abandoned. “This is where I first played as a child.”
I gasp in a breath. “Here?”
He nods.
“This is your neighborhood?” I peer around at the dirt,trees, and chickens with new eyes. Vovó has died. Her home was sold off after that. I never imagined we’d make it to where Lucca grew up.
“It is.” He smiles, but it’s not the grin I’ve learned to yearn for and love. It’s a little sad, a little longing.
“Can we walk?” I ask. “You could show me around.”
Lucca turns off the ignition in answer. “I’d like that,” he says.
Hand in hand, we stroll past the park where little Lucca Cruz played his first game of soccer. We pass one small stucco house and then another. He stops near a little white home. The paint is chipping, and there’s one paned window next to a solid wooden door at the front.
“And this was my home.”
My heart beats for Lucca. For Vovó. I grin at him. “I love it.”
His chest rumbles with a soft laugh. “Me, too. It might not have been much, but it was a very safe and happy place for me. Vovó probably could have afforded something more eventually, if she weren’t paying for my clubs and travel. But she never complained, and I never wanted more.”
I pull his hand, knotted in my own, and kiss the back of his knuckles. “Can we go inside?”
Lucca snickers. “I don’t know the new owners. I used to know everyone here, but… that was a long time ago.”
“Can we knock?” I squint. “Would that be disrespectful since we’re strangers?” I have no desire to be culturally insensitive.
“I mean—you can.”
I tug Lucca behind me, walk past a menacing-looking chicken and through the small front gate. I tap on the door, gentle at first, and then I give one loud knock.
“What’s your planhere, ref?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe they’ll let you look around. How long has it been since you were here last?”
He swallows. “I came back a couple times, but it was very expensive. It’s been seven years.”
His face. That number. It’s the reason I knock again. There’s a noise behind the door, and something moves in the window. We wait, but no one opens up.
“Oi!” Lucca calls, his voice booming.
