8
Fina stared at the number on her screen, her pulse kicking up a notch.
Good. So far, so good. She hasn’t run yet.
She exhaled slowly, willing herself to stay calm, but the rush of exhilaration bubbling inside her made it impossible to sit still. Be cool, Valero. Be cool.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before she fired off a message.
Damn. And here I was thinking I’d have to beg.
The reply came faster than she expected.
Don't get used to it. I just got tired of you sulking in my DMs.
Fina let out a short laugh, shaking her head.
Sulking? Please. I was being patient. There’s a difference.
Mmm, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.
Oh, I sleep just fine. It's you who’s still awake texting me past midnight.
She hit send, grinning at the thought of Marta rolling her eyes. The conversation flowed effortlessly, the teasing a perfect back-and-forth. But there was something else under the surface now, something unspoken but present—an awareness, an anticipation that hadn’t been there before.
Then, Marta asked, almost offhandedly, how Fina had gotten into music.
Fina hesitated. Most people didn’t ask about that. They saw the performances, the band, the finished product—but they never really asked why.
Honestly? My abuelo taught me to play guitar when I was little. I’d sit on the floor by his chair, and he’d let me strum while he played the chords. I was awful at first, but he said the best things in life take time.
A pause, then—
He sounds like a wise man.
The wisest. He used to tell me that music was the best way to tell the truth. That if you couldn’t say something out loud, you could sing it instead. I think that’s why I write songs. Helps me make sense of things.
Another pause. Then—
I like that.
It was simple, but Fina felt it like a weight in her chest.
And then Marta gave her something in return—small details, tiny cracks in that polished, put-together exterior. A stressful meeting. A brother who was a pain in the ass. The ridiculous amount of espresso she consumed daily.
Fina had suspected Marta’s life was different from hers, but she hadn’t realized just how different. She wasn’t just working some high-powered corporate job—her family owned the company. It was a legacy, a birthright, and one her older brother, Jesús, believed should be his alone.
So, what, he just thinks you’re not capable? Fina asked, frowning at the text on her screen.
Not capable enough, at least. He doesn’t say it outright, but it’s there. He’s always waiting for me to slip up. To prove him right.
Sounds exhausting.
It is. But I knew what I was getting into. I wanted this.
Fina bit her lip. She admired that, the sheer determination in those words. But she also caught the other thing Marta had let slip—about her younger brother.
And what about the other one? You said you had two?
Oh. Andres? He’s… a mess. But a lovable one. Useless when it comes to business, but he has a good heart.
The family disappointment?
More like the family golden retriever.
That made Fina laugh, the mental image too easy to conjure.
She glanced at the clock and blinked. 5 AM?
They’d been texting for hours.
A thought formed in the back of her mind, and at first, she dismissed it. Too soon, Valero. Don’t push your luck.
But then— screw it.
Look at the time. Damn, I kept you up all night. You probably need to get ready for work, huh?
The reply came almost immediately.
Actually, I have a rare day off.
Fina sat up, heart thudding. This is your chance.
She hesitated for half a second before typing out her next message.
In that case… Can I take you out for breakfast?