Agave Kiss

“How?” I demanded.

He understood what I was asking. “I measured your finger while you were asleep, before we left Texas.”

I was a little amazed I hadn’t woken up. But then, if it had been after rousing reunion sex, maybe it wasn’t so shocking after all. Holding my finger up to the moon, I admired the gleam of the stones . . . but also what it meant. Home. Belonging. A future. These were the things I’d wanted when I ran away from Kilmer’s cursed ground. People might never understand how a Southern girl like me ended up living in Mexico, but that didn’t matter. It was far enough away to be a fresh start.

“Why here?” I asked.

It was a lovely spot, but rather untraditional. Old Chance would’ve proposed over a romantic dinner in a trendy restaurant, maybe had the waiter deliver the ring on a silver platter. This was simple, heartfelt, and I preferred it, truth be told, but I wanted to understand his motivations. I needed to understand everything about him.

“Do you see the spot below us?” He pointed down the mountain, toward the lush valley below.

I nodded.

“You remember how I said I wanted to buy a house soon? That wasn’t exactly true.”

“You didn’t. Did you?” I craned my neck, wondering if there was a house I hadn’t seen. Surely Chance wouldn’t revert to his high-handed ways and purchase a home without letting me look the place over first. I bristled a little.

“Relax,” he said, smiling. “I did buy some land, outside the city. The property’s big enough to build whatever you’d like. There’s room for a pool and for Butch to roam. We can get more dogs. Maybe breed Chihuahuas.” He was kidding about the last thing. I hoped.

“Building is a huge undertaking. It just about drove me crazy putting the pawnshop back together.”

“That’s part of why I’m working so hard in my Spanish classes. I want to be able to help you deal with the workmen.” Help me, not control everything. “I figure we can find an architect, show him some styles we like, and choose from a couple different designs.”

This would end in my dream home, and this wasn’t so far from the pawnshop that it would make an awful commute. I could still do what I loved, then come home to a beautiful house and my handsome husband. “I can see if Armando is willing to take on the job as foreman.”

That was the same as saying yes. Chance brightened, as if he’d been a bit nervous about my reaction to the surprise. Then he kissed me. “I’ll bring you back during the day to walk the land with me. I know you’ll appreciate it as much as I do.”

“I’m sure. It will be nice to get out of the city. The noise is the only thing I don’t love.”

“I just want you to know . . . I can afford to look after you.” He held up a hand, forestalling my protest. “I realize you’re not looking for that, but if you ever decide you’ve had enough of the shop, we’ll do all right.”

“Well, I earned you a great deal of that seed money,” I reminded him.

“But the clever investments were all mine.”

“True.” Still, he was right; it felt good to know that I didn’t live on the ragged edge of disaster anymore. I had a safety net now—one I could trust—and Chance wanted me to marry him.

The wind swept over the agave blossoms, rippling the petals. Musky sweetness filled the air as Chance bent his head to kiss me. He tasted of sangria and summer, of past and future intertwined. I responded with all the love, all the passion in my soul. Maybe the future Twila had shown me would come to pass. Maybe not. Foretellings were mutable, written in water.

Life lay before us like the valley below—indistinct, wreathed in shadow, but dreamy with promise.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ann Aguirre is a national bestselling author with a degree in English Literature; before she began writing full time, she was a clown, a clerk, a voice actress, and a savior of stray kittens, not necessarily in that order. She grew up in a yellow house across from a cornfield, but now she lives in sunny Mexico with her husband, children, two cats, and one lazy dog.

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