Mateo looked at the plate the waiter placed in front of him as though it belonged to someone else.
“You really don’t have to do this,” he said.
“I know.”
I pulled out the chair beside him.
“That’s why I’m doing it.”
Across the table, Camila was smiling again.
Not the practiced smile she had worn while greeting guests.
A real one.
That bothered me more than I expected.
Not because I disliked Mateo.
I barely knew him.
It bothered me because I realized I hadn’t seen that expression on my daughter’s face for most of her own birthday party.
The garden was full of people.
Business partners.
Family friends.
Neighbors.
Parents of children from Camila’s school.
People had arrived carrying expensive gifts wrapped in silver paper and ribbons.
Yet when the wind blew out the candles, almost everyone had turned away before Camila had even recovered from the disappointment.
Mateo hadn’t.
He had noticed.
Sometimes the person who notices tells you more than the person who arrives with the biggest present.
Camila pointed at his plate.
“You should eat.”
Mateo smiled.
“I will.”
“You always say that.”
I looked between them.
“Always?”
Camila froze.
Mateo lowered his eyes.
I leaned back.
“How well do you two know each other?”
Camila answered first.
“He delivers flowers.”
“I gathered that.”
“To our house sometimes.”
Mateo added quickly, “My aunt owns the shop.”
“How often is sometimes?”
Camila gave me the look children give their parents when they think a question is becoming an interrogation.
“Dad.”
“I’m asking.”
Mateo put down his fork.
“I’ve delivered here maybe six or seven times.”
“And you talked to Camila?”
“Usually for a minute.”
“About what?”
“Flowers.”
Camila sighed.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“You’re doing the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you make someone feel like they’re being interviewed for a job.”
Mateo tried not to smile.
I noticed.
“So there were conversations.”
Camila rolled her eyes.
“Yes. There were conversations.”
I looked at Mateo.
He met my eyes this time.
Nothing defensive.
Nothing arrogant.
Just cautious.
“I’m sorry if I crossed a line,” he said.
“You brought my daughter a flower.”
“One that fell out of the arrangement.”
“And apparently that mattered more than half the presents here.”
Camila touched the flower beside her cake.
“It did.”
I stopped asking questions.
For a while, we ate.
Or at least Mateo tried to.
Every time a waiter passed, he shifted his chair as though preparing to stand.
Finally I asked, “Are you expecting someone?”
“No.”
“Then why do you keep looking toward the gate?”
He hesitated.
“I should probably go.”
Camila’s smile vanished again.
“You just got here.”
“I was supposed to finish the delivery and get back.”
“To the flower shop?”
He nodded.
I checked my watch.
“Call them.”
Mateo looked uncomfortable.
“It’s not that simple.”
Camila knew something.
I could tell from her face.
“What isn’t simple?” I asked.
“Dad, leave it.”
Mateo stood.
“Thank you for the food.”
Camila stood too.
“Mateo.”
“I’ll see you another time.”
“When?”
He didn’t answer.
That was when I realized this wasn’t about returning to work.
“Sit down,” I said.
He looked at me.
“I’m not ordering you.”
I nodded toward the chair.
“I’m asking you to stay long enough to tell her why you’re leaving after she just wished you wouldn’t.”
Camila looked embarrassed.
But she didn’t object.
Mateo slowly sat.
The party continued around us.
Music played.
Someone laughed near the fountain.
A waiter carried away empty glasses.
But at our end of the table, everything had changed.
Mateo looked at Camila.
“My aunt is closing the shop.”
“When?” she asked.
“Next week.”
Her face fell.
“You never told me.”
“I found out yesterday.”
“Why?”
“Business has been bad.”
Camila sat down again.
“So what happens to you?”
“I find something else.”
“Here?”
Another silence.
“Mateo?”
“Probably not.”
She stared at him.
“Where are you going?”
“My uncle lives two states away. He said I can work with him.”
“When?”
