But he had broken her trust, and that . . . that hurt on a soul-deep level.
“Ay, can you still smell Fabiola’s burned bacon from breakfast? That girl and her terrible cooking skills. She will starve when she decides to move out on her own.” Mamá rose and crossed to one of the windows overlooking the back courtyard. “I’m going to open this to air out the house. Pero don’t let me forget about it because the air-conditioning is on, okay?”
Cat looked at Mariana, who seemed equally confused by Mamá’s sudden complaint. The burned smell hardly lingered in the air anymore. Then again, Mamá had a nose that could sniff out food starting to spoil in the fridge when nobody else noticed. So, who was Cat to argue with her mom now?
“Bueno, I should probably get going,” Mariana said. “Angelo is grilling chicken for fajitas, and I agreed to make the rice and refried beans.”
Hugs were shared between the three of them, and Cat was confirming the coming week’s rehearsal date for Mariachi Las Nubes when the sound of a guitar strumming out in the courtyard carried through the open window.
They exchanged curious glances, Mariana adding a who knows shrug while Mamá shushed them. The music grew louder, and Cat recognized the opening bars of the old classic “Bésame Mucho.” A rich baritone voice she regularly heard in her dreams sang the first line, a lover’s lament begging his sweetheart to kiss him as if it were the last time. Her heart stuttered, her breath catching on a gasp.
She raced to the window and pulled aside the faded curtain to find Patricio, dressed in full charro, standing in the courtyard below. His favorite guitar hung from a black strap slung around one shoulder, the instrument’s neck cradled in his left hand, his right strumming the strings as he serenaded her.
Above her, on the third floor, a window screeched open, and Cat heard Señora Pérez’s “Ay, Dios mío” followed by her yelling for her husband to come quickly because El Príncipe was here. Patricio tipped his head at the older woman’s cry of “te queremos, Príncipe,” but his gaze never left Cat’s.
What was the fool doing? Soon the entire neighborhood would gather in the courtyard, and with the way news traveled in their comunidad, word would get out that he was at Casa Capuleta giving an acoustic show and the paparazzi would descend.
She pressed her hands to her heated cheeks and mouthed the word for him to stop. He winked and flashed his sexy grin.
She motioned for him to come up. He sang louder, held an angsty note longer. His voice rich and strong, the lyrics pouring from him as if he had written them for her.
“Go to him,” Mariana whispered from behind her.
“Sí, vete, mija,” her mom agreed.
Patricio held a hand over his heart. “Forgive me,” he called, forgoing the lyrics for his own sincere words. “I messed up. But I’ll do everything and anything to make it up to you. Te quiero, Catalina Capuleta. Bésame. Bésame mucho.”
His beautiful voice drew out the words of the love song, calling to her as she raced out of the apartment. In seconds she ran down the short hallway, then burst onto the second-floor landing overlooking the courtyard.
Patricio swung around to face her, his expression an endearing mix of hope, love, and remorse. She grabbed the metal railing, her legs suddenly weak, her heart pounding an allegrissimo tempo in her chest. Slowly, he approached the stairs as he strummed his guitar, stopping at the bottom to gaze up at her.
“In the beginning, I was captivated by your energy and determination. Your creativity and joy for . . . for everything. And I thought maybe being around you could help me find my creativity and joy again. I figured if your songs were on a Padua label, it would still be a win for you. I was wrong. Horribly wrong. And for that, I’m sorry.”
His honesty and humility humbled her. She took the first step down, her sandal heel clanking on the metal.
“The more time we spent together, the more captivated I found myself. Enthralled by your strength and sense of self. Enamored by the way you push me, tease me, challenge me, and make me laugh. I hear music in my head again, and it’s all because of you. I’m writing again, because you helped me be comfortable with the real me. And for that, I am eternally grateful.”
Ay, how could she not fall for this man when he wooed her with heartfelt admissions like this?
Cat took the next step, and another, her gaze never leaving his.
“It’s not that I don’t want to release our album right away. But I know it’s important for you to succeed on your own merit. We both have something we want to prove. And I figured, you writing Grammy-winning songs for others, working with different talent and gaining industry recognition in your own right, separate from me, while I finished my album, would give you the kind of street cred you deserve. I don’t want to give our songs away to anyone. They’re ours. Our first of many, I hope. That’s why I’ve asked Padua to let me add a third album to my contract. A Patricio y Catalina album, filled with duets and solos, written by us, sung by us, together.”
She was so shocked by his idea that she missed the next step and nearly did a head dive the rest of the way down. Somehow, Patricio managed to sling his guitar around to his back, take the bottom four steps in one huge leap, and dive in to catch her before she face-planted at his feet.
Holding her tightly in his embrace, he buried his head in her neck. “I’m so sorry, Catalina. You were right. It was a dickish move, born out of my desire to help you achieve your dreams, but executed in the wrong way. Please tell me you’ll forgive me. Please say you’ll come make beautiful music with me. Now and always.”
She clung to him, her heart racing. Love for him filled every part of her until she felt like she might burst.
“I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain,” she said, pulling back to cup his handsome face. “I automatically went into self-protective mode. Let old fears take hold, and that wasn’t exactly fair to you. I want to believe in us. And while my trust is a bit shaky right now, I do believe you had my best interests at heart. But we’re supposed to be partners, and remember one of the rules I learned from Papo’s feud? So, no more secrets. No more ‘fixing things’ on your own. Deal?”
He nodded, hope filling his beautiful coffee eyes.
“There’s one more problem, though,” she told him.
“What? Why?” His arms tightened around her as if he refused to let her go. “Tell me and I can fix it!”
Touched by his frantic determination, she stretched up on her toes to drop a quick peck on his lips. “I think we’re gonna have to forget about the other rule. It’s obvious that you are emotionally attached to me. I mean, was there ever any doubt that would happen? So, we’ll have to find a way to deal with that.”
His sexy grin made a heart-stopping, pulse-thrumming appearance. “I can think of a lot of ways—wicked, delectable ways—to deal with how I feel about you, Catalina Capuleta.”
“Promises, promises,” she murmured. Tucking her head against his neck, she breathed in his earthy-ginger cologne and snuggled into his warmth. “Ay, I’ve been miserable without you.”
“Good,” he teased. “Because I’ve been miserable, too. Alberto is tired of my moaning and groaning. He kicked me out of my own house yesterday!”