God, he looks good.

It’s just shy of noon, and all morning Bruno has been subtly keeping guard right outside Bathing Beauty while I tend to regular business inside. Well, he’s about as subtle as someone who looks like him could ever possibly be. At first, I worried that his imposing figure might scare off potential customers. Especially considering his leather jacket and crossed-arm stance. But it turns out, it’s not just me who feels a calming aura from him. All morning, he’s been smiling and giving courteous nods to passersby, occasionally even striking up conversation. Many of those who stop to talk to him also come into the shop to browse, and by this time of day, I don’t normally have this many sales in the bag. Bruno has been less like an intimidating bouncer and more like an engaging shop attendant.

Only, you know, unbelievably rugged and sexy.

“Excuse me, do you happen to have anything that smells like lemon or lime? My grandmother’s eightieth birthday is coming up, and she loves citrus-y scents,” asks a young woman to my right. I manage to tear my eyes away from Bruno and give her a helpful nod.

“Of course!” I tell her, taking in her appearance. She looks to be no older than fifteen, with her hair in a flouncy ponytail. She has a sweet, round face, and she reminds me of how I looked and acted at her age. Fifteen. Back when everything was so simple. Before my entire world shattered into tiny, razor-sharp pieces all around me.

I guide the young customer over to a shelf of lemon- and grapefruit-scented products, explaining to her how our soaps and lotions are made. I’m so used to doing the sales spiel that I can almost zone out entirely while my body goes on autopilot. As I’m talking, my mind can’t help but drift idly back in time, to when I first met Bruno so long ago.

He was so handsome, even back then, even when we were both in our awkward teenage years. He was never gawky or skinny. Never a jerk like so many guys that age are. God knows he had all the reason in the world to be an arrogant ass, with those good looks and smooth-talking style. But he wasn’t. Sure, there was a hint of snarkiness in his tone sometimes, and he certainly was confident, but never cocky. He was just...perfect. From day one that he stepped into my life.

Bringing myself back to the present moment, I successfully persuade the young girl to buy a whole line of lemon soap, bubble bath, and a candle. I tell her I hope her grandmother has a fantastic birthday, and she leaves.

I look around the shop with a warm, fuzzy feeling washing over me. There are more customers here than usual, and so far it seems like almost everyone has bought something. I can’t help but smile. Things might finally be turning up for me, despite all the mess with the mafia activity lately. If not for Bruno, I would probably still be falling to pieces, losing my mind stressing over what to do and whether I should go to the cops. But with Bruno around, it’s hard to even let those negative thoughts into my head for a second. I just feel so safe with him, and no matter how many years have passed us by, I still feel like I can trust him with my life. In fact, I know I can.

After all, he’s saved me once, and I have a pretty strong feeling he would do it again in a heartbeat. I don’t quite see why he cares about me as much as he does, but I know I must be the luckiest girl in the world. Danger will always follow him, but so will I. Besides, I doubt there’s much of anything he can’t handle.

I ring up the rest of the customers and, just in time for lunch, the door jingles and in walks Rafaela. She gives me a little wave and holds up a paper bag which I dearly hope contains some kind of burrito or burger. I’ve been so busy all morning here that I’ve definitely worked up an appetite.

Once everyone else has cleared out, Rafaela walks up to the counter, sets down the paper bags, and gives me a quick hug. “Class was canceled today so I figured I would surprise you!” she says, grinning her bright white smile.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you. I’m glad class was canceled because I’ve missed your face,” I reply happily, glancing down at the paper bag hungrily. “Please tell me one of those bags is for me. I’m starving, Raf.”

“Yup! I went to that food truck around the corner from campus. Chicken burrito, no sour cream, extra pico. That’s your order, right?” she asks, pushing the bag toward me.

I nod ravenously. “Oh yes. That’s my order exactly. You have a damn good memory, wow.”

She shrugs, smiling. “Well, yeah. Years of bartending will do that.”

We both dig into our food, and I make sure to save half my burrito and chips for Bruno, just in case he’s hungry, too. It’s the least I can do to thank him for hanging around all day keeping the shop safe and in business. Rafaela and I chat about her classes, how the bar is doing, how my shop is doing, and soon the conversation turns to more serious topics.

“So, like, what is your life plan?” she asks suddenly, shielding her mouth full of food. I lift an eyebrow and give her a quizzical look.

“Uh, what do you mean? And where did that come from?” I laugh.

She swallows and sighs. “It’s just that I’ve been thinking a lot about how busy we both are and wondering if maybe we’re, like, missing out on stuff. Life. Our youth.”

“Okay, Miss Eat-Pray-Love, I guess I just try not to think about stuff like that,” I answer, wrapping up the half of my burrito left over. “This is so not the way I thought my life would ever pan out. If you told teenage-me how my life would turn out, I don’t think she would believe you. But you know, that’s how it goes. I’m a planner, and I like to know what’s coming, but if there’s anything I’ve learned over the years, it’s that some things just happen whether you plan for them or not.”

Rafaela nods, a thoughtful expression on her pretty face. She crunches into a chip dipped in extra-spicy salsa. “You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s just frustrating sometimes. Like, I’m so used to just being stuck in that daily grind of class, work, sleep, rinse, repeat that when I get a rare break like today, it really hits me how nice it would be to just slow down a little bit.”

“You know what they say: youth is wasted on the young,” I tell her, sighing. “And you and I are hard workers. I know what keeps me going is thinking about what my dad would say to me. He’d be so proud of me for taking on the family business and doing everything I can to take care of the house and Mom. I know he would want me to be happy, though, too.”

