Page 110 of The Replay

"I'll go make us some coffee," I say.

He nods and, without a word, taps his lips, asking me for a kiss.

I smirk and roll my eyes, but I give him a quick kiss anyway.

If I'm honest, staying with Dom has been wonderful. It's a relief to come home to him in the evening. During those short hours before sleep, we eat and chat about our day, we relax on the couch, and keep things in bed simple to protect his knee. It's very coupley. It feels nice. I'm soaking it in. I may never get a chance to build this kind of domesticity with someone again, and the fantasy of a lifetime of moments like this is too tempting.

It's so tempting, in fact, that I need to set another deadline. I'll leave Dom's place the morning of the Partners' Party, before leaving with my family in the evening for our holiday trip. It will be a good bookend to this reverie at Dom's place. But until then, I'll make the most out of it. Just like I'll make the most out of this situationship with Dom, and the friendship that's been building between his friends and me.

I walk into the kitchen, running my morning plans through my head. Pen and I need to check in about the Partners' Party fundraiser status, before I meet with Selena about the gala. I'll definitely need coffee through all of it. I grab two travel mugs from the cupboard. It's when I turn to the coffee machine that I see the fridge is open, and Dom's mom stares at me dumbfounded.

I swallow a scream. It comes out as a strangled cry.

The kitchen blurs. Dom's mom stands at the sharp end of my tunnel vision, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide. I'm frozen, barely aware that I mirror her gesture, but worse. We watch each other for several seconds. Our tasks remain disrupted, her with her hands still deep in the fridge, and mine holding metal cups.

She's the first one to recover. She defrosts all at once, with an inner warmth that reminds me of her son. Her eyes sparkle. An understanding slant takes over her mouth.

Her voice carries the same steel I remember, and the same accent as back then. "I suppose it was foolish of me to think that he wouldn't have anyone to take care of him. But the real shocker is that it's you, Mariana. It's been a long time."

I blink and take a quick inhale. To my ears, it sounds a little bit like a gasp.

"Señora! Hola." I swallow. "Buenos días."

I hold on to the mug handles so hard, my nails manage to dig into my palms. My stomach swirls, hard, and I'm thankful that I haven't had more than water so far in the day.

So we didn't get to keep this private from our parents after all. And it's Dom's mom that found out first, by accident, and what on earth can I say? What will she think? What if she starts scolding Dom— not that he would break this off because she doesn't approve— she never really liked me and it didn't change anything— but it can't be easy…

"I apologize for the intrusion," she says. "He never has people here at home, and I got used to just barging in without notice. It won't happen again."

"No, no. Please. I'm just… visiting."

I cringe. She smirks.

I've always been a terrible liar.

"I'm working with the Strike," I add. "Since he's injured, I thought maybe I could… help…"

"That is very kind of you." She closes the fridge and gives me a knowing look. "We tried to come back earlier but couldn't…"

"Mari," Dom's voice comes from the hall. "You forgot your bag in the bedroom."

He hobbles into the kitchen, my purse hanging from his wrist, but stops midway when he notices my face. One, two seconds of his eyes reading my face, before he and I turn to gaze at his mom at the same time.

"Mom! You're supposed to be in Guanajuato for another five days."

She raises both eyebrows. "Your grandmother and I decided to come back early. You're injured. I know there's not much we can do, but we could at least keep you fed. We wanted to be around in case you needed anything else."

"That's… sweet." He drops my bag on a stool by the kitchen island, shuffles to her, and gives her a hug. "I told you I'd be fine."

"I can see that now, but I thought you were being stubborn." She purses her lips, a tinge of humor hidden in the gesture. "We were going to surprise you. I brought some pozole your abuela made for you."

"Thank you, Mom. I'll call her later." He steals a glance my way. "Can I— Can we— Do you want something to drink?"

The travel mugs have turned to lead, and they weigh down my hands until they rest listless at my sides. Dom's question kicks me into gear again, and I leave the mugs on the kitchen island.

"I can make coffee for all of us," I say. "Or I can give you privacy?"

I definitely could take my bag and leave early, grab some coffee on the way, and panic quietly in my office. I'm not sure why I need to panic, but it feels like I need to panic. I wring my hands and wait for her answer.