Page 284 of Disarm
“Go crazy,hermoso.”
We do a slow circuit. The kitchen is tiny but perfect—a two-burner stove, a tiny oven, and a sink with a view of nothing but branches and sky. There’s a basket on the counter with a welcome note and some local coffee. The fridge hums quietly, empty and waiting.
I open the cabinet and find plates, bowls, and a cast-iron skillet. Everything is small, scaled for the space, like we’re miniature versions of ourselves in a dollhouse.
“Kitchen of my dreams,” I say. “Minus like, ten square feet and plus the risk of dropping a tortilla on the forest floor.”
Miguel snorts. “Gravity is a harsh mistress,” he says. “We’ll sacrifice to the raccoons if we have to.”
“Don’t joke about raccoons,” I say, even as I smile. “They’re little criminals with hands.”
“Okay, but imagine a raccoon trying to climb up the stairs to rob us,” he says. “You screaming, me trying to reason with it. Peak romance.”
I laugh, the sound coming out easier than I expect. “You know what’s not peak romance?” I say. “Bears.”
He raises an eyebrow. “There are no bears,” he says.
“You don’t know that,” I counter. “We’re in the trees. Near the ocean. California has bears.”
“Big Sur doesn’t really?—”
“There could be, like, one rogue bear,” I insist. “An outlier. A bear on sabbatical.”
Miguel gives me the look he reserves for when I’m spiraling about extremely specific unlikely scenarios. “Fine,” he says. “If a bear comes, we’ll give him a torta and ask him about his feelings.”
“DBT for bears,” I say. “Perfect.”
We climb the little staircase to the loft. The bed is huge, positioned so you can see the windows on two sides. The ceiling slopes down, with wood beams overhead. There are fairy lights strung along the railing and a skylight above the pillows, a square of open sky.
I put my hand on the railing and look down at the main floor. Miguel looks small from up here, even though he’s not. The trees outside feel close enough to touch.
My chest squeezes.
“Volume?” he calls up, gentle.
My fingers tighten on the wood. “Five,” I say. “But like… awe-five. Not panic-five.”
He nods slowly. “Okay,” he says. “You wanna come down or stay up there for a sec?”
I take a breath. In for four. Hold. Out for six. The way he taught me, the way Dr. K keeps repeating. The way my body remembers, even when my brain forgets everything else.
“I’m good,” I say. “Just… processing the fact that this exists. And that I’m in it. With you.”
The smile that creeps across his face could fix everything right now, soft and bright. “You earned it,” he says.
I roll my eyes, but the words land somewhere deep. “Life’s not a points system, remember?” I call down. “Your words.”
Shrugging while rolling his eyes. “Fine. You didn’t earn it, you just get it,” he says. “You chose to stay, we chose to book this. Cause and effect. Sit with me in my logic.”
I look up at the square of sky instead of down. Little flecks of dust drift in the light. It feels like some indie film bullshit. I kind of love it.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “I’m sitting.”
We stockthe kitchen like we’re moving in for a month instead of a long weekend. Miguel unloads the cooler while I put things away. Mom’s tortas go on the top shelf in a neat Tupperware stack. Fruit, yogurt, and a pack of tortillas in the door. Eggs in the little tray, a block of queso fresco, and some vegetables for the one token healthy meal we’ll pretend we’re going to cook.
“Hospitality basket, my ass,” Miguel mutters, holding up a tiny jar of jam. “We brought enough food to open a taquería up here.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I say, arranging spices Mom snuck in. “She packed cumin. Who brings cumin on vacation?”