“Yeah, whenever I get a chance to send some money home to my great-grandmother in Venezuela, I do feel pretty damn good about myself. You should see the letters she writes me, Serena. You’d think I was President of the United States from the way she talks. It’s nice to know that she’s proud of me. I’ll try to focus on that,” Rafaela decides, a dreamy look in her eyes. I know she’s had a hard life, growing up very poor in Spanish Harlem. Her grandparents immigrated here to give her family a better life, and while Rafaela was born and raised in America, she still has close ties to Venezuela.

I, on the other hand, grew up in the lap of luxury, only to have it all taken away in one fell swoop years ago with my father’s death. Rafaela and I couldn’t have come from more different backgrounds, but we’ve always been able to find plenty of common ground. Suddenly, I feel the burning need to confide in my best friend.

“So, lately I’ve been having some trouble here at the shop,” I begin, launching into an explanation of the mafia activity threatening my barely-afloat business. I describe the ‘rough types’ who have been hanging around causing trouble, telling her all about the bright red graffiti.

“Holy cow,” she says, shaking her head. “That’s crazy, chica. How are you getting by? Have you gone to the cops? And, uh, is that guy standing outside the shop one of those ‘rough types’ you mentioned? Because he definitely looks a little intimidating.”

I snort. “Oh, Bruno? No, he’s actually...been helping me, believe it or not. He’s an old friend.”

“Wait,” she says, squinting as she stares at him through the window. “Oh my God, is that the same guy you came to the bar with the other night?”

I start to blush, my cheeks burning. “Yep. That’s the guy.”

“Nice catch,” she says, giving me a cheesy wink. “He’s a stud.”

“Oh my God, stop,” I laugh, rolling my eyes.

And almost as though he knew were talking about him, Bruno walks into the shop, shrugging off his jacket and folding it over his arm as he walks by, giving us both a nod. Rafaela wiggles her fingers in a faux-flirtatious wave.

“Bruno,” I say, “this is Rafaela. We met in college. She’s my best friend.”

Bruno shakes her hand and smiles. “Nice to meet you.”

“Encantada,” she responds, grinning.

“Oh! And she came bearing the very best of gifts: food. I saved half my burrito for you if you want it,” I offer, handing the bag to Bruno.

“Thanks,” he says, taking a massive bite before heading into the back room to give Rafaela and I more privacy to keep chatting. He’s still within earshot, but I know he doesn’t want to hover.

He’s so cute, Rafaela mouths silently at me. I nod emphatically.

“I know, right?” I whisper back.

Rafaela clears her throat. “So, anyway, wanna hear something weird?”

“Of course. You know I do,” I laugh.

“Well, I mean, I guess it’s not really funny. It’s sad, actually. But it is definitely super weird, too. So, you know how my cousin Alejandro is a vet tech? Well, yesterday he told me that his office has been getting, like, an abnormal amount of injured dogs. Like, way more than they usually get. Everyone in his office thinks there might be some kind of dog-fighting ring going down somewhere in the city. Isn’t that horrible?” she says, shaking her head as she eats another chip.

“Oh, wow. That is awful. Is there anyone looking into it? Cops? ASPCA?” I ask, concerned. I’m a huge animal lover despite the fact that my mom has never allowed pets in our household, and the idea of all these hurt dogs breaks my heart.

Rafaela shrugs. “I have no idea. I don’t know if they would even know how to help, honestly. The cops probably don’t care, and the ASPCA is so overworked already. They might not have the resources to do much of anything about it.”

“Well, Alejandro’s office probably has all the dogs’ information on file, right? That’s got to be a good start,” I suggest.

Before long, the topic moves away from this tragedy and we spend the next hour just catching up and talking about when we should meet up for a girls’ night out. We’re both so busy that we rarely get the chance to just relax and hang out like we did in college. I hope that when Rafaela graduates we’ll have more opportunities.

“Oh shit, I gotta head to the bar,” she says suddenly, looking at the digital time on her cell phone screen. “That shady dude Nico hired to help out on weekday afternoons has been really flaky about showing up for shifts lately. Nico’s too forgiving to fire him just yet, so take a wild guess who’s been picking up the slack?” She gestures toward herself with a sigh.

I giggle and give her a hug. “Tell Nico I said hi. It was really, really good to see you, Raf. I’ll come by the bar sometime this week to hang out. Text me.”

“I will, I will. Have a good day, chica. Hasta luego.”

“Hasta luego,” I call as she walks out the door.

Moments later, Bruno comes out of the back room with a stormy expression on his handsome face, and I know he’s heard our conversation. Something is bothering him, and I have a feeling I know what it is.

“The dog fights,” I murmur, biting my lip. He nods.

“Yes. It’s pretty damn low, even for the Cleaners. Must be those East Harlem boys.”

“I wonder what to do. I wish I could help somehow. I hate to think of those innocent dogs being abused for sport like that. Just horrible.”

“It’s inexcusable,” Bruno agrees, his voice low and gruff. There’s a flash of terrifying anger in his gorgeous green eyes. He puts his leather jacket back on and adds, “I’m going out. Can you hold down the fort today? You’ve made enough sales already, I’m sure, that you could close up shop and head home if you need to.”

I shake my head and reach out to take his hand. “I’ll be fine. But...will you be okay?”

He lifts my hand and kisses the back of it softly, sending a pleasurable shiver down my spine.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve just got some business to take care of. I’ll come back to you when the smoke has cleared,” Bruno assures me.

“Be careful,” I tell him, a pleading note in my voice.

He gives me a devilish smirk. “I can’t promise that, but I promise I will come back to you.”