"Have you been working on your Spanish, Miguel?" Aunt Victoria asked as she pulled into the driveway of their home. It wasn't big—far from it—but it was still one of the nicest houses in the pueblo.

  "Still working on it... heh," I replied, lying through my teeth. Truth was, I hadn't practiced Spanish in years. My parents never really spoke it around me, so all I knew were fragments—survival words at best.

  "Qué bueno," Victoria said with a small smile. I wasn't entirely sure what it meant, but it sounded approving enough. God I'm so stupid for not understanding fully...

  I unbuckled my seatbelt and stepped out of the car, heading toward the trunk to grab my suitcase—only to find Julianna already there, one hand on it, grinning like she'd won a race.

  "Hey—" I ughed, but she was already pulling it free. I took the suitcase from her and followed them inside, flicking crust off my eyes, didn't know that was there. I only slept for two hours.

  The house was cozy in a way that instantly put me at ease. Light blue walls, sunlight spilling through the windows, and just outside, a small garden full of green and life. I wouldn't have pegged Aunt Victoria as a pnt person, but clearly, she was. That made the pce feel even more like home.

  "It's not much compared to those fancy homes in the U.S., but it's home—and we love it," Julianna said.

  I nodded immediately. I got that more than she probably realized.

  "I like it. Really, don't worry," I replied, following her through the house. Somewhere along the way, Aunt Victoria peeled off into another room—I didn't quite catch where she went, but I figured she was probably putting things away or giving us space.

  Julianna stopped and gestured proudly. "And this is the bathroom."

  It was simple. Clean. Functional. My eyes immediately went to the shower. Relief washed over me.

  Honestly, that was all I needed. After everything I'd been through, a proper shower felt like a luxury. I'd heard stories—buckets, cold water, showering outside—but thankfully, that wasn't my reality.

  Then Julianna said something that made my stomach feel uneasy.

  "Me and my mom actually fought over who you were gonna sleep with," she said casually, almost pyfully. "She ended up letting me have you though! Isn't that fun? We get to share a bed and all."

  She smiled, clearly meaning nothing bad by it. I... forced a smile back.

  "Oh—uh... yeah. Fun," I said, hoping my hesitation didn't show too much.

  Sharing a bed.

  I mean, I could understand if we were kids again, crammed into a room during a holiday visit or something—but we were adults now. Fully grown. My mind immediately started overthinking everything.

  Still... this was their home. I was the guest. And after everything I'd escaped, this felt like such a small thing to worry about.

  'Maybe it won't be as bad as I'm making it out to be,' I told myself.

  At least here... no one owned me.

  "Come on, let me show you my bed—it's so comfy!" Julianna said, grabbing my hand and practically dragging me toward the opposite side of the house. My suitcase rattled loudly behind us, its wheels cttering against the floor.

  She stopped in front of a wooden door and swung it open.

  The room instantly reminded me of my own when I was thirteen—neat, well-kept, and clearly loved. It had her personal touch everywhere: posters of her favorite soccer team covering the walls, string lights neatly pinned up, and in the corner, a blue electric guitar resting beside a small amp.

  "Nice guitar," I said, my eyes lingering on it as I casually scanned the room, subconsciously checking for anything that might make me uneasy. "You never mentioned you had one."

  "Oh, that thing?" she said dismissively. "I got it for my twenty-fifth birthday—pretty recent. I'm learning slowly though, it's super hard... hehe, that's what he said!"

  She burst out ughing at her own joke.

  I let out a small, polite ugh in response. Those kinds of jokes were never really my thing, but I wasn't about to make it weird.

  "I see you're a big fan of Los Dorados," I said instead, gesturing toward the overwhelming number of posters pstered on her walls.

  "Hahaha, yup! We suck, but it's okay!" she decred proudly, grinning.

  Without warning, she jumped onto her bed, the mattress bouncing under her weight.

  "See? Look how bouncy and comfy it is!" she said, spreading her arms wide. "Come join me, Miguel!"

  "Ah... I think I'm good," I replied quickly, scratching the back of my neck. "Plus, I'm kinda hungry..."

  I spotted Aunt Victoria passing by the hallway and took the opportunity to escape. I walked over to her and lowered my voice slightly. "Hey, tía, do you have any ingredients I could use? I'm really feeling tacos tonight."

  "Mijo, you just got here," she said immediately. "I'm not letting you cook. Come on—we'll go out for tacos. I know a pce in the pueblo, you're gonna love it."

  I couldn't help but smile.

  Before I could even respond, Julianna suddenly appeared beside us, eyes lighting up.

  "Tacos?!" she said excitedly, practically bouncing in pce.

  "This is gonna be so fun! I can show you around the town too—come on, hurry!" Julianna said, already tugging me toward the door before I could fully process what was happening.

  I let myself be pulled along, smiling despite it all. Her energy was contagious, the kind that didn't feel forced or exhausting—just genuine excitement.

  I didn't feel like I had to brace myself for something bad to happen either, I could rex fully.

  "Slow down, Julie," I said with a small ugh, nearly tripping over my own feet.

  She stopped abruptly and turned to look at me, clearly caught off guard. Then her expression softened, and a slow smile spread across her face.

  "Julie..." she repeated quietly. "I like that nickname."

  Her smile widened, and I noticed a faint blush creeping up her cheeks, pink against her tan skin. She looked away for a second, suddenly shy in a way that felt oddly endearing.

  I adjusted the strap of my purse on my shoulder and took a deep breath. The air outside felt warmer, heavier than back in the States, carrying the distant smell of food, dust, and something fried—probably from a nearby stand. My stomach growled again, right on cue.

  'I really hope these tacos are good,' I thought.

  No—scratch that.

  I had a feeling they were going to be amazing.

  —-

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