Chapter 2

I walked into my favorite coffee shop and took a deep breath. Ah, coffee and baked goods. A most heavenly aroma. The large windows in the front of the shop let in plenty of sunlight. There were several small tables that could easily be pushed together. A pair of small sofas sat facing each other in one corner, with a low coffee table between them.

I scanned the café, finally spotting my sister, Isabella, sitting at a small table in the corner. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail and her makeup was perfectly applied. She hardly looked like the mother of two young children. She'd asked me to meet her here before I went to my job as assistant manager at Moonlight Inn, a small boutique hotel on the Jersey Shore. Since it was ten-thirty in the morning, the early-morning coffee zombies were long gone, and the place wasn't that busy.

I went to the counter to put in my order, then went over to Isabella. Kissing her cheek, I said, "Good morning, hermana. I'm surprised you don't have the kids with you."

"It's Saturday," she replied. "Carlos is home. He's watching them."

I was pretty sure my eyebrows blended with my hairline. "Carlos is watching them," I said in disbelief. Isabella's husband never took care of his four-year-old son and two-year-old daughter unless he absolutely had to, even on the weekends. He maintained that watching the children was "women's work" or some macho bullshit. His job was to work and bring home the money. Isabella's job was to take care of the children and the house. Never mind that her job was twenty-four-seven, and he got to stop working at six.

My sister scowled. "Don't look so surprised. They're his children too."

I put my hands on my hips. "Are you seriously getting mad at me about being surprised?" I asked. "The last time you asked him to watch his children, he spent half an hour going on about how much he works and it's your job to find someone to watch your kids."

She looked like she was about to argue with me, but we were interrupted by the barista calling my name. I picked up my coffee and croissant and went to sit at the table with my sister. I took off my jacket and then sipped the delicious coffee. "So, what's up? You said you wanted to talk to me."

Isabella didn't answer right away. She picked nervously at her pastry before taking a deep breath and blowing it out. "Diego got into my makeup yesterday. He put on lipstick and tried to put on eyeliner. He said he wanted to look like Uncle Miguel."

My first instinct was to laugh. Four-year-olds were cute as hell. It felt good that Diego loved me and wanted to be like me. But the look on my sister's face didn't bode well for this conversation. "Okay," I replied cautiously. "And did you wash it off him and tell him not to take your stuff without asking?"

Isabella blinked like that had never occurred to her. "No." She paused, biting her bottom lip. "We think it's not a good idea for you to watch the children looking like that," she continued, gesturing vaguely at my face.

I was stunned speechless, caught between rage and grief. I stared at my older sister, my eyes burning. I clenched my jaw and finally spoke through the constriction in my throat. "Looking like what, Isabella?"

"Miguel," she said softly. "You know what I mean."

Rage won out. "No, I don't think I do," I ground out. "Explain it to me like I'm five."

"Miguel," she hissed. "You're making a scene."

I caught the glances of the few patrons in the café before they quickly looked away from me. I put my hand on my chest in mock horror. "Oh, I'm so sorry," I said acerbically. "How dare I get upset that my sister has told me I'm not good enough to watch her children because I wear eyeliner."

She tugged on her long black hair. "Carlos was very upset. He went on about it for an hour."

"Oh, now I get it," I sneered. "Macho Man Carlos lost his shit because his four-year-old son got into some makeup, so, of course, that's going to turn him gay."

"Stop it," she said sharply.

"No, I won't stop it. It took me too long to be comfortable with myself to let you or your neanderthal husband tell me what to do." I pointed at her. "You should know better. You were there. You know what I went through."

People were outright staring now. Isabella's cheeks were bright red with embarrassment. "Everyone is watching," she whisper-hissed.

My stomach was churning. I pushed my croissant away and stood. "How exactly did you think this conversation was going to go? Did you really think I would just roll over and do whatever your husband wanted?" I put on my jacket. "I have to go to work now. Thanks for that, by the way."

"Miguel…" There were tears in her eyes. I couldn't bring myself to care.

"Good luck finding another free babysitter."

A blast of cold March air greeted me as I hurried out the door. The drive to Moonlight Inn was a blur—literally. I refused to cry in front of my sister, but I couldn't stop my tears once I was in the privacy of my car. My heart hurt because I loved my niece and nephew so much, and I wondered if I would ever see them again. I wouldn't put it past Carlos to keep the children from going to family events where I was present. I was so angry with Isabella for going along with him. I'd really thought she had my back.

