The rain had finally stopped and the smell of wet pavement hung in the air.
I sat in the kitchen, with a cup of chamomile tea between my hands as I fought to push thoughts of Petyr as far away from my mind as I could.
Welp! Ignoring him was definitely not an advisable thing to do. But I did not want him to feel it was okay speaking to me like that.
The doorbell rang suddenly, breaking my train of thoughts and cutting through the soft hum of the TV in the living room, where my parents were watching some old sitcom.
Mom called out, "Maria, can you get that? Probably Mrs. Torres with her empanadas again,"
I hoped off the stool, smoothing my hair as I crossed to the door.
When I pulled it open, my breath caught.
It was Petyr standing at the door, not Mrs. Torres.
What was he doing
