“Who is he?” she demanded to know in a hushed but sharp tone.

“Milagros—”

“Is he why your eyes have died?”

Okay, apparently Milagros hadn’t read my mood, she’d read my mood.

I made a mental note not to become close friends with any more Mexican American mothers of five as I opened my mouth to reply but she didn’t let me speak.

“They’re not dead anymore.”

I guessed they weren’t.

“Honey—” I tried again but got nowhere because Milagros started shooting rapid-fire questions my way.

“Who is he? What does he do? Where has he been? I haven’t seen him in town, does he live in Carnal? He looks like he lives in Carnal. Does he have a motorcycle? Because if he does, Manuel will worry even more. And if he does, and you ride on it with him, I hope you’re wearing a helmet. Are you wearing a helmet?”

It was tough and it kind of hurt, holding back my giggles, but I managed, even if my voice was vibrating when I answered, “He doesn’t have a motorcycle.”

I didn’t know this as a fact, but considering he had no home, I couldn’t imagine him having a motorcycle stored somewhere.

Though, he now had me and I had a big shed. I’d totally let Deacon store a motorcycle there if he wanted to get one.

“Cassidy, who is he?” she hissed.

I grabbed her hand, held it, and got closer.

“His name is John Priest and he and I are seeing each other.”

“Since when?”

“Since a few weeks ago.”

“He’s eleven,” she stated on an accusatory whisper and I pulled in a breath.

Cabin eleven.

She knew exactly who he was.

Kind of.

I let it out, whispering back, “He’s eleven.”

“Where does he come from? Where does he go? What does he do?” she fired back and we both jumped apart when Deacon’s voice came from the door.

“I travel for work,” he said, and it was at that point I made a mental note that Deacon had superhuman hearing.

Manuel was trailing him, giving big shut up eyes to his wife.

As for the kids, they were scattering, Esteban going straight to the fridge, which he knew he had my open invitation to raid (though he didn’t have his parents’ open permission; he was the kind of kid who pushed boundaries, hilariously, to my way of thinking, but I wasn’t his mother). The girls headed to the back door. They liked my porch as much as I did.

Gerardo wandered in, still adjusting his jeans.

“What do you do?” Milagros asked.

“Acquisitions,” Deacon answered, to my way of thinking, interestingly.

“Whas’ that?” Gerardo butted in and Deacon looked down at him.

It was then it was proved you could fall in love in an instant.

This was because badasses melted in the face of pregnant German Shepherds.

But the sweetness that came over Deacon’s features when he trained his gaze to the young boy was a vision so magnificent it was almost, but not quite, painful to behold, such was its beauty.

I knew Milagros saw it too and felt the same way I did. I knew this because she leaned in to me and did it deep, like she couldn’t hold up her own weight.

“I get things for people,” Deacon explained.

“I’m Gerardo,” Gerardo shared.

“I’m John,” Deacon lied.

“Hola, John.”

Deacon smiled.

“Dios mío,” Milagros breathed.

Good to know I wasn’t the only one.

“Mi amor, it’s late. We should let John have his dinner,” Manuel called to his wife.

“No!” Esteban yelled and I looked his way to see he’d had his face wedged in the sliver of an opening of the fridge door, the only thing he could get with Milagros and me standing in his way. “Tía Cassidy has lemon pie with that fluffy stuff on top.”

I felt the awe leave Milagros as she set up to let loose on her son but she didn’t get there in time.

Her husband did.

Thus ensued a wave of Spanish where I caught only a few words—all of them fatherly in a scary way—then I heard the fridge door close and watched an ten-year-old boy shuffle toward his father with head bowed.

“Lo siento, Cassidy,” Manuel murmured.

“It’s okay,” I replied on a smile. Then I said to Esteban’s back, “I’ll save some for you.”

“Thanks, Tía Cassidy,” he muttered.

“Mis hijas!” Milagros shouted. “Nos vamos! ándele!”

Pandemonium ensued as the girls rushed in from the porch. They didn’t bother attempting to take turns with giving me a hug, they pretty much collided with me, squeezed me, and dashed out, waving perfunctorily at Deacon (with Silvia, I noticed, avoiding his hot guy eyes in a sweet, shy girl way). Esteban and Gerardo didn’t bother with hugs, they just shouted their farewells, Gerardo giving cute waves, and raced after their sisters.

“We should have called,” Manuel said as I heard the front door being opened.

“You’re welcome here anytime,” I replied, moving his way. “You know that.”

His eyes slid to Deacon. They were not questioning, they were assessing.

I felt Milagros come up to my side. “We must have you to dinner. Are you here long?”

It took effort not to whoop with glee when Deacon answered, “Got a break. I’ll be here three, four weeks.”

“Then we’ll have time,” Milagros stated, holding out a hand. “Good to meet you.”

“Same,” Deacon replied, taking her hand and clasping it before letting it go.

“We’ll see each other again,” Manuel said, offering his own hand.

Deacon took it and replied, “Look forward to it.”

I gave Manuel a kiss on the cheek, same to Milagros with a hug, and we walked them to the door.

We stood in its frame as Milagros and Manuel corralled their kids, who were cavorting on the front porch, and got them in their SUV.

We continued to stand there, me waving, as they drove toward the cabins in order to turn around.

We did not wait for them to drive back down the lane. Deacon moved me in, shut the door, locked it, and looked down at me.

“You got lemon meringue pie?” he asked.

I grinned. “Yep.”

“You can have the sundae. I’ll have pie.”

He’d have pie.

He’d have pie.

I didn’t know how to express how happy that made me, and I didn’t want to because if I did, he’d probably think I was crazy.