The Book of Broken Hearts (15 page)

“Just wanted to talk to Jude a second.”

“Why?”

Emilio sighed. “I need a favor.”

“Sorry, she’s not here.”

“She coming back today?” he asked.

“She’s never coming back. She’s totally gone.”

“Yeah, all the way to the kitchen table,” I called out. I scarfed down the last pastry and tried to get outside, but Mari wouldn’t budge from the doorway.

“We need to clarify the terms of your employment,” she told Emilio. “You think you can come in here with your . . . your dimples and . . . that bandanna and that bad attitude? I got news for you,
Vargas
.” She crowded into his space, poking him in the chest with every syllable. “My baby sister was not put on this earth to do you any favors. She’s off-limits for favors. My whole
family
is off-limits. In a hundred years I still wouldn’t let our great-grandkids play with yours in the sandbox, so why don’t you turn around and march yourself into the barn and stop worrying about my sister.”

Jeez
. If Mari wasn’t being such a melodramatic asshole, I would’ve been highly entertained. Maybe even impressed. But the fact remained. . . .

“Mari, you’re being a—”

“Go back inside, Juju. I’ll handle this.”

“But—”

“Emilio!” Papi appeared behind me, his face bright and warm, shirt dotted with crumbs. “Thank God you’re here. These women are driving me crazy.” Papi grabbed his favorite flannel from the back of his kitchen chair and followed Emilio out to the barn. Pancake stumbled out the doggy door after them,
DOOR FOR PANCAKE ONLY—DO NOT USE
.

Clearly, Papi wanted some male-bonding time with Emilio, so I grabbed my tackle box and pole and caught up with Pancake to go scare away some fish. He was really good at it—stuck his snout in the water like he could sniff them out, and then he’d come up sneezing and shaking like,
Blasted! Dogs can’t breathe underwater—how could I forget? We don’t have gills and we can’t . . . Hey, what’s this? Water? Oh boy oh boy I wonder if I can sniff out fish?

I was pretty sure the fish saw us coming a mile away.

When we were both sufficiently wet and bored, I gathered up the gear and hiked back to the barn. Pancake trotted in first, straight to Papi with a big shake.
I brought this river back for you! Do you like it? Do you? Do you? Do you?

I went to check on the bike. When Emilio saw me, he held out what looked like a balled-up paper bag.

“Hornets’ nest,” he said. “It was in the tailpipe.”

I backed away, but he laughed and stuck it inside his shirt like a single lopsided boob. A sliver of tan skin peeked out above his jeans, and my eyes followed it across that long, rough scar on his abdomen.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Ain’t any hornets left.”

“You okay, Juju?” Papi came out from behind the workbench with Pancake and a four-way wrench. “You look a little flushed,
queridita
.”

“I was just . . .”
Accidentally imagining Emilio with his shirt off again . . .
“Emilio showed me the hornets.”

“It’s old,” Papi said. “They can’t get you now.”

“I know but . . .” I took another step back. “I should go. I need to do . . . something. Else.”

“I thought you were spending time with your sister today?” Papi said. “Why is your hair wet?”

I tugged at my ponytail. No offense to Pancake, but I couldn’t rock the wet dog look like he could. “Pancake and I went to the river. Anyway, um, bye.”

“Wait,
querida
, listen,” Papi said. “Tomorrow you’re going to Emilio’s house to help with something. Okay? Okay.”

Um . . . What?

I narrowed my eyes, scrutinizing him for signs of another meltdown. “Papi, Emilio works
here
. Are you sure that’s—”

“Yeah.” Emilio dropped the hornets’ nest and dusted off his hands. “I need a favor.
El jefe
kind of agreed on your behalf.”

My eyes were still on Papi, and now I tried to make them shoot lasers like that guy on X-Men. “What did you sign me up for, old man?”

“Baking cookies,” he said. “You love baking, Juju.”

“That’s Celi,” I said.

“It’s for my ma.” Emilio ran a hand over his bandanna. “Her school’s doing a fund-raiser for this summer trip thing. She has to bake, like, a thousand cookies. She roped Samuel and me into helping—he never says no to her.”

“I can’t tomorrow,” I said. “I have to stay here with Papi.”

Papi swatted the air. “I’ll stay with Mari. You go with Emilio.”

“His mom doesn’t want a bunch of strangers over,” I said.
Especially the ones related to the girl who almost became her daughter-in-law . . .

“Obviously you don’t know Ma,” Emilio said.

I glared at him. Still no luck with those eye lasers. “Was this the favor you mentioned to Mari?”

Emilio was all smiles and dimples again.
God.
Where was Clint Eastwood, rescue cowboy, when I needed him?

“It’ll be a big help,” he said. “If we get done early, I can still put in time on the bike.”

I sighed loudly through my nose, but Papi kept on grinning like this was the best idea ever.

“You’re really racking up the debt with me,” I said to Emilio. “Picking up the bike lift, baking cookies . . .”

Emilio laughed. “That a yes?”

I nodded, but it was only to buy Emilio more time with Valentina. It had nothing to do with his eyes or his wavy black hair or the thin white scars on his arms or anything else. Just to be clear.

