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******
"Your grandfather is dying." I hear my mom say through all of the chaos.
I drop the flowers that I am holding and feel my heart stop.
"What?" I gasp.
Jennifer, my assistant, stops dead in her tracks and looks at me with wide eyes. It is not every day that I am seen flustered. I am always ten steps ahead and keep calm during hectic situations. Considering my client's wedding is tomorrow and we have yet to finish putting the final touches in the ballroom, I need to keep my cool. Jennifer's concerned green eyes keep staring at me until I snap at her to pick up the white flowers I dropped.
I hear my mom sniffle through the phone. Jennifer sends Paul a pleading look and he rushes to my side. I wave him away and everyone continues to work on decorating the place. My feet are killing me and I feel my shoulders wound up so tight I know no massage in the world can help. Not until I get through tomorrow. I remember to breath and clear my throat.
"What?" I repeat again.
"Your father thinks I'm overreacting but you should see him! He's barely eating anything and just lays in bed."
I rub my hand against my forehead. My grandpa has never been one to sit around as the day goes by. He is the type of old person that gets up before the sun and doesn't go to sleep until after everyone else. Considering I was his favorite and only grandchild growing up it is a little heartbreaking to hear his days are coming to an end. I haven't seen him in over a year. I wonder if he's putting on a show just to have me visit. It wouldn't be the first time. My mother also didn't get her dramatic side from my grandmother. It has been six years since she passed away. I thought my grandpa would have found someone by now. So him being alone makes this even more tragic.
"You have to come immediately!" She no longer sounds fragile. She is desperate.
My mother and I have never had the best relationship. She is neurotic and anxiety driven and I have tried avoiding any type of contact with her if I could help it. Once I moved out of the house at the age 18, I have never looked back. My father completely understands he wishes he had the guts to leave.
"Mom I have to be here for my clients wedding. If all goes well, this will be all over the newspapers, blogs, websites, and I will have stellar reviews. I need this to push my career into the next level."
I snap my fingers at some idiot carrying beige tablecloths. He stops dead in his tracks and looks frightened. Paul rushes to my side and starts to let him have it. How can he be so stupid as to think those would be placed at the head table? After more yelling he scurries off. I give Paul a grateful glance and try to focus on what my mom is saying on the other line.
"I don't care if this wedding is for the queen of England! If you don't show up tomorrow and your grandfather dies, it will be on your conscience. I am catching a plane there tonight." She hangs up.
I huff and groan. This could not have been worse timing.
******
I feel disoriented when I get out of the taxi.
The dirt is just starting to settle as the driver leaves when I see someone coming out of the house. It's a Spanish style home with a wrap around patio. The roof is a light brown, the shutters are the same shade but the actual house is light pink. The sunset in the background feeds into my nostalgia. It feels like I'm back in time to when I was eight and my grandmother is about to come out through the front door.
Instead there is a tall brooding figure on the front steps. His tank top does a poor job of covering his ridiculously muscular chest. His arms are ripped and there is even some muscle jutting out of his shoulders. His lean waist is covered up by worn out jeans that are stuffed into work boots. His skin is dark and tan. His midnight black hair is long enough to brush shoulders. He has a guarded look.
"Necesitas ayuda?" His voice is deep and intimidating. I must look lost.
I feel my body shiver.
I shake my head, at a loss for words. Who is this person?
"I think you have the wrong house." He says with a slight accent. He stops walking and stands on the front porch.
I snap back to reality. This stranger probably thinks I am some lost ditzy, blonde. Anyone who looks at me will automatically assume I am an all American girl who has probably never stepped foot outside of the country unless it was to some touristy spot in Europe or wherever my ancestors came from. With my blonde hair, blue eyes, and fair skin it is not a random assumption. I see him taking me in. I am a lot shorter than him, my legs are short and stumpy and the dress I chose to come in doesn't look flattering on me. Not like I really had a choice, I rushed here as soon as the wedding was over and left Paul in charge. His eyes stop at my breast and I feel a slight blush. When was the last time a random stranger checked me out?
I clear my throat. "No, estoy en el lugar correcto. DΓ³nde estΓ‘ Don Luis?" I ask for my grandfather.
His jaw drops, just like I intend. It always catches people off guard when they catch a gringa speak in perfect Spanish. Even though I am a bit rusty. The Spanish telenovelas are the only exposure I have to Spanish nowadays.
"Who are you?" He keeps speaking English. He doesn't appreciate my ability to catch him off guard.
I start to get irritated. The flight here was as long as I remember it and the cab ride here was even longer, I have no patience left.
"Who are you?" I spit back. I pick up my bags and move towards him. He moves out of the way and watches me walk to the front door. He doesn't even offer to open the door for me or help me with my bags, asshole.
I throw them near the entrance once I get the door open and look around. Everything looks the same. The house is colored a nice rose pink, after my grandmother complained that the white walls were too boring. The oak wood floors match well with the walls. I quickly peak into the living room but don't see anyone there. The couches are the same old tacky moss colored ones they have had for years. I try to walk straight ahead to the back, where my grandpa's room is. A hand wraps around my arm and pulls me back. I turn and find myself staring into deep brown eyes. He's leaning over me, his broad shoulders uncomfortably close to mine. I feel his body heat radiate off him. My breathing is the only sound between us, unless he can hear my heartbeat as well.
"Where do you think you're going, Gringa?" He's looking down at my lips.
I look down at his and I am tempted to kiss him. His lips look firm and unforgiving. The way he is holding me so close is starting to mess with my head.
"Esteban, stop bothering my poor granddaughter."
The spell is broken and I finally react. I push him away from me and turn to see my grandpa standing in the middle of the hall. He has a playful smile on his lips and opens his arms to me. I feel childish for running to him, but once I feel his arms around me I don't care. I forget about the stranger behind me for a second and just let myself feel happy in the moment. I am here. He's not dead. He actually doesn't look anywhere near dead. I pull back to take a good look at him.
His once full head of blonde hair is now almost white. He has a couple of more wrinkles since last year but other than that he looks the same. He's standing straight and breathing fine. After I do another check up he chuckles.
"I'm not a ghost." He hugs me again. "This is a nice surprise, I wish I knew you were coming. I already gave your mom your old room, since Esteban took hers. She should be back soon, she's visiting Margaret-"
I am trying to understand everything he is saying but at the mention of the strangers name I pull away. "Who is he?" I pretend he is not standing a couple of feet away from us.
"He's Petra's son, I hired him a couple of months ago to help me around the farm." Did I forget to mention my grandpa lives on a farm? I loved coming here as a kid and taking care of all of the animals. Not so much now. Right now I have my own 'farm' to run a million miles away from here. I try to ignore my urge to check my phone for any texts from Paul. I need to focus on him now.
"I want you to fire him." I demand immediately.
My grandpa chuckles at me, the he usually does when I throw a temper tantrum. "And why is that?" He humors me.
"He's extremely rude. I don't like him."
I feel the stranger walk our way but I turn my back to him and look at my grandfather. His faded blue eyes are laughing at me.
"I'll be in my room if you need anything, Don Luis." He walks down the hall and turns right, into the room that used to belong to my mom.
"Papa, I don't want him here. At least not while I am here." My grandfather always prefers when I refer to him as dad and I've done it since I was little. It is second nature.