Daylight trickles past the curtains with an obnoxious ray warming my face. It's a rude awakening after a night of drinking, and my breath tastes stale as I twist in the sheets.

Holy crap, I'm naked.

Noises in the kitchen suggest I'm not alone, but those noises become louder from whoever is moving towards the bedroom. Last night is hazy, so I have no clue who is in my apartment. Wrapping the sheets around me, I spring from the bed and bolt for the door.

That's when I see Moses.

"Hey, you're awa—"

But I don't let him finish his sentence because I shut the door in his face with a scream.

"What are you doing here!?"

"Um, I brought you home, remember?" he says through the wood separating us, and I wrap the sheet tighter around me.

"No, I do not remember. Did we have sex?"

"No, I'm not into sleeping with incoherent drunk women," he laughs. "Besides, you puked on your dress, and vomit isn't my kind of kink."

"I puked?" My eyes widen. No wonder my mouth tastes like trash. "Is that why you brought me home?"

"No. You got into a fight with Julian and stormed out of the club, so I went after you."

"I don't remember that..." I rub my forehead.

"You guys fought over some girl named Valentina."

With my hand pressed against the door, I search my memory, and there's the vaguest pulse of me shouting at Julian. Taking a chance, I open the door a crack and peek at Moses. He instantly smiles and nods to the mug in his hand. The faintest dimple appears on his left cheek, and I recollect poking it last night while telling him how cute it is.

"I figured you'd want coffee." he offers the mug, so I open the door wider to receive it.

Our fingers brush in the exchange, sending a ripple of recognition as I experience a memory of holding his hand in the Uber.

"Thanks. Um... so... we really didn't have sex?"

"No," he chuckles. "You were pretty wasted and stripped off your dress after puking on it. Then you wanted to hop in the shower but could barely stand upright, so despite your protesting, I helped you wash up and then got you to bed."

"And that's it?"

"You passed out as soon as I tucked you into the blankets."

"You saw me naked," I whisper and hide my body behind the door.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I've been a nurse for five years, so seeing someone naked is as normal as seeing someone fully clothed at this point. It doesn't phase me."

"I see."

"But for the record..." He leans in and rolls his gaze over me. "I didn't mind the view."

"I should get dressed." I close the door before he sees me turn into a puddle of mush.

Part of me is tempted to drop the bedsheet and throw myself at him.

But I lack the nerve.

∆∆∆

By the time I'm showered and dressed, I'm thinking Moses will be gone, except as I walk into the living room, he's in the kitchen cooking eggs and what smells like chorizo. He reaches into one of the cabinets and sifts through the spices before picking one. Then, he opens a drawer, grabs a spatula, and shuts it with his hip.

My fingers halt from scrunching leave-in conditioner into my curls. This is unexpected. Funny how a day can change so much. Yesterday we were strangers, and now he's making breakfast as if he lives here.

"Smells good."

"Greasy food is great after a night of drinking," he says over his shoulder, then motions to the glass of water and ibuprofen on the breakfast bar counter. "That should help with the hangover too."

"I surprisingly don't have one."

"Good. I hope you're hungry, though."

"Ravenous."

Like a gentleman, he serves our plates with sides of buttered toast, and we take a seat at the bar. I'm trying not to read too much into this moment as the corners of my lips tug upwards while I fork some of the eggs. The last man to see me naked muttered an excuse about having to work early before exiting the apartment faster than The Flash.

So, having a man stick around to make breakfast, even though we didn't have sex, is a welcomed change. I take a peek at Moses, he's smiling too, and there's that adorable dimple on his left cheek.

"So, what's this Valentina stuff about?" he asks, and my grin vanishes. "I noticed you have printed news articles about her on your dresser."

"It's nothing. Just something stupid."

"Didn't sound like nothing last night. You were outraged that Julian kept bringing her up. Is she a relative?"

"No..." I push the eggs around with the fork.

"Well, I'm officially intrigued, considering the articles on your dresser say she disappeared years ago. But if you don't want to talk about it, I get it."

"It's just..." I glance up at him, and the words catch in my throat, so I pull out my phone instead and locate the age-progression photo I saved. "See?"

At first, he doesn't understand, and his brows smash together, but then he plucks the phone from my hand and uses his finger to zoom in on the image. His eyes flick from the screen to me, then back to the picture of Valentina. With a tilt of his head, his mouth opens to speak but then stops, and he begins rubbing the back of his neck.

Meanwhile, my heart rate is pulsing like a disco, and sweat is accumulating in my palms, so I rub them on my ripped jeans.

"The resemblance is uncanny," he finally says. "But this is just a guess at what she might look like today. Don't let it bother you."

