Having been only thirteen at the time, and him eight years my senior, I’d thought he was the most handsome boy I’d ever seen. I’d fallen in love with his accent and endearingly limited knowledge of English, and I couldn’t have embarrassed myself more by following him around our spacious Spanish Colonial home. Now, he followed me. One hand rested in his pants pocket, and the other held out a small red velvet box. “From your papa.”
