Marisol climbed back over him with zy grace, straddling his hips carefully so she didn’t jostle his side. The overhead light of the pickup cast her in golden hues - her skin still flushed, lips still glistening, curls mussed in every direction. She looked like something out of a fever dream.

  But her eyes were soft now, thoughtful, as she slowly lowered herself until her bare stomach met his chest. She let her weight settle against him, her cheek resting just above his heart.

  Bharath sighed, his arms coming up instinctively to hold her close. His fingers traced idle lines across the curve of her back.

  “I needed this,” she whispered, her voice dreamy.

  “I did too,” he murmured, pressing a kiss into her hair.

  They y like that for a moment - skin to skin, hearts syncing, the night buzzing gently around them.

  Then Marisol tilted her head just enough to look at him, her chin resting on her folded hands atop his chest.

  “So… you survived Rivera interrogation night.”

  Bharath chuckled, the sound low and warm in his throat. “Barely. I think your mother is part CIA.”

  Marisol ughed, the motion making her breasts press softly into his chest. “She’s not so bad. You actually impressed her.”

  “I did?” he said, eyes wide with mock surprise. “Even after I admitted I don’t eat meat?”

  Marisol smirked. “That was actually a point in your favor. She’ll never admit it, but she respects a man with discipline.”

  Bharath raised an eyebrow. “She also called me ‘not Latino’ like it was a warning bel.”

  “She’s just old-school,” Marisol said gently. “After Ricardo - my dad - she’s wary of anyone not from the neighborhood. Anyone who doesn’t speak Spanish, who wasn’t raised Catholic, who doesn’t know Celia Cruz from Celina the pop star.”

  “I’ll study up,” he said, deadpan. “Fshcards and everything.”

  Marisol grinned and kissed the underside of his jaw. “You’re already doing amazing.”

  She paused, thoughtful again. “It meant a lot… how you handled her. Calm. Respectful. You didn’t try too hard - you were just you. That’s what got to her.”

  Bharath’s eyes softened. “I didn’t know what else to be.”

  She nuzzled into him again, smile fading into something more vulnerable. “You should’ve seen her face when you said our decisions are ours. That our parents get a say - but not the final one. That hit her hard. I think she finally saw us as real.”

  He brushed a hand along her spine, grounding them both. “We are real.”

  A silence settled again - not awkward, but full.

  Then she sighed into his chest. “Mia’s going to be a problem.”

  He ughed, covering his face briefly. “She’s… a force of nature.”

  “Did you think she was hot?” Marisol asked, teasing - but something genuine in her tone.

  Bharath didn’t flinch.

  He could’ve lied. He could’ve brushed it off with a smirk or turned it into a joke. But he didn’t. His hands, warm against her back, stilled for a moment as he took a breath.

  “She’s devastating,” he said softly.

  Marisol lifted her head slightly, eyebrows raised - not angry, but curious.

  “No straight man with a pulse could ignore her,” he added with a wry smile. “She walks into a room and everything tilts toward her. I mean, you saw how she looked in that light, Marisol. Those curves, that confidence - even the moths were confused.”

  Marisol ughed, a low, surprised sound. “So, you did notice.”

  “I’d be dead not to,” he said honestly, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. “But she doesn’t belong to me.”

  Marisol tilted her head, lips parting. “And I do?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Completely.”

  She let the silence hang for a moment, watching him closely. Her thumb brushed over his chest, just above the edge of the gauze where the bandage still clung to his healing skin.

  “What if…” she said slowly, “what if she wanted to belong to you? Like Sarah does?”

  That made him pause.

  For once, Bharath had no immediate answer. His mind bnked - utterly betrayed by the sharp twitch of his body beneath her. He tried to speak. Failed.

  “Ah-hah,” Marisol grinned, triumphant. “That was not your brain answering.”

  Bharath groaned and covered his eyes with one arm. “My little head is a traitor.”

  “I saw that twitch, by the way,” she teased, smacking his chest lightly.

  “I can’t help it! She leaned into the truck! The stitches were the only thing keeping me from embarrassment.”

  “You’re lucky I didn’t come out five seconds ter,” she said, ughing as she sprawled against him again. “I might’ve killed you and her.”

  “But I didn’t do anything,” he muttered.

  Marisol looked down at him, eyes shining with affection. “You didn’t. You’ve been nothing but honest. That’s what makes you dangerous, you know.”

