Page 57 of The Grumpy Defenseman
“A suspicious one. He likes being invited back.”
I looked at the yard: children running, the dog barking, Mack losing on purpose, Sierra’s smile trying not to become a laugh. Inside, Mamá moved through her kitchen as if feeding people were a form of prayer.
It should have felt overwhelming.
It did.
But not in the way I expected.
Bella studied me for a second, then nodded toward the side porch.
“Walk with me,” she said.
“That sounded official.”
“It is. Bring your coffee.”
The side porch was narrow and shaded, tucked behind a line of potted herbs and one stubborn bougainvillea that had decided subtlety was for weaker plants. From there, the family noise softened without disappearing: Mamá’s voice in the kitchen,Celia calling after one of her kids, Mack protesting some invented yard-soccer injustice, Sierra laughing like she had already heard his defense and rejected it.
Bella sat on the porch step and patted the space beside her.
I sat.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
The late-afternoon light moved across the yard in warm bands. I held my coffee in both hands, even though it was too hot and I should have set it down.
“Talk,” Bella said.
“About what?”
She gave me the look. The one that had probably made grown men confess to crimes they had not committed just to make it stop.
“Fine.” I exhaled. “Silas brought us both into his office. A reporter called about me and Evan. Someone saw us at Paramour. The trade stuff is public. The whole thing is converging.”
“Converging,” Bella repeated. “That is a very diplomatic word foreverything is happening at once and I am processing it through denial and caffeine.”
“I’m not in denial.”
“You’re in something. Let’s figure out what.”
She took my coffee out of my hands, set it on the step between us, and turned toward me with the focused calm of a woman about to dismantle every defense I had built.
“First question,” she said. “Do you want him?”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
“That’s not…”
“Yes or no. Do you want him?”
The directness of it hit like a flashbulb, impossible to look away from.
“Yes,” I said.
The word came out quieter than I intended.
“Good. That’s settled. Now the harder question: what are you going to do with that information?”
