Can't Help Love by Claudia Burgoa

Author:Claudia Burgoa [Burgoa, Claudia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Literally Alpaca Publications, LLC
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Sometimes I wish my parents weren’t so thrifty.

Mom’s eyes crinkle when she hears the three magic letters DIY.

Almost everything in my house is a product of her obsession and talent. I have nothing against crafts, gardens, or even tools. However, when it comes to moving from San Diego to Atlanta, we should have hired a moving company, not a U-Haul that my father drove across the country.

And here we are, in front of my new apartment building, looking at all the secondhand furniture Mom gathered during the summer from garage sales.

“How are we going to get all that upstairs?” I ask, wondering if there’s a moving company that might be willing to lend us a couple of guys to help.

Dad stretches, dusts his hands, and huffs. “I’m going to do this.”

I can’t help but laugh as I imagine us trying to pivot the couch just like Rachel, Chandler, and Ross. We just need to sketch it, and it’ll get done, right? Wrong. They should know better. It’s not like they don’t watch re-runs of that show every time they play them on television.

“We’re doomed. I might as well get used to sleeping on the floor,” I say dramatically.

“See, Ernesto, this is what happens when we leave our children with your mother. They watch too many telenovelas. When we go back home, Tiggy and Cee-Cee are going to be acting up just like Maia.”

“I’m going to start with these boxes,” Dad says. “Maia, keep an eye on the truck. Let’s go, mi vida.”

I watch my parents head toward the studio. At this pace, we’re never going to finish, are we? I try to figure out how to maximize time and minimize the effort when I hear a deep voice in which a magnetic force pulls me and stops my heart. “Is there something I can help you with?”

I pivot, startled. The adrenaline surging from the fright makes my voice come out strong when I say, “Where did you come from?”

I almost choke when I notice he’s not just any guy. He might be a god. Adonis? He’s freaking gorgeous. He’s better than a marble statue chiseled with diamond. High cheekbones, sharp jaw, plush lips. That face belongs to a model. I could stare into his blue-green eyes forever. A set of long dark eyelashes frame them. Mom always says that men are lucky. They usually have longer, thicker, and more beautiful natural lashes than women. I study him from the mussed, dark hair to his outfit. Black shirt and dark-washed jeans.

Where did he come from?

“Are you an owl?!” I exclaim.

He grins, and my knees go weak. “Why an owl?”

“Owls fly silently. They have specialized feathers that break up the air,” I answer, like a geek who has an unlimited bank of knowledge.

I’m sure he’s about to walk away. This guy doesn’t deal with girls like me—book-shy and smarter than your average college kid. I mean, he’s no ordinary guy. I doubt I’ll ever forget his eyes, the smoldering gaze, or the lips.

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