When I got to the hotel parking lot, I sat in my car for a few minutes to calm down before I went inside. I hurriedly dried my face before I got out, hoping I wouldn't run into anyone before I could make it to my office. Apparently, the luck of the Irish had been used up the night before. I heard someone call my name as soon as I walked into the small lobby.

"Miguel. Thank goodness you're here," Carrie, the brunch hostess, said as she hurried over to me.

"What's wrong," I asked.

"Zach said the bar is seriously understocked after last night," she replied. "The delivery that was supposed to come this morning never showed up. There won't be enough to get through brunch."

I squeezed my eyes shut. I could not curse the heavens at work. St. Patrick's Day was one of the busiest nights for the bar at Moonlight Inn. Probably because the owner, Sean O'Neil, was one hundred percent Irish. It was one of the few nights of the year he worked the bar. I knew he'd ordered an alcohol delivery for this morning because I was there when he made it. I needed this like a hole in the head. "All right, I'll check in with Zach and see what he needs."

I made my way to the back of the old Victorian mansion turned inn. I loved working at this boutique hotel much better than my previous one. Moonlight Inn had an atmosphere that put you at ease the moment you walked in the door. The cream-colored walls with their ornate crown moldings were beautifully set off by plush, dark-blue carpeting throughout the public spaces.

My favorite space was the dining room. The whole building had been restored by Mr. O'Neil's father about fifteen years before, but they seemed to have paid special attention to the dining room. It was almost like stepping backward in time. From the mahogany moldings to the leaded glass windows that graced the half-hex alcove that housed the ebony grand piano, the room itself was a work of art. It sometimes made me wish I was a server, just so I could spend more time there.

The small bar was at the far end of the dining room and could be closed off with a wall made from folding French doors when the main dining area wasn't in use. I heard Zach before I saw him. He was muttering to himself and moving bottles around on the shelves behind the bar. I paused to admire the view. The man was beautifully muscled but not gym-honed. I knew he worked full-time as a mechanic, so those were muscles made by hard work. He was also in the Army National Guard, so he probably did a lot to keep himself fit. A couple of tattoos peeked out from under the short sleeves of his Moonlight Inn polo, but since I had never seen him in a sleeveless shirt, I didn't know what they were. My eyes drifted down to his very fine ass encased in a pair of dark-blue chinos. Why, oh why, did he have to be straight?

He must have seen me coming in the mirror behind the bar because he turned around and said, "Hey, Miguel. I guess Carrie told you the good news."

"Yeah, she told me," I replied. "I'll probably have to go local and pick up what we're short." I sighed. "Which means I'll have to call Mr. O'Neil on his day off."

Zach grunted. "We should find a new distributor. This isn't the first time they've missed a delivery."

I nodded. "I'll suggest it when I talk to him. For now, let's make a list."

I sat on a stool at the bar while Zach went through our meager inventory. I winced at the final tally. Mr. O'Neil would not be happy about having to pay retail prices for that much alcohol. I sighed. This day just kept getting better and better.

I was about to leave when Zach put his large hand over mine. Startled, I looked up to see him frowning at me with concern. "Are you okay?" he asked. "You don't seem like your usual self this morning."

I blinked in surprise and my stupid eyes started to burn. Damn him for being so observant. "I had a rough morning before I got here," I said quietly. I shook my head. "I thought I was doing a pretty good job hiding it."

Zach brushed his thumb briefly under my eye. "I noticed because your eyeliner is smudged, and it looks like you've been crying."

I froze for a second. The whole time I'd known him, Zach had never touched me. He was always reserved, almost shy in his interactions with me. I thought the makeup confused him. Now, he was acting like a man wearing makeup was no big deal. And he paid enough attention to me to notice when I wasn't acting like myself. I swallowed hard, trying to hold back the stupid, stupid tears. "Well, shit."

"Do you want to talk about it," he asked gently. He smiled crookedly. "My sister says I'm a pretty good listener."

Did I want to talk about it? Normally, I would call my bestie, Albert. But he'd been up late last night doing a drag show, and he'd still be in bed. Liam was probably still sleeping after banging his hot Navy SEAL. But damn it, I needed to vent to someone if I was going to make it through the rest of the day. "Okay, but I'm going to need tissues."

Zach leaned down and reached under the bar, coming up with a box of tissues and a small mirror on a stand. "That way, you can fix your eyeliner when you're done," he said.

Why the hell did this man have to be straight?