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He gets out a mini blowtorch. “I got this.”
“Is that… my crème brûlée torch?”
He wags his brows.
Que la madre. How is everyone onboard with fireworks except me? Even my parents are setting up chairs with Bernadette and my grandparents to watch from a distance. Tío Enrique couldn’t be more excited and has his own set of opinions about how to set up everything. Tío Enrique on firework duty scares me most of all.
I’m trying to be the voice of reason, I really am. Sometimes I feel like I was switched at birth.
“Did you forget this is a farm? Fireworks scare animals,” I assert. But does Nate listen to me? Nope. I might as well be invisible. Sebastian and Mateo are having an animated discussion about which order they should set off the rockets, while Memo watches amused.
“Memo, you’re the oldest. Make them stop.”
He laughs. “You should see the ones we used to shoot off from the roof of the monastery in Rome. Frater Bartolomeo almost blew his finger off.”
Fabulous. Just fabulous.
Norbertines are nuts. Most of the time, they’re all benedictus dominus deus, but when it’s just the guys on a Tuesday afternoon, they’re playing extreme basketball and driving pickup trucks sideways up hills. It’s like belonging to a frat house, but instead of hazing, they take a vow of chastity.
Now my brothers have recruited Olive to help set up the boxes in neat rows. Nate tells her they’re called ‘cakes’ and that’s all the inducement she needs to joyfully hop at the opportunity to help.
I’m standing away from them all, watching from behind the circle of pyromaniacs. I may not approve, but I can’t help but smile as I follow Olive’s every movement with my eyes. How she listens intently to Nate’s instructions and carries them out with that endearing charm of hers. How she laughs and jokes with my brothers, working alongside them—as insane as they are.
“You chose well.” Francesca pops over, startling me a little. “I’m happy for you.”
I sigh. “Yep.”
“I will admit, you surprised us all.”
I snort. “Tell me about it.”
She kicks her foot around in a circle, crunching gravel under the soles of her shoes. This is one of her tells when she has something on her mind.
“Just spit it out, Panchita. What is it?”
“Well… I was just wondering if it was going to be a long engagement.”
“I don’t know.” I try not to snap at her. I’m just a little on edge right now. I’m falling hard for Olive, but asking her to wear my grandmother’s ring is a lot. “Years maybe.”
“Years?!”
“Yeah. Years and years. Why?”
“Um, no reason. I just thought since you’ve only been dating for a few months…”
“So what? Edmund’s been farting around for two years. What’s his deal? Is he gonna poop or get off the pot?”
I regret the words even as they are leaving my lips.
“Ewww. Don’t say that. Don’t ever, ever, ever say that. Just… don’t.”
Oops. My bad.
“Sorry. I’ll chalk that one up there with ‘who’s da man’ and ‘booyah’, okay?”
“Fair enough.”
She gets quiet, watching the scene unfold. Most of the boxes—or cakes as Nate calls them—are set up now. Nate turns on his—my—crème brûlée torch and goes to light one of the rockets and everyone scatters. Olive hides behind Mateo’s back, and Sebastian ducks with his hands over his head. Tío Enrique laughs, calling them all chickens until the screeching cuts through the air ending in a bright pop.