“But now you
really
owe me,” I said. I gave him my
own
sexy raised eyebrow, because unlike Emilio, I knew how to do that shit correct, and Papi’s eyes were on Emilio, and that boy couldn’t say one more flirty, charming, inappropriate thing.

Papi turned to me with an approving nod, and I dropped the eyebrow and went strictly business.
Cookies, yes. I accept the challenge and promise to deliver on time and under budget.

“
Está bien, queridita
,” Papi said. “You need to get out of the house once in a while. You’re turning into a hermit.”

“What are you reading?” I
fwumped
on the couch next to Mari, careful not to mix up the papers that surrounded her. I picked up the closest stack.

“It’s the one I sent you.” She assembled another stack and handed it over, each page scrawled with red notes. “The love interest was totally inspired by Tim Riggins.”

“Why didn’t you say so? I would’ve read it last week!”

Mari smacked my leg with her pen. “Read it tonight if you can. I have a call with the author tomorrow—you can sit in, let her know what you thought.”

I jumped off the couch, scattering half the stack in the process. “Seriously? That would be awesome! I could totally . . .”

All the fun died on my lips. I flopped back onto the couch and closed my eyes. “Papi volunteered me to help Emilio’s mom tomorrow with some bake sale thing.”

Silence flooded the space between us.

I opened my eyes, and Mari was totally catching flies.

“I tried to get out of it,” I said. “You know how Papi is.”

More silence.

“After that we’re coming right back here so he can work on the bike,” I said.

Crickets. Birds. Ticking clock. I swear I heard my own hair growing.

“It’s just cookies,” I said.

Mari returned to her papers, scribbling down some notes. After a few more awkward seconds, she set down her pen. “Question: Why is Tim Riggins so hot?”

I pounced on the subject change. “You’re too old for him.”

“I am not! He’s eighteen. Right? Besides, it’s research. I make my living evaluating the romantic potential of fictional boys.”

“I’m sure the judge will believe you,” I said.

“It’s true.”

“Welcome to cougar town. Population: you.”

“Shut
up
! I’m not that old!”

“Shh! Let me read.” I flipped the page and we settled down, our bare feet finding their way back to each other on the couch as I tried to lose myself in the fictional hotness.

A few paragraphs in, I was already loving the book, panting as expected over this new Riggins-esque bad boy.

But no matter how cute he was, no matter how infuriatingly sexy, he couldn’t distract me from the spark behind my belly button. The
non
fictional hotness that had unexpectedly invaded my summer was getting brighter and harder to ignore.

I peeked at Mari over the top of the manuscript and studied her face, the tiny wrinkles around her eyes. They were clever eyes, smart ones. All my sisters had that look, that
we know what’s best, we’re wizened from experience and heartbreak
.

Emilio’s stupid dimples broke into my thoughts, and I closed my eyes and allowed myself to consider the possibility
that my sisters, crazy as they were, might’ve actually known what they were doing when they made me sign that oath.

“Keep reading,” Mari said, mistaking my sudden cloudiness for a good old book-boy swoon. “Things are about to get seriously hot.”

Papi had sent me straight into the wolves’ den: Casa de Vargas.

According to Mari, this adorable brick bungalow was the hearth and home of destruction, the birthplace of pure evil. So what if the front walk was edged with pink and white roses. So what if a Puerto Rican flag wind sock swayed proudly in the breeze. So what if there was a stone cherub in the garden, outstretched hands full of birdseed for the magpies.

Evil!

I steeled my nerves and rang the bell, and the youngest member of the Vargas bad boy dynasty opened the door in a lime-green apron with a big white daisy embroidered on the front.

“Is that . . .” I squinted at Emilio’s face. “How did you get cookie dough in your eyebrow?”

Emilio swiped a hand across his forehead. “A better question is, why aren’t you barefoot? You
are
a girl. And we
are
workin’ in a kitchen, and—
ow
!” Emilio ducked away from the dark-haired woman who’d backhanded him.

“Watch your mouth,
mijo
,” she said. “That’s not how you talk to guests.”

“Just a joke, Ma. Chill.” Emilio kissed her cheek and she smiled, then she swatted him on the butt with a dish towel and shooed him back into the kitchen.

“Pay no attention to him.” She held open the door and ushered me inside. “I’m Susana. You must be Jude.”

Susana didn’t wait for a response; she just embraced me. She planted a kiss on each cheek, then pulled away and looked me over, hands firm on my shoulders. “
Ay, corazón de melón
, so much like your sister. So beautiful, this family!”

Susana should talk—she was stunning. That was the only word for it. Glossy black hair pulled into a low ponytail, tanned skin, brilliant eyes like her son’s. She was probably a hearbreaker too.

Evil!

“Come. We’ll show those boys how it’s done now that I’m not outnumbered.” She took my hand and led me into the kitchen, and though my face was hot with embarrassment, the touch of her soft hand in mine felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“Division of labor,” I was telling Emilio. “Your mom and I mix; you handle the baking and cooling. Samuel can box them up at the end.”