I’m making coffee in the kitchen when I hear an insistent banging at the door. I open my mouth to yell for my mom to get it, but in my half-asleep morning daze, I remember that she was gone. She’d popped her head into my room and woke me up an hour before, telling me that she was leaving to work on taxes or something. I immediately fell back asleep for a while because I’d had a sleepless night, thinking of Diego.

“One second,” I holler. Crap. The knocking comes again, sharp and loud.

“Hold on!” I run to the front door and fling it open.

Crap. The reason why I didn’t get much sleep is standing there, looking seriously stunning in a pair of jeans and a tight red T-shirt that shows off his bronze skin. He’s wearing those blue and white sandals I hate, though, and I try to concentrate on those instead of his sexy, warm brown eyes.

“Diego.” I step back, half behind the door because I’m wearing a thin, long-sleeved cotton shirt that’s white and practically see through, and pink pajama pants.

With black cartoon sheep.

He grins and walks inside. “Cute pants.”

“Come on in. Make yourself at home,” I say, crossly.

“Is that coffee? Smells great.” He saunters toward the kitchen.

I roll my eyes and try not to grin as I shut the door. Diego can be totally oblivious to social cues sometimes. Or he’s trying to tease me. I’m going with the former, though. The latter is too complicated to consider this early in the morning.

“I’m on my way to the mainland and thought I’d stop by,” he says, hovering by the coffee pot.

I blink a few times at him. “Oh. Just in the neighborhood, hmm?”

He laughs. “Yeah.”

I drum my fingers on the counter. “Maybe I’ve forgotten my Florida geography, but isn’t my house on the west end of the island, and you need to go east to get off the island?”

“You always were better at directions than me,” he murmurs.

I sigh. “So, what are you doing—”

He interrupts. “Listen. I couldn’t get you out of my mind last night. I wanted to come by and say hi.”

I’m not sure how to take this. Part of me is doing cartwheels. The other part wonders if he’s only looking to get laid. Wait. Maybe there are no bad options here. I turn to the cupboard and take out two mugs.

“Do you still take your coffee light and sweet?”

He laughs. It was a joke with us. Light and sweet, just like you, he’d say.

I nod and open a cabinet. Then another.

“Since my dad died, my mother’s changed where everything is. The sugar used to be in here…” I move some bottles and cups around reach for the sugar bowl on the second shelf. It’s empty. I look again and see a big bag of sugar on the top shelf.

I’m stretching on my tiptoes to reach it when I feel the warmth of Diego’s body behind me. I freeze.

“Let me, shorty."

His front is pressing against my back, and then he shifts, so he’s totally behind me. I ease myself on to my heels, brushing against him slowly. He reaches up and I catch a whiff of his soap, which reminds me of sun and beaches and kisses. My heart slams around my chest.

With a fluid move, he sets the sugar on the counter. But he's not stepping away, and we stay like that for a few tantalizing seconds. Slowly, he puts one palm flat on the granite counter, then the other, caging me with his arms. Without thinking, I reach out, tracing his index finger with my own. My other hand finds his and covers it. We interlace our fingers, and I can feel his cheek against my head.

“Do you want me to leave? Just say you do and I will.”

I shake my head no. I don’t want him to leave. Or move. I want to stay like this all day, trapped between his body and the counter, feeling the familiar heat from his body on mine. Can I really sense his heartbeat vibrating from his chest to my back? Or is that me?

I don’t have much room, but I wriggle around to face him and rest the heels of my hands on the counter. I’m too tempted to rip his clothes off, so I need to hold on to something, anything, else.

We lock eyes, and I’m scared of what’s coming next.

“Do you want to leave?” I whisper.

He licks his lips and scowls a little. “God, no.”

I tilt my head up, seeking his lips and feeling his breath on my face. He smells like mint and soap and being so close to him slams my senses with a bittersweet lust.

He dips his head to kiss me, and I don’t protest. Can’t. His lips are too familiar and too full, and my entire body sparkles from the feel of his mouth. As he softly devours my kiss, his hands slide to my waist and squeeze hard enough that a charge shoots through my body. There’s no point in denying that he’s what I want.

When he pulls back, I shudder in a breath and lower my head, unable to look into his giant brown eyes. My nipples are poking through my white shirt, and I watch his hand rake up my body, then I gasp as his thumb brushes my breast. Slowly circling the hard nub of my nipple with his thumb, I notice that his chest is rising and falling fast, too.

My body’s coming alive for what seems like the first time in so long.

I frown because I’m not sure whether to cry out of pleasure or confusion. This, us, is complicated. And now we’re making out in my kitchen like we used to in high school only now we have the perspective of six years of being apart.

With his other hand, he tilts my chin up, then kisses me again. I’m still frowning as he kisses me, frowning and whimpering because it feels so incredible.

Now his hand is cupping my breast, and his other is splayed on my neck and jaw, angling my face to his. His grip is commanding, possessive, while his mouth is all liquid softness and I dissolve into him. I pull back to catch my breath. He seems way more confident in how he’s touching me, and I wonder if he’s been with a lot of girls since me.

The thought makes me want to sob.

“I came over just for that,” he whispers. His voice is low and only a little rough, like fine sand. “To kiss you.”

