Isaiah

“So this is her? This is the girl who put the smile back on your face?” Ma rises from her chair as I bring Maritza inside.

The doctor’s switched up her prescriptions a bit since her hospitalization last week and ever since then, she’s become a completely different person, almost a better version of her previous self—the woman she was before she got sick. Granted, she still has a few moments where she’ll be tired or achy, but we’ve improved leaps and bounds from where we were before.

Originally, I didn’t want to bring Maritza around Mom until Mom was feeling up for visitors … just didn’t know it’d be so soon.

“Mom, this is Maritza.” I give my girl’s hand a reassuring squeeze that she probably doesn’t need. She didn’t seem the slightest bit nervous on our drive over here. In fact, she was pretty excited. “Maritza, this is my mother, Alba.”

Maritza releases my hand and meets my mother more than halfway across the small living room. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” Ma says, eyes twinkling as she smiles. “I hear you’ll be joining us at Calista’s barbecue in a couple of weeks?”

Maritza nods. “Can’t wait. Isaiah says it’s your birthday?”

Ma’s brows rise and she swats her hand. “It’s a family barbecue that just so happens to be on my birthday. Honestly, I couldn’t even tell you how old I’ll be. I quit counting a long time ago. And Isaiah, can you believe Ian said he can’t make it? Said he’s traveling for work or something.”

“I can believe it. And you’ll be fifty-seven,” I remind her.

“Shhh, shh, sh.” Ma silences me, wagging her finger. “In my mind, I’m still thirty-five. Forever thirty-five.”

“We’re only as old as we feel, right?” Maritza asks.

“Right!” Ma cups her hands, laughing, and leads her to the sofa. “So have a seat. I want to hear how you two met.”

“He hasn’t told you?” she asks.

“No, he has.” Ma rolls her eyes. “But I have a feeling his version is a bit condensed. I want to hear your side of the story—the unabridged version. Women have more of a penchant for the important details, don’t you think?”

Maritza glances at me. “I’d have to agree.”

“All right. I’m all ears.” Ma leans in. “Tell me how my favorite son finally took my advice and found a nice, sweet girl to spend time with.”

I exchange smirks with Maritza from across the room as she starts from the top, when it all began with a stolen pancake and ends with a stolen heart.

When the story’s over, I kiss the top of Ma’s head. “Sorry to have to bail, but I’ve got something special planned for Maritza tonight.”

“You do?” Maritza asks. “You didn’t mention anything earlier …”

“It’s a surprise,” I say, taking her hand. “Bye, Ma.”

“Be good, you two.” Mom waves from her chair, and I take Maritza to my car.

“Okay, so where are you taking me?” She asks a minute later, fastening her seatbelt.

Starting the engine, I glance across the console at a wild-eyed girl with contagious excitement. I still struggle to believe she’s finally mine. And while I never would’ve believed she was my type, she’s somehow exactly what I need.

“I have it on good authority that there’s this little band you love having a jam session at the lead singer’s house in Malibu … and I also have it on good authority that we’ve been invited to sit in and watch.” And by invited, I mean … I called my brother-in-law who put me in touch with Case Malbec so I could explain how important it was that I give Maritza the Panoramic Sunrise experience she deserves.

“Shut. Up.” She reaches for my hand, squeezing it hard as she bounces in her seat. “You’re joking. Tell me this is a joke. I don’t believe you.”

I laugh. She’s so freaking cute when she’s all worked up. “It’s no joke. We’re going to Case Malbec’s place to watch the band write some new songs.”

And then just like that, her eyes begin to well with tears and she covers her face with her hands.

“Are you … are you crying?” I ask, yanking away one of her hands so I can see her face.

Thick tears slide down her cheeks and I can’t tell if she’s laughing or crying or both.

“Maritza, are you crying?” I ask again. “What’s wrong?”

Dabbing her wet cheeks on the backs of her hands, she peers at me through glassy, chocolate-colored eyes. “These are happy tears.”

Unfastening her seatbelt, she leans across the console, cups my face in her hands, and kisses me harder than she’s ever kissed me before.

“I’ve never been this happy in my life,” she says. “You make me so happy, Isaiah. You’re everything.”

There aren’t enough words in the English language to convey to her just how mutual those feelings are, so instead I kiss her back, slow and lingering, savoring her soft lips and relishing in the fact that this woman, this beautiful, sweet, loving soul … has a heart of gold that beats only for me.

She’s mine.

And I’m hers. God, am I hers.