The journal made a hard slap onto the floor with the pages fanning open from Amos tossing it. He slumped into the pillows of the bed, his shoulders drooping as he scowled at the diary. Daylight filtered past the curtains of his childhood bedroom, casting a golden glow against the glossy surface of an old guitar. His mother's Bull Terrier, Daisy, napped on the floor where a warm sunbeam drenched her white fur.

"What the hell are you doing, Carmela?" he whispered. "This guy is a loser."

Daisy's egg-shaped head lifted, her almond-shaped eyes casting him a side-stare, followed by a grunt before returning to her nap.

"You know I'm right," Amos said as if she understood.

"Mijo..." Amos's mom tapped on the door before pushing through with a cup of coffee in hand, the steam rising. "I made cafesito. Want some?"

"Yes, please."

She handed him the mug and eased down onto the edge of the bed, her purple fuzzy robe wrapped around her. "So, are you going to tell me what happened?"

"No." Amos took a sip. "Lorena and I just need space."

"Space," she snorted, her light brown hand patting the pink curlers crowning her head. "You kids and your space."

"You don't even like, Lorena. I thought you'd be happy?"

"Happy that my son is sad? Never."

"I'm not sad. I'm just recalibrating."

"And what does that mean?" his mother snorted again. "You say you want to marry her, but in marriage, there is no space or this recalibrating. You just push through the struggles with each other and keep moving forward. That's why me and your father were married for so long."

"Yeah, but you come from a different time."

"No, these days, you kids throw away vows the way you change underwear. If you want to marry Lorena, this space isn't a good sign."

"You're saying you and dad never needed space?"

"Of course, we needed space!" she huffed, her hands gesturing about. "But we just went into the next room or for a long walk. We didn't leave the house for an entire weekend."

"We've been arguing too much."

"Ay, mijo..." She shook her head and placed her hand over his. "I worry for you."

"Why?"

"Because Lorena is not the one for you. If you're this miserable now, it'll only get worse."

"But it hasn't always been this way."

"Mi, amor." She squeezed his hand. "You think so, but I am a mother. I see. I hear," she sighed. "You need to pay more attention."

"What do you mean?" He retracted his hand and straightened.

"I heard what she said the other day about wanting you to get a proper job. It's not the first time she's talked to you that way. She's always been very disrespectful—always putting you down."

"That's not true."

"No?" Her brows arched. "Remember your cousin Enrique's wedding? How she embarrassed you in front of everyone at the reception? How she said you'd never make enough money to afford a beautiful wedding?"

"She was just joking."

"No!" She wagged her finger. "I saw your face. Her words hurt you! And that was months into the relationship. Here we are, five years later, and she still goes on about the same mierda."

"Ma!"

"It's true." She raised her chin. "She acts like you're lucky to be with her when it's the opposite. And you know what? If your father were still alive, he would agree with me."

"You can't speak for him."

"Yes, I can." She nodded. The answer final. "Now come on." She smacked his knee. "Your brother made Huevos Rancheros, and if we don't tell him it's delicious, then you know he'll get self-conscious."

∆∆∆

Amos popped the last bite of food into his mouth and pushed the plate across the oak table, his stomach full. Their mother stood from her chair, pink curlers still intact, and began collecting the dishes. She hummed a song while circling the table, but when Carlos released a belch, she smacked the side of his head.

"Ouch!"

"Manners," she scolded, and Amos chuckled at him.

"Some things never change."

"Welcome home, bro," Carlos said sarcastically.

"When are you gonna move out?"

"When I can afford to." Carlos sucked at the food in his teeth. "I'm not swimming in cash yet, but once this food truck business takes off, I'll start saving money."

"You're a wonderful cook."

"Chef," Carlos corrected. "And I'm a fucking fantastic one!"

"Language!" Their mother smacked his head again.

"Perdóname," Carlos batted his long lashes, and their mother grinned before kissing the top of his head.

"I swear, you let him get away with everything," Amos accused her.

"I do not."

"Mm-hm, keep telling yourself that."

"I will." She rolled her shoulders back and began washing dishes.

The brothers exited the kitchen, leaving their mother to do her favorite chore, and by mid-afternoon, they relaxed on the patio, strumming guitars. Their mother's home was small, but the backyard felt like a limitless sanctuary with various flower bushes forming paths leading to fruit trees where you could sit on wooden benches. A water fountain and scattered wind chimes provided a relaxing cacophony in the breeze.

Amos imagined his future wedding with Lorena in the backyard. They'd exchange vows in the Bougainvillea-covered pergola nestled between the lemon trees. His brother would cater the reception, and when the sun descended, the lanterns and string lights would twinkle while everyone danced to salsa music.

