The Crush (The Crush Series Book 1) by Ren Browne

Author:Ren Browne [Browne, Ren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ren Browne
Published: 2024-06-25T00:00:00+00:00

The Rosary

Dios te salve, María,

The first time he saw her was on Main Street in La Orilla. Walking out of Sunflower Cafe with a red ribbon in her curly brown hair. She was laughing, a smile so bright that her dimples shone in her cheeks, and his whole world tilted on its axis as it found a new orbit.

He stood still so long that by the time he started to chase her, he had to run nearly a block and a half before he caught up to her.

Llena eres de gracia,

The first time he held her hand was at the Plaza Theatre in Laredo. An accidental touch of fingers in the dark and sparkling eyes that found his own in the reflected light of the screen.

He quickly pulled his hand back, staring at the moving pictures and brushing his sweaty palms dry on his only pair of dress pants. He kept his eyes forward until he felt a small hand slip beneath his, their fingers interlocking.

el Señor es contigo.

The first time he kissed her was on a night that it rained, neither of them quite believing the forecast that called for light showers. Both of them willing to risk it for a moonlight stroll in secret.

They huddled underneath an old oak tree, one with roots deep enough to have survived years without a downpour. When her mouth met his, he was sure he could survive on her alone.

Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres,

The first time he told her he loved her, they were dancing under a starry sky, his truck parked nearby and the radio playing low enough that he could hear her sing.

She didn’t seem the least bit surprised, told him that she’d already known, had been thinking she loved him, too.

y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre, Jesús.

The first time he had her in his bed, he promised her how it all would be. How he would make something of himself and make her proud. She told him she already was.

He snuck her back out of the same window he used to sneak her in. That same red ribbon catching in the moonlight as they ran for his truck so she could make it home before the sun came up.

Santa María, Madre de Dios,

The first time he called her his wife was on her parents’ front lawn, her father’s fist an inch from his face as he called him every name in the book for stealing his only girl.

They couldn’t take her away anymore, pack her up like another one of their belongings as they fled for Houston and its water. Too tired to struggle through another year. Her father told him he’d regret it.

He knew he wouldn’t.

ruega por nosotros, pecadores,

The first time he saw her hold their son, his view was blurry with tears. A bright-eyed baby with his mother’s dark curls and his father’s stubborn will passed to him in a tiny blue blanket.

“Took you long enough, mijo,” he murmured. “Thought you were never going to get here.

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