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Chapter 16: Dead Giveaway

  


  Chapter 16

  Dead Giveaway

  I slide the envelope open and pull out its

  contents. The pages are thick, expensive. Each one is meticulously printed,

  annotated in a familiar, slanted script. At first glance, it looks like some

  intelligence briefing.

  No. Worse.

  A collection of dating profiles, each one

  underlined, highlighted, dissected like it’s mission-critical.

  I recognize the handwriting immediately.

  Of course.

  Abuela’s always been sharp, intuitive. But this?

  This is next-level.

  I let the papers drift onto the coffee table,

  exhaling slowly. The scent of fresh coffee lingers, mingling with the old vinyl

  must. A scratchy jazz tune leaks from the jukebox, curling around the low hum

  of conversation. This place is my retreat. Neutral ground.

  Abuela doesn’t believe in neutral ground.

  “Ah,” I say, lifting an eyebrow. “So, Marisol and

  Margarita sugarcoated you into this, huh?”

  “No…” The guilty lilt in her voice carries about

  as much weight as a paper napkin.

  She twiddles her thumbs, her gaze dropping to her

  toes. She wiggles them against the floor.

  A dead giveaway.

  “Abuela.”

  She lifts her chin. “Pues… sí, they helped.” Her

  posture straightens—too deliberate. Another tell. She’s about to lie, one of

  those half-truths coated in just enough sincerity to be plausible.

  I drag a hand down my face and sink deeper into

  the couch.

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  Abuela leans forward, elbows on her knees, hands

  clasped like she’s laying out a battle plan. Her floral dress—bright,

  defiant—cuts through the dim lighting like a sunrise fighting through storm

  clouds.

  “Think of it like an RPG quest,” she says, voice

  rich with mischief. “You, mijo, are the hero. These dates? They’re side quests.

  Each one helps you build your team.”

  I blink. Hard. “What?”

  The sheer absurdity of it smacks me in the face.

  “So what, I’m supposed to grind XP by making

  small talk and splitting appetizers?”

  She claps once, delighted. “Exactly! Level up,

  Carlos. It’s time to grow into your potential.”

  A sharp, incredulous laugh escapes me. “You know

  this isn’t how it works, right? I’m not gonna score a rare drop or unlock a

  legendary weapon by... having dinner.”

  Her smirk sharpens. “Maybe not. But you might

  find an ally to boost your stats. Besides, your gear could use an upgrade.”

  I groan. “Thanks, Abuela,” I mutter. “I’ll keep

  that in mind next time I’m raiding.”

  Even my sarcasm doesn’t faze her.

  “And who knows…” she continues, eyes twinkling.

  “Maybe… you can, you know… pop some kids out. Maybe five, hopefully at the same

  time.”

  “Jesus…”

  Smack. A swift slap to the back of my head.

  “Deja a Jesusito out of this.”

  Across the room, the receptionist—red lips, retro

  waves, Old Hollywood glam wrapped in effortless boredom—hides her grin behind a

  nail file. But I see it.

  By the entrance, two mothers are cackling, their

  laughter sharp and bright, like exotic parrots chiming in on the spectacle.

  I sigh, long and suffering. “Fine. I’ll take on

  these side quests. But if I hit ‘Game Over,’ it’s on you.”

  Abuela beams. “Good. I knew you’d come around.”

  I glance around, searching for an escape,

  something to ground me in anything but this conversation. From the back room, a

  half-finished track drifts through the open doorway—soft, familiar, pulling at

  something deep in my chest. Music has always been my world, my anchor. Not…

  this.

  Abuela’s gaze doesn’t waver.

  I exhale, resigned. “You’re not letting me back

  out, are you?”

  “No, mijo.” Her voice gentles, slipping past my

  defenses. “I’m doing this because I love you. And because you deserve someone

  who builds you up, not someone who tears you down.”

  The words settle deep, heavier than I expect. I

  can’t argue. Not really. Beneath the ridiculous RPG metaphor, she’s right. It’s

  not about awkward first meetings or shared appetizers. It’s about something

  bigger. Something worth finding.

  I shift my gaze to the receptionist, who’s been

  watching the exchange with thinly veiled amusement.

  “What about you?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow.

  “Think you’re ready for a quest?”

  She pauses, tilts her head, considering. Then

  grins.

  “I’m good for now. But if you need a party

  member, I’ll consider it.”

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