CHAPTER FIVE
ELISA
Luke’s neighborhood is old. The houses look like the 1950s. Little rectangular boxes, customized with decades of renovations. His new house is a small white bungalow with green shutters. A wild, untrimmed bougainvillea lurks under the bay window, awash in bright pink flowers.
I knock on the door.
“Hold on!” I hear the familiar voice call.
My tee shirt—which has a wider neck than I’m accustomed to thanks to Rocio’s expert advice—slithers off one shoulder, revealing the halter strap of my bathing suit top.
The door swings open, and Luke’s familiar face appears. The afternoon sun sets the silver hairs mixed into his shaggy brown mane sparkling. He’s wearing flip-flops and a pair of denim shorts, and his legs beneath are long and hairy with defined calf muscles.
He ha
