Page 13 of Check Mate

After confirming I’ve packed all my necessary sponsored items and secured posts for the next two weeks, I realize it’s been over thirty minutes and I need to get Papa's lemonade.

As I’m walking outside with his beverage in hand, I notice the sun is setting. I smirk to myself as I look at the sky. Almost time to make over my neighbor’s yard.

The next morning, I’m woken abruptly by a very loud knocking that seems to come from my front door. Mo hisses at the sound, arching his back dramatically.

“Oh, calm down. You’re fine,” I tell him.

Sliding out of bed, I step into my fluffy white slippers and glance at my reflection in my floor-length mirror. I’m wearing lavender shorts that are silky and short, along with a matching spaghetti strap top.

I shrug. If they wanted me dressed, they shouldn’t bang on my door at nine o’clock in the morning. My body is used to staying up late at night and sleeping in—struggles of working at a restaurant.

I pad down the short hallway, through the living area, and to the front door. More obnoxious knocking comes from the other side. I fling the door open to find David standing there, his hand raised mid-knock.

For a split second, he looks down at my pajamas. His cheeks flush slightly and he stutters, “Um, oh. Uh, about time you answered.”

He holds up a flamingo in the hand he wasn’t using to pound on my door. His lips twist angrily as he looks from me, then back to the flamingo.

I shoot him my biggest grin. “Well, good morning to you, too.”

He takes a deep breath. I think he’s attempting to calm himself. “You know, some of us have eight o’clock clients coming to our homes for business meetings.”

“Wow, that’s early for a meeting. Are you a drug dealer?”

He closes his eyes and mutters a swear under his breath. “If you must know, I’m an accountant and financial advisor. Hence the sign on my front door that says, ‘David Windell, CPA and financial advisor,’” he adds dryly, like I must be a moron not to have noticed the sign.

“Clients sometimes need to meet before they start their workday. Something you obviously know nothing about.”

I prickle at his jab. He doesn’t know how hard I work, not only at the restaurant but also writing for Isa’s Itinerary. I straighten my posture, trying to let his comment roll off me.

“The meetings are at your house?” I cross my arms and lift an eyebrow in question.

“I have worked from home since starting my ‌business,” he grits out.

“How does any of this have to do with you practically banging my door down at the crack of dawn?”

“The crack of dawn?! It’s NINE.” He shakes his head and groans. “This was my biggest client, and he thought he had the wrong house when he saw my yard covered in gnomes, flamingos, and cement geese.”

I roll my lips together to keep from laughing. “Again, what does this have to do with me?”

“Even if I can’t prove it, I know you did this.” He thrusts the flamingo into my arms and turns to stomp off. “And why are the geese wearing weird little outfits? Infuriating woman.” He waves his hand around in the air while he rants.

Before I can shut the door, Mo runs out the door and follows David back to his house.

I whisper, “Traitor.” Like he can hear me.

I rush inside Abuela’s a few hours later. I’m running late for my shift. I’m never late, but I got distracted finalizing things for my trip—and watching David from my window as he removed all the yard ornaments. The geese really weren’t that heavy. He should workout more.

Internally, I’m praying my parents didn’t notice I’m ten minutes late for my shift. I tiptoe into the break room and quietly sign in on the iPad system, then put my bag in my locker.

As I’m attempting to sneak past Papa’s office, I hear him clear his throat from inside. “Bella.”

I sigh in defeat and walk into his office. My father’s office is simple, with white walls and a large oak desk in the center. Filing cabinets line one side, with a large screen displaying the security camera footage on the opposite wall. Mama has hung several family photos around the space, including old photos of the restaurant. One is a black-and-white photo showing my grandparents when they were young. My abuelito died a few months after it was taken. Mama is in Abuela’s arms in the photo. She must have been about two years old. Next to it is a photo taken in the same spot, but it’s of my parents in front of the restaurant with me and my sisters. This one was taken about five years ago. We took it a week after my abuela passed. Mama has since hung several more photos of Abuela around the room.

Unfortunately, both of my parents are seated like they’ve been waiting for me. Papa is seated in his large leather office chair, and Mama is resting against the edge of his desk.

“Wow, you both look twenty years younger today. Have you changed your skin care routines?”

“Nice try,” Mama says, crossing her arms over her chest. “We’ve made it very clear to you and your sisters that our expectations for you are the same as every other employee.”