Alan spent a mostly sleepless night after Diego left his house. He was reeling from the fact that Diego was in his life once again. When he left south Texas years ago, the taste of Diego’s kiss still on his lips, he knew that they would never see each other again. Diego was returning to his family’s home in Veracruz, and Alan was continuing his work with immigrants. A year later Alan fled to California leaving any chance of ever seeing Diego again far behind.

Now, against all odds, he tasted Diego’s kiss on his lips once more. It was the sensation of burning lust. When they met the first time, Alan spent more than an hour in the morning before they parted ways tracing the lines of Diego’s elaborate tattoos across his upper arms and torso. Whether he was asleep or not, Diego lay flat on his back breathing deeply with his eyes closed. The bed sheet was pushed down to just below Diego’s navel allowing Alan to indulge in an unforgettable sight.

The tattoos included skulls reminiscent of those displayed at Day of the Dead celebrations and a multitude of tropical flowers in colors ranging from royal blue to blazing orange. On Diego’s left pec, a small but intricate cityscape appeared with a port in the foreground. Alan assumed that it was Diego’s treasured Veracruz.

Infused with lingering fears of being caught as an innocent in the midst of a gunfight, the sex was edgy and steeped in powerful emotion. Diego held on tight for more than an hour before he drifted off to sleep. Alan’s ears rung all night long from the ballistic impact of the gunshots, but at least he had the warmth of Diego’s body to ease his fears.

As they hugged in the dining room of Auntie Erin’s house, Alan noticed an addition to the tattoo art on Diego’s body. It was one word that poked above the neckline of his open dress shirt. In a thin red script, it read, “Dreams.” He saw the beginning of another letter, so he knew that it was a phrase or perhaps an entire sentence. Alan couldn’t deny his curiosity about the statement, but he knew that asking to see it would set him on a dangerous road with Diego at his side.

Alan watched as Boomer slowly climbed the two-step structure pushed up against the foot of the bed. Alan built it to help the low-slung dog make his way onto the bed without having to leap a distance nearly three times his height.

As Alan reached out to rub between Boomer’s ears, he spoke out loud. “He’s back again. He wants me, too. How could that have happened? I’m looking for someone here in town. I’m looking for someone aiming for the long-term. I’m looking for the perfect guy.” Alan cringed when he saw in his mind the perfect man…with white skin.

Boomer traipsed across the bed and nuzzled up against Alan’s waist. With a mighty sigh, he rested his heavy jowls and long ears across Alan’s belly. “You don’t look concerned, Boomer.”

The dog raised the eyebrow of one eye, peered up toward Alan’s face, and then closed it again. Boomer was ready for sleep.

* * *

Upon arrival at his office the next morning, Alan made a beeline for the coffee machine. He brewed a quick mug and retreated to his office. He didn’t want to face anyone until the caffeine coaxed some energy into his thought patterns. Driving while drowsy was painful enough. He couldn’t face the full workday in the same state.

Alan’s notes on the contenders for the trucking contract were still laid out across his desk. He began rereading them, and he quickly realized that the deal belonged to Diego and M-Trak. Of course, the formality of reviewing expanded formal proposals was still ahead, but Alan already knew the best outcome. Hiring M-Trak would save Tar-Mor money, and he knew that Diego was hungry to expand the reach of his business. High performance was guaranteed.

The downside of awarding the contract was abundantly clear. A relationship between the two was out of the question. As soon as anyone knew, it would be an invitation to accusations of conflict of interest. It wasn’t clear that type of conflict would threaten Alan’s job, but he wasn’t ready to take the risk. He wanted to build a spotless reputation at Tar-Mor throughout his first year.

Alan called Elaine into his office. He asked, “Do you have any more details on these companies that you haven’t shared? I’m getting close to the decision on who merits submission of formal proposals.”

She said, “I’ve shared everything that I have. I don’t believe any of them have connections with the Tarrant family, so that isn’t a concern.”

Alan looked up. “If there was a connection, what would that mean?”

Elaine reached up and pushed her blonde hair up over her shoulder. She said, “I shouldn’t say this, but they do like to hire family members. There is a story that makes the rounds often about a supervisor like yourself that failed to hire a cousin when he applied for a position with Tar-Mor.”

“What happened?”

She lowered her eyes. “He was eventually run out of the company.”

“Fired?”

“He resigned.” She started to turn away.

“There’s more isn’t there?”

“He was run out of town, too.”

“Run out of town?”

“Mexican,” whispered the assistant. This time she bolted for the door. It was apparent that she didn’t want to say more, and she knew she already said plenty.

Alan remembered the conversation with Dak and Brody about immigrants. Alan didn’t know why the discussion surprised him. Low-level factory jobs in the meat packing industry brought thousands of Latino immigrants to the upper Midwest. Alan read numerous stories about the impact. In some places, deeply held biases tore communities apart.

