I crack two eggs into a pan. Pop some wheat bread in the toaster. As I’m pouring coffee, Diego walks into the kitchen and kisses me. He’s freshly showered and smells like my coconut soap. He’s back in his t-shirt-track pants combo but looks no less sexy than when he was wearing a suit in Miami. I kiss his cheek three times and feel his rough stubble against my lips.

“You smell like a piña colada,” I whisper, biting his neck playfully.

We kiss for a bit, standing near the stove. He puts his arms around me. “I could get used to this.”

“What? Breakfast, or me?”

“Both.” He kisses my forehead.

Our weekend in Miami was incredible, but something about being in my parents’ home, playing house for a morning, makes me grin from ear to ear. This is the way were supposed to be.

“Can I help?” he asks, hovering near the coffee maker.

“Are you kidding? Shoo. No. Go sit down. I’ll serve you at the table.”

Who is this woman? I never acted like this with any guy in New York that spent the night. I turn down the heat on the eggs and peer into the toaster.

Diego sits and checks his phone, which reminds me of something.

“I’m hoping we can get my email situation worked out today. I have lots to do. I checked my emails on my phone, and the server still seems to be down.”

A frown crinkles Diego’s forehead, and his dark eyebrows draw together. “I’ll make sure it’s fixed. Oh, and hey. Please don’t let me forget to double-check my car insurance today, okay? I switched carriers and need to make sure the direct deposit is coming out of my account.”

I set the coffee in front of him – black, as he likes it – and run my hand through his wet hair. It’s like we’re life partners now, sharing the adult details of our lives.

I love it.

“Oh!” I’m suddenly flustered. “Thanks. You made me remember something else. My mom told me to keep a lookout for a letter from the city. Taxes or something. She wanted me to send it to her. I haven’t gotten the mail in days. Be right back.”

I hustle outside to the curb and grab the fistful of crap that’s jammed in the mailbox. After I toss the mail on the kitchen counter, I slide Diego’s eggs onto a plate, remove the toast and butter it.

“You’re not eating?” he asks when I set the plate in front of him.

I shake my head and turn to the mail. “Just coffee for me this morning. Well, maybe I’ll have a bite of your toast –”

My words stop when I see a big, yellow manila envelope with my name on it. It’s in handwritten cursive, and I wonder what’s inside. Odd. I rarely get mail and haven’t received anything since I’ve been back in Florida. I mentally run through a list of people who know I’m back.

“What’s this?” I rip it open. There’s a single page inside.

I freeze.

It’s a photo of me on a thick, eight-by-ten piece of photo paper. One of the photos from high school. I had used the timer on my camera phone. The one where I’m on my knees on my bed, back to the camera. The one where I’m sweeping my hair up in my hands and where you can see my naked ass. It would be artistic, I suppose, if it was in black and white, or if my labia weren’t visible. Or if it wasn’t me.

“Diego…” I whisper. My mouth is suddenly parched. Bile and humiliation sear my stomach and bubble up my esophagus.

“What …”

I glance at him and notice that he’s gone pale. He snatches the photo out of my hands. Which are shaking. My whole body’s shaking.

He also grabs the envelope, turns it over and over.

“Who the fuck did this?” He opens the envelope and looks inside.

“Um, if I knew, I’d tell you,” I say, weakly. I take a few paces and slump into a chair. This is unreal. “I thought the photos were destroyed.”

Diego kneels at my feet, and I can’t help but eye him suspiciously. I hate myself for doing so, but it’s second nature. Of course he’s not behind this, but I also don’t know why the photo has surfaced now.

“Do you still have these photos?” I ask, my voice thick and dull.

“No.” He sounds pissed.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I deleted them six years ago.”

Sighing, I close my eyes. He takes my hands and threads his fingers through mine, then squeezes. But I don’t squeeze back. All of the energy, all of the positive vibes from the weekend, have left my body and I’m back to being a hollow shell. Someone who’s ashamed and self-doubting.

“Cata. Cata?”

I open my eyes and stare at Diego. His eyes narrow as he slaps the photo face down on the table next to me.

“We’re going to find out who sent this to you. Okay? We’re going to the police. This is harassment.”

I nod, weakly.

“And since this person knows where you live, you’re coming to stay with me.”

“No, I can’t. That’s not right. I don’t want to interfere with your life.”

Diego rises and pulls a chair next to me and sits. He smooths my hair.

“It is right. And you are my life. You’re not going to stay here alone. You can’t stay here. What if this person, this maniac,” Diego smacks his hand on the photo, “wants to threaten you in person? While you’re here alone?”

I sigh. He’s got a point.

“Unless you want to stay with your brother. That’s okay, too. I don’t want you here alone.”

My index finger goes to my mouth, and I chew on a hangnail. I remember how angry my brother was when the photos first circulated. The last thing I want to do is tell him that someone still has them and has sent one to me.

“No. I don’t want to stay with him. I’m ashamed to bring this up again to anyone in my family.”

“Then you’ll come to my house?”

I nod.

“Okay.” He exhales. “Let’s go pack a bag for you. Then we’ll call police.”

My entire body feels heavy as we walk to my room. “No.”

“No what?” We’re in my bedroom, and Diego folds his arms around me.

“I don’t want to call the cops. I remember when my dad called them six years ago, and that officer questioned me. He made me feel like a whore. No. I don’t want to relive that.”

“But Catalina, this is a threat. To you. What if it's that politician guy?”

“Let’s wait. Don’t you remember how the cops treated us back then? Christ, Diego, you could’ve been charged with possessing child pornography. Remember how the cop told you that if I wasn’t 18, he might have charged you?”

He pushes out a sigh and rakes a hand through his hair.

“I know. And I’ll always love your dad for talking to the cops and explaining our relationship. He saved me.”

He holds me tight. "It's okay. It's okay. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

I can't stop crying, and he won't stop holding me.