Rubbing the stubble on his chin, Amos's thoughts drifted to Carmela. She deserved a proper wedding, like the one he imagined for himself. Not whatever the hell she called that joke of a ceremony.

"What's on your mind, bro?"

"Hm, what?" Amos snapped out of his daydream.

"You seem far away. Got Lorena on your mind?"

"No. I was thinking about a journal I found in the SG's guitar case."

"What about it?"

"It's nothing..." Amos leaned forward on the patio chair, elbows on knees as he dragged his tattooed hands across his face. "Just ramblings from some girl. Interesting, though."

"Kinda rude to be reading someone's diary, don't ya think?"

"Oh, shut up! If you found it, you'd read it too." Amos straightened, his gaze focussing on the hummingbirds buzzing around the roses. Carmela had compared her drumming heart to hummingbirds, which sucked him back into thinking about her. She was so young and making terrible choices with her life. Rodrigo was wrong for her. He didn't love her. He wanted to control her. The way he claimed she belonged to him sent a shiver up Amos's spine. There were so many red flags.

"You're doing it again," Carlos interrupted, waving his hand in front of Amos' face. "Off in la-la land."

"Sorry." He glanced down at his watch. "I gotta go, anyway. Supposed to meet Lorena at the house. She wants to talk."

When Amos got up to leave, Carlos latched onto his arm. "Don't let her convince you to stay together. You deserve better than her."

"We didn't break up. We're just taking a breather."

"Maybe you should make that breather more permanent."

"You don't get it. You've never been in a relationship long enough to understand it takes commitment."

"Well, if a committed relationship means being miserable like you, then I'll pass," Carlos laughed.

"I'm not miserable."

"If you say so," Carlos smirked. "And for your information, I'm dating someone. Almost two months now, and I want to introduce her to Mom."

"Good luck." Amos squeezed his shoulder. "Mom's a tough critique."

"She's not. She just thinks you can do better than Lorena, and she's not wrong. Maybe you'll wake up one day."

Amos opened his mouth to disagree but then thought about Carmela again. Her family warned her she was making a mistake with Rodrigo, but she didn't listen, and on the drive to the house, that very thought tumbled into his mind.

When Amos arrived, he hesitated at the door with his hand hovering over the knob. Then he brought his fist up to knock but shook his head. It was his home, so why was he behaving like a visitor? Pulling out the key, he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

A full day had passed, yet as he looked around, it was as if he'd been gone for weeks. There was just something about the atmosphere—the quiet crawling up his limbs. One of the first things he did in the mornings was open the curtains so daylight could flood the living room. However, it was still dark with the mustard yellow drapes pulled shut. So he walked over to the windows overlooking the backyard and invited the natural light with one swift tug.

The living room came to life, casting sunlight onto the cream-colored sectional adorned with teal blue and yellow accent pillows which matched the abstract painting on the opposite wall. He tidied the candles on the coffee table and smoothed the grey, velvet throw blanket over the armrest of his favorite cushiony recliner.

"Ever the neat freak."

Amos spun to find Lorena with her hair freshly blown out and wearing a white tank top tucked into her skin-tight jeans. He swallowed. Even sans make-up, she was beautiful with her long lashes and smooth, sun-kissed complexion.

"I just like things tidy." He shrugged.

"I know. It's what I love about you."

"So..." He teetered on his heels, hands in his pockets. "You wanted to talk?"

"I do." She guided him to the couch. "I've spent all morning thinking, and we both overreacted Friday night."

"No, I—"

"Please," she interrupted. "Let me finish."

"Alright." He ran his fingers across his mouth, pretending to zip it.

"We've been together for five years, and I don't think we should throw it all away just because we've gotten a little lost. What we need is a do-over. We've gotten too comfortable and have forgotten what it's like to be boyfriend and girlfriend. So, I think we need to date each other again and remember what it's like to have those sparks from the early days when we fell in love. What do you think?"

He took a deep breath and looked down at their hands—a mingle of Lorena's light brown skin and his deeper hue marked with ink. He used to get a thrill out of holding her hand, but staring at their fingers, he no longer felt that rush at her touch.

But he wanted to find it again.

"Let's do it."

"Yeah?" Her eyes lit up, a smile stretching across her face.

"Yes!" he replied, and Lorena threw her arms around him, peppering his cheek and neck with kisses. A chuckle bubbled from his lips. "Babe..."

"I'm just happy." She pulled away. "This weekend—" she cut herself short and blew out a breath. "It didn't feel right not having you here."