I spread my hands on his chest and run them slowly upward, over his collarbone, up his neck, until I cradle his face. “Again. Do it again.”

He does, and now there’s no softness. There's only our tongues and our need. Our teeth even strike each other’s awkwardly because we’re kissing so hard. Like when we first got together. But then it was because of inexperience. Now it’s because of pure, impatient, craving.

His hand is resting on my collarbone – why do his hands feel so big – and it’s slipping my shirt aside, so one shoulder is exposed. He clasps my ponytail and tugs my head hard, exposing my neck. He stops kissing me.

“I’ve always loved this part of your body,” he murmurs. I know what’s coming next: the feel of his mouth on my neck, starting below my ear. His teeth raking on my skin. The sting of the bites, followed by the soft, soothing kisses.

“And your platinum hair.”

I moan his name when he undoes my ponytail.

Tugging his head roughly back toward mine, I wrap my arms around his neck, and we’re tight together, and I’m thinking about whether we’re going to do it here in the kitchen or if we’ll actually make it to my bedroom when I hear the front door slam shut.

“Crap,” I mutter, wriggling out of Diego’s arms, trying to sweep my hair up and tie it in a knot, so it’s not so obvious I’m getting it on in my mother’s kitchen with my high school boyfriend.

“Mom? Scott?” I call out.

“Hi, sweetheart.” My mom’s tired voice echoes through the house. I run my fingers over my lips as if I can wipe away the kiss-stung redness. This is going to be really awkward. My mom hasn’t seen or talked to Diego in years. She had been so disappointed in him – in us – when we took the photos. My whole body tenses as I hear her footsteps on the hard wood floor of our house.

“Cat, I stopped by the store and bought you…oh!” Mom’s in the kitchen now, and she sets a reusable grocery bag filled with stuff on the kitchen table. “Diego. Hello.”

Diego walks over to her and gives her a hug. I’m leaning against the counter, watching them, and for a second, it seems like six years hasn’t passed. They’re totally comfortable with each other.

Hold on. Why are they so comfortable with each other?

“Diego, I meant to thank you again for calling that plumber last month. I’ve been so in my own world that I haven’t been myself. Grief does that, y’know.”

I narrow my eyes. What’s going on here?

“No worries, Mrs. Richardson. Call me anytime you need anything like that, okay?” Diego looks sheepish, then turns quickly to me. “Cata, I need to get going to Fort Myers. Can I, um, get your number? I’ll text you later. I’d like to, uh, talk to you about something.”

I’m gaping at him. I seem to be doing a lot of that in his presence. I look to my mom as if to get some kind of disapproval or some warning. She smiles beatifically.

“Um, sure.” I rattle off my number and Diego taps on his phone.

“We'll get coffee another time.” He steps toward me and gives me a kiss on the cheek. I can’t seem to move any part of my body except for my eyes, which look left, then right, then left again, as if they’re searching for someone to clue me in about what’s happening.

I watch Diego squeeze my mom’s shoulder and stride out of the kitchen. I stare at my mom hard until I hear the front door shut.

“Okay. What’s going on here? I feel like you haven’t told me something. Something about Diego.”

My mom takes a jug of milk out of the shopping bag and sighs. “Diego’s been helping me out financially. Helping us out, actually.”

“What? Why?” I yelp. Now I’m thoroughly baffled. “Since when?”

“Since your father died.”

I sink into a chair at the kitchen table and put my head in my hands. “Why?” I mumble.

“Honey, your father left us in a lot of debt.”

I lift my head. “I know that. But why is Diego helping us? You?”

“He’s also helped Scott. Loaned him some money for the restaurant.”

“What?” I shriek. “When did all this happen and why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“We all kind of thought we would, eventually, when you came home for a visit. But you got laid off sooner, and I haven’t found the right time to tell you. We weren’t sure how you would feel.”

I can’t believe these people. My family is taking money from Diego. A man that I once loved. On some level, it makes sense. But since my family is in debt because of me and my school tuition, it also makes me profoundly ashamed.

I should be the one helping my family financially. Not Diego.

“Okay. Let’s back up.” I’m now talking to mom in a clipped tone like she’s a child. “I understand we need money. But how did Diego come into the picture?”

My mom sat next to me and chewed on her bottom lip. She rearranged a napkin holder and straightened a pile of mail. “He called me when he heard about your father. He was away at some gamer convention.”

I nod, slowly, wondering why he didn’t try calling me first. I’m about to ask that question when my mom continues.

“Your father’s life insurance policy had lapsed before he died, and none of us knew.”

I exhale and shut my eyes. My family’s situation is obviously worse than I thought.

“So Diego insisted that he pay for your father’s funeral. He said he’s making so much that it’s nothing to him to help. He sent us the money when he was in Hong Kong.”

I shake my head. Mutter a swear word under my breath.

“Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“Scott and I thought it best not to at the time. You were too upset about Dad. And Diego wanted to be the one to tell you.”

I force my eyes open. “I don’t know how to feel about this.”

“I know, sweetheart. None of us do. We’re all adrift. But Diego wanted to help, and thank God he has. I think it’s his way of saying sorry one more time to your dad.”

Unable to listen to any more, I burst into tears and run into my room. Just like a stupid teenager.