Love on the Ledge by Zoraida Cordova Page A

I say. “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    “Actually, tomorrow’s Sunday.”
    “You could still come over. You don’t have to do any work.”
    “I have an idea. But we have to wait till it’s dark out.”
    When he tucks my stubborn hair back one more time, I take his hand and hold it.
    “Yeah? What’s that?”
    “It’ll be a surprise,” he says, smiling wide and bright and just for me. He leans his head down and lets his face linger in front of mine. He’s waiting for me to decide what I want. He’s giving me space. He presses a kiss on the tip of my nose. “Don’t worry. We won’t go far.”

Chapter 17
    The closer the wedding gets, the more deliveries arrive. Because everyone in the house is too busy filing their nails or roaming the Hampton shops and beaches, and because the grooms are equal workaholics, I sign for another package.
    Dozens and dozens of boxes of alcohol. Leti is the only one who will get off her ass and help me take inventory. We have a giant walk-in fridge where the white wine and champagne boxes go.
    Leti takes a bottle of the bubbly as payment for her services, and I take one to the newly converted office and former pool house. Half-naked mannequin bust-forms make me feel like I’m walking through a fairytale where all the women have gone bald and are frozen, but still wear their best dresses.
    Two of Pepe’s apprentices, girls fresh from FIT who desperately want to work in fashion, greet me with high-pitched squeals. I fork over the champagne and they pop it open. I wonder what it’s like to work for Pepe. I had the opportunity to be one of these employees, but even though I love clothes, my heart was never in the world of designers. I can’t get past the fake kisses and runway shows, the models who try as hard as they can to starve themselves thin. Especially after I’ve treated so many bulimic and anorexic girls at my old hospital. The only thing I made Pepe promise me was to use models that didn’t look emaciated.
    “Okay, nena ,” Pepe says, tugging on the measuring tape around his neck. His shirt is unbuttoned down the middle of his chest, and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. Somehow, it defies wrinkle-science. “Let’s try this again.”
    I put on the slip of the dress and he pinches the fabric, stabbing it with silver pins until it starts to take shape.
    “I heard you had a little too much fun at the beach last night,” he says.
    I deflate, letting my hands drop. I regret it when a pin digs into my skin.
    “Nothing terrible happened,” I tell him. “Wait, what did Maria say?”
    Pepe purses his lips and scratches his head. Even if he knows all the details, he’s not going to tell me. Pepe is an excellent secret keeper. He didn’t come out to the family until my senior year of high school, even though his clothing choices in the ’80s were sort of a dead giveaway.
    “Only that the roofer boy almost got you drowned, and you wouldn’t listen to that guy who wears too much gel and suede boat shoes in the summer.…”
    “Xandro,” I smirk.
    It’s not that Pepe judges people by their wardrobe choices…it’s that…actually, yeah, that’s what it is. But it definitely shows when he doesn’t like someone, and I’m thrilled that he doesn’t look at Xandro the way everyone else in the house does.
    “That’s not what happened,” I say. “I decided to go swimming and a wave almost pulled me out.” I can feel my skin warm at the memory of our kiss. “ Hayden grabbed me just in time and pulled me back to shore. I don’t know who Xandro thinks he is, but he’s bossy as hell. He reminds me of—”
    I don’t say it. He reminds me of my dad. When he was around, the times he’d make it home instead of spending the night in a strange house, he’d boss us around. He told me when to go to bed. He made me change my clothes if he thought they were too provocative. Because nothing says provocative like jeans and t-shirts I’d outgrown, but had no