"I know." He brushed her hair aside and cupped her cheek. "I'll come home tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"One more day will do us some good. Give you more time to miss me." He grinned.

"I already do!"

"Well, then you'll just miss me more," he laughed, and she slapped his chest. "But I tell you what. Tonight we'll go out to dinner. A proper date. Deal?"

"Deal."

∆∆∆

That evening, Amos returned to the house, dressed in a crisp, navy-blue button-up, the sleeves rolled just enough to see the ink creeping up his arms and the watch on his wrist. He smoothed down his fitted, black jeans with a bouquet of pale pink roses in hand—Lorena's favorite. And like a true gentleman picking up his date, he knocked on the door.

A few seconds later, Lorena's heel clicks approached, and she opened the door dressed in a blue, low-cut dress that skimmed her thighs.

"Well, look at that! We match," Lorena greeted.

"Must be a good sign. You look beautiful." Amos presented the flowers and took her hand, giving her a twirl. He whistled, admiring the fitted bodice hugging her hourglass waist and the skirt which fanned out at the hips. "Are you wearing a thong?"

"I am." Lorena grinned. "I know you like the way I look in them."

"I do. A lot, a lot. In fact, we might have to skip dinner."

"Oh, no, Mr. Castillo. We are doing this date! But..." She wiggled her shoulders. "I'll be your dessert."

"Deal! Now let's hurry so we can get back here ASAP."

Taking her hand, he rushed her down the walkway, tucked her inside the car, and away they went.

Throughout dinner, they chatted about old memories from when they first got together. Like when they spent the entire evening at the beach, and when twilight hit, they made love beneath the stars. Or when they rented a cabin in Big Sur with plans to go hiking, but it stormed, so they remained inside, cuddled in front of the fire and cooking together.

Loving each other felt so simple back then, and the recollections provoked flutters in Amos's stomach. Judging by the warm smile on Lorena's face as she sipped wine, the memories also affected her.

However, there was one thing bugging him.

After a quick break to the restroom, he returned to find Lorena texting on her phone, a grin on her face as she tapped her fingers across the screen. When he approached, she nestled it back into her purse.

"Something important?" He took his seat.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just my sister sending me a silly gif."

"Tell her I said hello."

"Later." She reached across the table, squeezing his hand.

For the rest of dinner, he kept hearing the faint buzz of her phone going off and something in his gut said it wasn't her sister. So, who was texting her on a Sunday night? And making her smile in a way that illuminated her entire face?

When they got home, she excused herself to the restroom to freshen up, and while he waited, her phone continued to ping. It was late, so who was still texting her? He could hear the faint tap of her fingers as she sent out a reply, followed by another ding. Standing from the bed, he went to knock on the door, but it swung open, and Lorena waltzed out, fluffing her hair.

"I'm ready for you, Mr. Castillo," she purred.

The desire to undress her and make love faded. Yet, he went through the motions as Lorena tugged the shirt loose from his pants and ran her hands up his chest where ink swirled. He spun her around and unzipped her dress, letting it fall to the carpet so she could step out of it. Moonlight from the windows shimmered across the curves of her body as he pressed a kiss to her neck, unbuckling the hooks on her bra.

She glanced at him over her shoulder, her eyes heavy with need. "Have your way with me."

Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pulled her against his bare chest and claimed her mouth. She rewarded him with a moan, a sound that usually had him hard in seconds, yet as he moved his lips against hers, he kept thinking about her phone.

Lorena broke away and pleaded, "If you don't get inside me right now, I'm gonna lose it."

"Yes, ma'am."

Lifting her into his arms, he carried her to the bed and tossed her down gently before crawling on top of her. She grinned from ear to ear, her fingers smoothing down the curls coming loose from his mini fauxhawk, and pulled him close.

"I love you, Amos."

"I love you too," he replied and then gave Lorena precisely what she craved.

Later on, when it was passed midnight, Amos crept out of bed. Lorena stirred for a moment, her hands flexing for his touch, but then she settled back to a light snore, so he tiptoed to the bathroom to find her phone sitting on the counter. As much as he needed to alleviate his bladder, his desire to look through her phone was even greater.

It wasn't like him to snoop, yet his fingers curled around it anyway, and the screen came to life. He furrowed his brows at the command to enter a passcode.

Since when did Lorena keep her phone locked?

Making a few guesses, he typed in her birthday, then his birthday, and their anniversary, yet none of them worked. He squeezed the phone, wanting to shatter it, but set it down instead. Then, he left the bathroom, reached into the duffle bag at the foot of the bed, and pulled out Carmela's journal.

He needed a distraction, and reading about her life was the perfect escape.