He didn’t need to be asked twice.
As he kissed her, open-mouthed and desperate, the sound of a phone going off rang through the room.
And then Jaime opened his eyes, realized he’d been dreaming of Grace Danvers, and that he had a massive hard-on from said dream.
He slapped at his phone, still singing on his nightstand. He glanced down at his crotch, and then he swore.
I’m a fucking creep. The biggest creep. Having sex dreams about my friend’s younger sister.
He threw an arm over his eyes, breathing and trying to stop the flow of blood from his head to his cock. But all he could see behind his eyelids was the length of Grace’s hair falling down her back, how warm she’d felt, how she’d pressed against him.
Will you take me, Jaime?
“Jesus motherfucking Christ on a cracker!” He tore out of bed, stomping to the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face. Gazing into the mirror, he muttered, “You need to fucking stop.” Then he pointed at his crotch, adding, “And you really need to fucking stop! I don’t have time for this. This cannot happen.”
Dressed just in his boxers despite the cooler weather, he went to the kitchen and began making an omelet. It was early yet, and maybe cooking something would get his mind off of…things. But his mind inevitably returned to that dream, and he burnt one side of the omelet while the other side was still runny. He tossed it all into the trash and decided today was a protein bar and coffee kind of day.
Lots and lots of coffee.
After taking a cold shower, he got dressed and was about to go into work early when his phone rang.
“Hey Dad,” he said in Spanish.
“Jaimito, how are you? Your mother and I just wanted to call and tell you we’re finishing up our application for citizenship and we had a few questions.”
Jaime didn’t know if he had the juice for this this morning, but he’d help his parents anyway he could. Both of them spoke English, but the application for citizenship had enough legalese that they preferred to confirm any questions they had with Jaime first.
They had a lawyer, but asking Jaime was just easier in their minds. He couldn’t blame them: any kind of mess-up could result in the application being denied, and it was too much time and money not to cross your t’s and dot your i’s as much as possible.
Fernando rattled off various questions, which Jaime was mostly able to answer, while a few stumped him as well. The US government loved convoluted instructions, and sometimes even Jaime needed Fernando to repeat things to understand what the actual question was.
As they segued into less government-related topics, Fernando turned his phone on speakerphone so Jaime’s mother Ana could talk to their son as well. They asked about River’s Bend, his job, Heron’s Landing, all the usual things.
Jaime winced at their questions, remembering the upcoming investigation—of which he was apparently the center. He couldn’t tell his parents about the investigation, especially when he hadn’t been charged with anything. It would only worry them. Plus, if Immigration caught wind of it? It could hurt their application.
Jaime knew it was naïve, but he sincerely hoped everything could be pushed under the rug once they figured out that it was either an accounting error or find who had actually stolen the money in the first place.
“Do you still like it there?” Ana asked. She’d been concerned when Jaime had left the big city of St. Louis to go to a tiny Midwestern town like Heron’s Landing, population two-hundred and fifty. She’d been afraid Jaime would be lonely, an outsider, not knowing anyone there already.
He glanced at the time. He needed to get to work. “Yeah, it’s great. Look, I have to get to work, but email or text me if you have anymore questions about your application, okay?” He grabbed his keys and walked out to his truck.
“Have a good day at work,” his parents said in unison. “Love you, Jaimito.”
“Love you, too. Talk to you later.” He hung up and stuffed his phone in his pocket.
If there was anything he hated, it was not being in control of a situation. He could say he was innocent until he was blue in the face, but what if no one believed him? It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter what he said or did. It didn't matter how hard he worked, or how talented he was. It didn’t matter that he’d transformed River’s Bend into the restaurant it was now.
Nothing he did mattered.
I believe you’re innocent. For what it’s worth.
Grace’s words poured through him, a balm to his wounds. She had a sweetness about her, and lightness and, yes, grace, that had intrigued him since he’d first met her five years ago. He hadn’t expected she’d go against her brother and support him, but she had. Her declaration wouldn’t keep him from facing charges, but someone believed him. Someone knew he was innocent.
The dream from earlier was like a mist over his mind. He could’ve almost believed it had been real: the smells, the sounds, the touches. He’d never had a dream like that about Grace Danvers.
Graciela, what am I going to do about you?
When he arrived at River’s Bend, the sky was cloudy and he wondered if it would rain. He parked his truck and, going inside, greeted Kerry. He made his way to the kitchen, putting on his apron, and then going to the coffee pot in the corner before starting the day. A few of his cooks were milling about, but generally speaking, they didn’t start until Jaime arrived. To his annoyance, Eric was nowhere to be found.
“Coffee ready? Oh, Jaime.”
Jaime turned to see Chris, the overseer of the fields and harvesters in the fall, looking at him with a strange expression his face. A middle-aged man, Chris had been at River’s Bend back when Adam’s father Carl had run it. With his salt-and-pepper hair and skin tanned the color of a walnut, Chris had a distinguished mien. He demanded authority, although he had a soft spot for dogs and his wife (in that order).
“Coffee is almost ready,” Jaime replied. “Are you going to be around for lunch?”
River’s Bend served lunch on a smaller scale and often that included the employees. But Chris just raised his eyebrows, and then shrugged.
“Not sure I’ll have time. Have a lot going on.”
Jaime wasn’t sure what all he had going on, since this was the time of year when the harvest was already in and nothing was growing. Perhaps Chris had more to do with making the wine than usual? But then again, they usually sent that out to another company to do before receiving bottles of wine to then sell.
“Well, if you want a plate, let me know.” Jaime walked around Chris, who didn’t seem inclined to move out of the way, to enter into the kitchen. The older man’s shoulder bumped into him, and he looked at Chris over his shoulder, a dark eyebrow raised.
But Chris just stared at him, his eyes narrowed. His gray mustache twitched.
“I was surprised, you know, when Carl hired you. I thought you were too young for the job, but he wanted to try someone up and coming. And now here we are.”
Jaime bristled. He wasn’t so stupid as not to understand what Chris was implying, and God almighty, he wanted to punch the old man in his face. But that would merely but be proving Chris’s point.
So instead, Jaime acted nonchalant, a tight smile on his face. “I’m glad Carl gave me a chance. I love this place. I know you do, too.”