“Mateo.” Isabel moves closer, her voice firm. “How long are you going to keephintinginstead of just telling her?”
“She just got out of a relationship.”
“Three months ago.” Isabel crosses her arms. “With Owen Ross, who was a complete asshole to her, by the way. You watched him make her smaller and quieter and less herself for two years.”
“He was my friend.”
“No, he wasn’t. At least not in the way a friend should be. Real friends don’t treat people the way he treated Sadie. Besides, friendship doesn’t mean watching someone you care about get mistreated without saying anything.” She sighs. “I’m not trying to give you shit,hermano. I just... When are you going to tell her how you feel? Because from where I’m standing, you should’ve done it five years ago.”
I turn back to my tools, organizing them with more focus than necessary. “I haven’t exactly been subtle, Isabel. I’m not hiding it.”
Isabel’s eyebrow arches. “Mateo, she isn’t getting the signals. This woman needs words. Clear, direct, can-not-be-misinterpreted words. Besides, how will you know she’s ready if you don’t ask?”
The words hit harder than they should. I don’t respond.
Well, fuck.
When did my baby sister get so perceptive?
I grab the tongs and shove the metal back into the forge, watching it heat.
Isabel is quiet for another moment. “You know what Mamá would say?”
I do. I can hear our mother’s voice as clearly as if she were standing here:Sometimes the bravest thing is being honest about what you want.
“Sí, Isabel, but Papá would tell me that patience is a virtue.”
“He did say that,” she admits. “But do you remember the last thing he told us? Right before he died?”
I close my eyes. Our father’s been gone three years, but I still feel his absence every day in this forge. He taught me everything I know about metalworking, about craft, about integrity.
“He told us that the two years he waited to propose to Mamá were the hardest of his life. That he should have asked her sooner. That love required action, not just feeling.” I turn to face her. “And that made sense for them. Mamá adored Papá. Papá was patient for no reason.”
“So what’s stopping you?” Isabel presses.
“It’s not the same—“
“Mateo.” Isabel steps in front of me, forcing me to meet her eyes. “She comes here every week when she could just text you about the bookends. She lights up when she sees you — I’ve watched it happen. She leans into you every time you’re close. She looks at you like you’re the safest place in her world.” She pauses. “You already know all this. So what are you actually afraid of?”
“That’s just—“
“Don’t.” Isabel cuts me off. “Don’t pretend this is just friendly. You were there after she left Owen. You were there before she made that choice. Every fight, every insult thrown her way by that man, she confided and trusted in you. You fix things for her. Make things. Show up. You wait. But you still won’t do the thing that matters most.”
“Which is?”
“Using your words,hermano. You flirt. You touch. You look at her like she’s the only woman in the room. And she hasno ideabecause you’ve never actually said it.”
I let out a harsh breath. “I offered her coffee this morning. Just coffee. And she looked at me like I’d propositioned her, then practically ran out of here.”
“And did you tell her why you wanted her to stay? Or did you just offer coffee and hope she’d figure out the rest?”
I don’t answer because she’s right.
My phone buzzes on the workbench. I glance at it.
Sadie: Thank you again for the bookends. They’re perfect.
Even her thank-you texts are careful. Polite. Keeping things exactly where they are.