He thought again about awarding the contract to M-Trak. If Elaine’s story was right, there were individuals within Tar-Mor that harbored prejudice against the local Latino population. It was possible they existed within the Tarrant family itself. It was an added complication to Alan’s contract decision.

He slowly sipped his coffee. The caffeine had its desired impact. As he grew more alert and awake, he was more determined to make the right decision and hire Diego and his company. He didn’t want to be a hero, but he didn’t to be part of unfair business practices either. He had principles to honor.

After spending the better part of his morning thinking about the trucking contract and speculating about the opinions of Tar-Mor executives on the growing local immigrant population, Alan attempted to focus on more mundane tasks. He had a pile of paperwork about routine shipments. Most of the contracts merely needed his signature before they could be sent on their way. Alan smiled when he completed the bulk of the contracts ten minutes before his lunch break.

Leaning back in his desk chair, Alan looked around his office. Diego was correct. It had the charm of institutional structures built out of cinder block. He needed to do something to fix the problem. Alan looked around and began making a list of furniture items and decorative materials that could provide some warmth. He knew there was a budget for building improvements. Alan decided to bump finding out more about it toward the top of his to-do list.

Alan stood up from his desk to leave for lunch when his phone buzzed on his desk. He answered. Elaine said, “Mr. Flores is calling. He would like to speak with you, but he said to mention that it isn’t urgent.”

With a frown on his face, Alan said, “Send the call through.” He was not interested in speaking with Diego, and he was concerned that a conversation would add wrinkles to the decision he made earlier in the morning. However, he didn’t have a good reason to reject the call.

Diego’s voice was cheerful. “Alan, I’m glad that I caught you in your office. I know you are busy. How are you today?”

Barely disguised emotion animated every one of Diego’s comments and actions. Although his voice was cheerful, it still possessed an edge. He sounded like he only needed one more positive comment or event, and that would send him pouncing gleefully upon whoever might be near.

Alan said, “I’m doing well. I didn’t sleep well last night, but I’ve had a productive morning. I won’t be making the official announcement until tomorrow morning, but you can start on your formal proposal.”

Alan braced himself. He wondered if that was the news that might cause Diego to pounce. He was right.

“That’s outstanding news,” said Diego. “I will get Rhea started on it right away. I had another reason for calling, and I wanted to thank you once again for your small-town hospitality inviting me into your home.”

Alan always felt like he was clinging to high ground and under attack by an overwhelming charm offensive when he faced Diego. Alan said, “It was my pleasure. I’m happy to be back in touch. You know I wondered whatever happened to you. I feared you might be caught by the guns again.”

“There aren’t nearly as many guns around here, but your country is heading that way, Alan. You should be aware. Everyone should be aware.”

“I understand. You said you had a reason for calling?”

Diego paused briefly before he said, “I would like to invite you to dinner. I would like to invite you up here to Red Wing if you have time. Leave the work behind, and let’s enjoy each other’s company.”

It was the suggestion Alan feared. He was happy that Diego was asking over the phone. He wasn’t sure that he could turn the offer down in person while staring into Diego’s face.

Alan said, “I’m sorry, Diego. I can’t.”

The voice turned sullen. “You can’t, or you won’t?”

“Let’s stick with business for now.”

“For now?” asked Diego.

Alan didn’t want Diego to believe the future was open, but he knew that he couldn’t predict how he would relate to Diego beyond the next time they saw each other. “For now,” said Alan. “I need to go to lunch. Thank you for calling, Diego.”

He ended the phone call abruptly. He didn’t give Diego time for a response. It was a rude action, and he worried that it might cost him the business deal. A promising morning was evolving into an unsure afternoon.

Alan was more pleased with the phone call he received during his lunch hour. He parked himself at a table in the corner of a small coffee shop in Zephyr aimlessly stabbing his fork at lettuce leaves as he consumed his lunch salad.

The phone buzzed, and he saw that it was an unknown number from Coldbrook Bend. Alan heard Brody’s friendly voice when he answered the call.

“Hi, Alan. I remembered you mentioned that you would like to get involved in the local community here in Coldbrook Bend.”

“Yes, I was hoping to do that. I’m not in a rush, and I wasn’t expecting it would happen quickly.”

“Well, I have an opportunity for you,” said Brody.

“An opportunity?”

“Yes, Coldbrook Bend has a town festival in mid-June. There’s a small parade and part of the event is a float competition. A judging panel compares the quality of the floats and gives out a trophy at the end of the parade. Judging is more a social event than anything else because we usually only have five to seven floats. Competition is hardly of the cutthroat variety.”

“Parade?” asked Alan.

“Yes, we have a few high school bands and local politicians. Anyway, my mom was the chair of the float judging committee. Everyone always thought the town librarian was fair and unbiased. So, I was asked if I would take her place now that she’s gone.”

“That’s outstanding, Brody. I’m sure you will do a great job.”

“Well, I was on the panel, too. The chairman doesn’t get a vote. He makes sure the process is fair. So we have an empty position on the judging panel. I thought that maybe…”