He slides the phone back to me and squeezes my hand.

"I feel guilty, though." I push the plate away.

"Why?"

"Because I accused my dad of kidnapping me last weekend."

"How did he take it?"

"He was upset, and I don't blame him. It was the anniversary weekend of my mom's death, so to drop such a bomb on him was inconsiderate."

"Don't beat yourself up. Parents a very forgiving." He begins rubbing my back. "And I'm sorry about your mom."

"I've been thinking about her a lot lately. She took her life when I was ten years old, and sometimes I can't remember what she looked like."

"Don't you have photos?"

"No." I shake my head, and Moses's hand is still on my back in a soothing caress. "Our house burned not long after, so everything is gone. We had to start from scratch."

"Do you know if you look like her?"

"My dad says I do, but when we're together, people say I look like him. Want to see?"

I browse through the gallery on my phone, then click on a photo of the two of us on a wine tasting tour in Napa. My father looks so handsome in his powder blue buttoned-down shirt, dark wash jeans, and a glass of white wine in his hand as he grins at the camera. I'm hugging his side in a floral maxi dress while wearing a Panama hat.

"I see it." Moses studies the photo. "I think it's the nose."

"That's what he says!"

"You're way hotter, though."

My cheeks warm and I close out the photo, but Moses tilts my chin towards him.

"Why do you look away when I compliment you?"

"I don't know." I shrug, and fight the urge to look away from his grey eyes, but word vomit takes over. "I'm just not used to it, I guess. My dad has always been so protective. I couldn't even have a boyfriend in high school. And I'm terrible at dating. I always go for these assholes who want to hook up and leave as soon as it's over and never call me again. So I can't tell if you're being nice because you're actually nice or if you have another motive."

"Another motive?"

"Yeah. You know..." I make a thrusting gesture.

That earns a snort-laugh, and Moses tosses his head back as his shoulders bounce. It's a rich laugh. One from deep in his chest and how his Adam's apple bounces in the process is too much for our proximity. I might combust. So I gather our plates and carry them over to the sink.

"For the record," he says through chuckles. "That's not my motive."

Ducking my head, I begin washing the dishes so he can't see the embarrassment blooming across my cheeks, but he makes his way over and tilts my chin. I'm starting to love how he does this whenever he wants to look me in the eyes.

"I like you, Valerie."

"You do?"

"Yes," he laughs softly. "And I'd like to take you to dinner tonight. Unless you have plans?"

"No plans."

"Then I'll leave you for now, but I'm coming back around six to pick you up. Sound good?"

"Perfect."

There's a moment where his gaze flicks back and forth to my mouth. I might not be the most experienced with men, but I can tell when one wants to kiss me, so I wish he would hurry up.

Except, my phone starts ringing and vibrating on the counter so loudly it causes me to yelp. I bring a hand to my chest and laugh.

"That scared me."

"So jumpy." Moses pokes my stomach.

But then I'm given another fright when Julian starts pounding on the door.

"Mujer! I know you're in there, and I know you're mad at me, but for fricks sake, open up!"

"Does he always pound on your door like that?" Moses snorts.

"Only when he wants to be obnoxious." I scowl and march over because he costed me a kiss.

When I swing open the door, I'm prepared to scold him, except he parades right past me, full throttle.

"Jesus, woman. Since when do you not answer the phone on the first ring!" His feet practically screech to a halt when he spots Moses, but then he glances back at me with mock shock. "Oh, I see what's going on here. You two were..."

"Julian!" I narrow my eyes at him and close the door. "What was so urgent you called and showed up at my place?"

"Let me show you."

Being the dramatic person he is, he takes enormous strides across the living room to my laptop on the coffee table and plops onto the couch.

"I know you asked me to drop the subject last night, but..."

Julian shifts out of the way so Moses and I can see the screen where a Youtube is playing of some interview in Spanish. It's an older woman, perhaps in her early fifties, with dark hair cascading down her shoulders and silver strands framing her face. She's elegantly beautiful in her navy blue wrap dress with a thin, gold pendant necklace.

I don't understand a word she's saying, but the grief in her round, brown eyes doesn't need a translation.

Nor do I need to know her name because her face is like a glimpse at what I'll look like when I'm older.

From the corner of my eye, Julian and Moses turn their heads toward me, but I'm no longer staring at the screen. Instead, they get a view of my backside as I rush off.

The toilet receives a hefty splat of breakfast, and I'm gripping the edges as my stomach turns inside out.

It's one thing to dismiss the age progression photo as a coincidence, but this? I cannot unsee the eerie similarity between Amelia Moreno and me.