  “Dangerous?”

  She nodded. “You don’t hide anything. Not what you think, not what you want. You don’t flirt with smooth lines or pretend to be cool. You just are. And women like Mia? We don’t know what to do with that.”

  He reached up and cupped her cheek. “You figured it out.”

  She leaned into his touch. “Barely. And only because you made it easy.”

  They were quiet for a beat.

  Then she added, more seriously, “I don’t know what’s going to happen with Mia. Or with Sarah. Or anyone else that might come into our orbit. But I do know one thing…”

  She kissed him. Long and slow.

  Then whispered against his lips, “You’re mine.”

  He smiled into her mouth. “That part I know by heart.”

  She y down again, their hearts aligned like twin engines.

  “So,” she murmured, yawning slightly, “how do we top tonight?”

  He chuckled. “We don’t. We just keep showing up.”

  “Every Tuesday?”

  “Every damn day.”

  Mia stood at the bathroom mirror, wiping away the st of her lip gloss with a towel that smelled faintly of bleach and hibiscus. The porch light still glowed outside, casting a halo of gold through the stted blinds in her room.

  She stared at herself in the mirror.

  Same fwless skin. Same killer curves. Same confident arch of the brow. And yet… something felt off.

  Bharath hadn’t looked at her like the others. Not like a trophy. Not even like temptation.

  Not like anything she was used to.

  “Qué carajo…?” she whispered, tossing the towel into the hamper.

  She’d tried everything. The crop top, the shes, the “mine” joke, the slow dessert bite with eye contact so deadly it had once made a gorgeous college senior trip over his own tongue. Nothing.

  He hadn’t blushed. He hadn’t stammered. He’d just seen her.

  Not her tits. Not her ass. Not her waist. Her.

  What kind of guy does that?

  She wandered out into the hallway barefoot, arms crossed, hips swaying by habit alone. She found Maria still in the kitchen, drying dishes with tired hands and a look on her face that Mia couldn’t pce - part worry, part memory.

  Mia leaned against the doorway, watching her for a moment. “So?”

  Maria looked up. “So what?”

  “You like him, don’t you?”

  Maria raised a brow. “I like that he didn’t turn into a tomato when you tried to seduce him in front of the tres leches.”

  Mia rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t seducing. I was... stress testing.”

  Maria gave her that mother look. The one that said mija, please.

  Mia walked in, hopped up onto the counter like she used to when she was ten, and pulled an apple from the fruit bowl. She didn’t bite into it, just rolled it between her palms.

  “I don’t get him,” she said finally. “He’s... nice.”

  “That’s rare these days,” Maria replied.

  Mia was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, “He doesn’t act like someone who’s trying to impress anyone. He doesn’t act like someone who even knows he’s attractive.”

  Maria sat across from her at the table. Her shoulders sagged with the weight of the day. “That’s what makes him different. He’s not pying at anything. He’s just living.”

  “I made him flinch,” Mia said quietly. “When I touched him. I thought it was a power move. But I touched the bandage.”

  Maria watched her daughter closely.

  Mia met her mother’s eyes. “I think I felt guilty for the first time in my life.”

  Maria’s expression softened. “He’s a good one, mija. But he’s not a fantasy. And he’s not for you.”

  Mia didn’t answer right away.

  “I know he’s with Marisol,” she said at st. “But that’s not what this is about. It’s not like I want to steal him or anything…”

  Maria tilted her head. “But?”

  “But I just - ” Mia looked down at the apple again, voice low. “He saw me. Me. Not the way I move or dress. Not the makeup or hair. Like I was... a person.”

  “You are a person.”

  “I know, mamá. But it’s like... for the first time, someone acted like they knew that.”

  Maria smiled - sad, knowing. “It’s a dangerous feeling. Being seen.”

  Mia nodded. “And now I can’t stop thinking about him.”

  Maria got up slowly, walked over, and brushed her daughter’s hair gently back from her face.

  “He’s a sweet boy, mija. And you’re right - he is different. But maybe that’s not to chase. Maybe it’s to learn from.”

  Mia looked up, eyes gssy. “Then what do I do?”

  Maria kissed the top of her head. “You grow. You find someone who sees you like that. Who makes you feel like you - not a show. You don’t need to seduce everyone. Some hearts open better with truth.”

  Mia nodded slowly.

  And for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t trying to be more.

  She just sat there - thoughtful, quiet, and seen.