I’m a little surprised. Diego’s usually a man of few words.
But based on what he just said, it appears he’s a sentimental one, too.
“Hey, I do want to stay,” I say firmly. “I do want to help. It’s just… time for me to go.”
“I hate you!” Carla bursts. “I hate you both.”
Then she pushes up from the table, upending her chair in the process. She bolts out of the house with Gaspar hot on her heels.
Diego sighs and pushes his food around on his plate. For a while, there’s only the clink and clack of cutlery as we both fumble for something to say.
“Sorry,” I offer eventually.
“Don’t be,” Diego mumbles. “She’s got to face it.”
Now that we’re talking about it, I figure we might as well see this conversation through.
“Diego, if you need me to stay—”
“I don’t,” he says gruffly. Then he clears his throat. “I appreciate you even offering. But I’m good now.”
“Okay then.”
“Have you thought about when?”
“Once I finish the roof and repair the fence out back,” I tell him. “A couple of days from now, probably.”
He nods as though he was expecting exactly that.
Then he gets to his feet and heads to the pantry. When he returns, he’s got an old bottle of scotch with him.
My eyes go wide. “Diego, you bastard!” I crow. “I knew you had a stash back there. Been holding out on me for a year.”
He laughs. “Now that you’re leaving, I don’t mind you knowing about it. You woulda drank me out of house and home if I’d told you earlier.”
“Asshole.”
He chuckles under his breath as he pours me a glass. “It’s been a fucking year,” he breathes.
He never swears. But I can tell he needs to right now.
I accept the glass of scotch and we clink our glasses together. “To your health,” I say.
“To your… next adventure,” Diego retorts.
I smile. “My next adventure.” I like the sound of that.
“Do you know where you’ll go?”
Ah, there it is. The big question.
“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t?”
Diego laughs. “Of course. You’re confused—that much is clear.”
I snort with laughter. “And here I thought I was fooling you.”
“Nothing gets past me, cabrón.”