“Are you drunk, Max?”

“I’m getting there. And what about you? Why aren’t you blasted? You’ve never even drunk before, and here you are, all composed.”

“I’m pacing myself. That, and I’m superhuman.”

“Can you grab me another beer? You can carry me home, Catwoman.”

“Back to La Jolla, on my shoulders.”

Max smiles goofily. I smile back at him. The lightness is back. Max resurrected it from the dead. He’s got a gift.

I have a quick pee, grab Max a beer, and find myself wanting to return to him after only a few short minutes apart. I think I’m getting a little too attached. Will is going to be here soon, and this fairy tale will come to an abrupt end. I should gird myself for that reality, but instead, realizing how limited our time is together, I want to ask him a million questions. I want to spend what little time we have left together lying in the hammock. I head back outside, toward Max. I’m going to have to fit a lifetime into the next few minutes. Unfortunately, when I get back to the hammock, Max is passed out. The little girl and the gecko are gone. Max looks too beautiful, sleeping peacefully, slowly swinging back and forth in the breeze, to wake him. I gingerly climb into the hammock, slide in beside him, and stare up at the darkening sky, wishing we had more time, wishing this wasn’t the end but the beginning. But what’s the point of that?

I must have drifted off, because the next thing I know, I see a man leaning over Max, planting a kiss on his lips.

Before I can react, Max opens his eyes, screams, “What the—?” bolts upright, and knocks us both out of the hammock and onto the ground.

“Hey, guys!”

We look up to see Will standing above us waving and laughing. He’s wearing…overalls? Striped denim overalls? Come again?

“What the hell was that, man?” Max asks Will.

“Just saying hello. Seemed like the best way to wake you, sleeping beauty.”

“Will…” I scold.

“Don’t worry. What happens in Mexico, stays in Mexico,” Will says.

“Shit, that was messed up, dude,” Max says.

I stand and give Will a hug. “I’m glad you made it!” I say, wishing he hadn’t gotten here yet.

“Barely. Just by the skin of my chinny chin chin. But that’s a story for later. Much,” Will says.

With the abrupt arrival of Will, whatever spell was beginning to form between Max and me has dissipated, and now I’m back to feeling a little awkward.

“This town seems like party central. We should check it out,” Will says.

“Will, it’s late. We need to head back.” I’m saying what I’m supposed to say even thought my heart isn’t entirely in it. Because this is what I do. The responsible thing. This is who I am. Allowing Will to lead us down the garden path couldn’t possibly be a good idea. Despite the fact that the garden path is calling my name.

“We should say our good-byes,” I say to Max, looking to him for confirmation.

“Yeah, guess so.” I’m surprised to hear the hesitation in Max’s voice.

Still, it’s late. We’ve got to go.

“Don’t I, at least, get a little food and drink? I mean, I know I’m just the driver, but still, the help’s gotta eat,” Will says.

“Suppose we have time for a taco. Let’s get you a plate,” I say, looping my arm through Will’s and walking him into the house. Max trails us.

“‘We’re gonna bring this party up to a nice respectable level. Don’t worry, we’re not gonna hurt anyone. We’re not even gonna touch ’em,’” Will says.

“‘We’re just gonna make ’em cry a little, just by lookin’ at ’em,’” I say, finishing the quote.

“What are you guys talking about?” Max wants to know.

“It’s just some lines from Some Kind of Wonderful,” I offer.

“The old movie?”

“The genius old movie by the brilliant Sir John Hughes.”

“Oookay, whatever,” Max says.

Will has wedged himself between us. Literally and metaphorically. Our ritualistic behavior must seem strange to Max. I’m hoping Will can keep our little routines to a minimum. It’s too much information for Max.

“What are you wearing, Will?” I ask. The overalls might be more shocking than anything else that’s happened in the last ten hours.

“Carhartt dungarees. They’re all the rage in Milano. I picked up a pair in Tijuana.”

“Seriously? What?”

“I needed a change of clothes, and this is all I could find at the border. They could use a major retail infusion here. Someone should get word to H&M.”

“What happened? You drove down naked? Your clothes got ruined? I mean, really, you look insane.”

“Kylie. Leave it alone,” Will warns. I rarely hear that tone in his voice.

“Got it. Let’s get you a nice big glass of sangria and introduce you around.” I will leave it alone, if that’s what he wants. Will is my best friend. He’s trekked all the way down to Mexico to rescue me, and if he wants to dress like a gay farmer, so be it.

Will sniffs at me. “I gather from the fact that you smell like a sailor on holiday that you’ve taken up drinking?”

“Yes. Only in moderation.”

“I’m shocked! Shocked!”

“You’re always on me for not having fun. I’m having fun now.”

“I thought you’d be a bloody wreck. Weren’t you kidnapped? This gives a whole new meaning to Stockholm syndrome.”

“These aren’t the people who kidnapped us. These are my dad’s old friends. And we didn’t really get kidnapped. More like accidental abduction in a truck of stolen electronics.”

“Your dad has friends?”

“That’s your takeaway?”

“That was the most shocking part of that sentence.”

I laugh because Will knows my dad almost as well as I do.

“Apparently her dad had a lot of them. And fans as well. He was a soccer star in Mexico,” Max offers.

Will raises one eyebrow and looks at me.

“I can tell you all about it on the way home,” I say.

Will, Max, and I enter the kitchen to find Manuel’s nephew Juan making a fresh round of sangria. Juan is the poster boy for tall, dark, and handsome. I can practically feel Will’s eyes caressing him, hear Will panting after him. The temperature in the room rises twenty degrees as Will moves in on his target, all focus. Oh God. I brace myself for what is sure to be a debacle.

Juan is so not gay. But there’s no stopping Will once the wheels are in motion.

“Hey, you,” Will says, eyes only for Juan.

“Hi there,” Juan says, perfectly innocuous, almost perfunctory, to all three of us. But somehow Will takes it as an open invitation.

“How are you doing tonight, gorgeous?” he asks Juan, sounding like a parody of a gay man on some Saturday Night Live skit. Max and I share a look, both wincing at the tacky line.

“I’m, uh, good,” Juan says. I can tell he has no idea what to make of the flamboyant Will.

“It’s good to be good. I’m good too. Better, now that you’re here,” Will says, full of innuendo that Juan seems oblivious to.

Oh, dear God. This is embarrassing. Where did Will find these lines? In some dusty old book from 1984?

“Juan, this is my friend Will. He just drove down from San Diego to take us back,” I say.

As Juan turns to grab a few glasses, Will leans in and whispers to me, “So gay.”

“Don’t think so,” I whisper. “Your gaydar is off.”

“It’s never off,” Will says.

“Sangria?” Juan offers Will a glass.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Will takes the glass from Juan, grazing his hand.

Juan looks awkward and quickly moves his hand away. I shoot Will a look, hoping he’ll cease and desist before things get downright mortifying.

“So, are you guys going back to San Diego now?” Juan asks.

“Not quite yet,” Will says.

“But pretty soon,” I add.

“So, what do you do when you’re not making sangria, Juan?” Will asks, polishing off his drink and pouring himself another. Guess we just lost our designated driver. Looks like I’ll be needing a Big Gulp of coffee en route.