Friends With Benedicts - Staci Hart Page 0,26

with one answer running into another question, round and round again. It was too new to decide one way or another, so I told myself what I’d been telling myself since this morning.

We’ll see.

I didn’t have to decide. Not yet.

I had someone to meet first.

A few minutes later, I pulled down the winding, sun-dappled driveway to the Blum’s bee farm. The farm had been here even longer than my family had been peddling Tex Mex. My great grandmother and her sisters had been a part of the original Chili Queens, selling chile con carne and tamales in El Mercado in San Antonio in the early 1900s. Abuela loved to tell stories about how one sister would stand out front and sing while another played guitar and the rest cooked and served. Abuela and her cousins would run around the market and play all day, which went on until the Chili Queens started opening restaurants. Rather than compete, Bisabuela moved with her family here, to Lindenbach, and opened up Abuelita’s.

It was Abuela who’d thought to start production on our family’s salsa, tomatillo, and carne sauce, which spread to include tortillas, chips, and jarred queso, eventually becoming a staple in Texas grocery stores, thanks to a fortuitous contract with HEB.

The Blum farm had been in operation since long before that. In the 1800s, they traveled by wagon to neighboring cities to tout their honey and flowers from their fields, and about the time Abuelita’s was founded, the Blums decided to open up production too. They had a small canning operation on their property, as well as several acres of flower fields to feed their bees. Flowers that supplied several florists in the area.

I’d been here plenty of times over the years, but this time, the sprawling ranch intimidated me in a way I hadn’t expected. Inside of that house was my child. When I waked through that door, I’d be somebody’s daddy.

With that terrifying thought, I pulled to a stop in front of the house. Closed my eyes. Steadied my breath. Found the still, quiet place in the center of my chest.

And when I opened my eyes, Presley and Priscilla were already there, standing on the porch.

My throat slammed shut. I reached for the handle and opened the door with my eyes on the little girl by Presley’s side. When she bounced on the toes of sparkly flats, her dress opened and closed like a jellyfish.

“He’s here, Mama!” she practically screamed.

A laugh found its way out of me as numb legs carried me toward them.

Presley smiled and held her hand, watching me with a strange mixture of relief and fear on her face. Priscilla tried to bolt in my direction, but Presley hung onto her hand to give me that one last second I didn’t know I needed. When I reached the steps to the patio, Priscilla’s excitement melted into shyness, her cheeks flushing as she scooted closer to Presley, her chin down. She laid her cheek against her mother’s hip.

I crouched on shaky knees to get eye-level with her.

Priscilla didn’t say anything.

“Cilla, this is Sebastian,” Presley said, kneeling. She cast me an encouraging look.

I stuck out my hand, not knowing what else to do. “Hi, Priscilla.”

She glanced at my hand, then met my eyes. “You’re my daddy?”

The kick in my chest stole my breath. But I kept on my smile and nodded. “You’re my daughter.”

“I’m your Cilla.”

I chuckled, and my chest that’d just been empty simmered with warmth. I took my hand back. “You are.”

“Mama said I have another Nonnie.”

“You do, but I think she’ll want you to call her Abuela.”

“Abuela.” She tested the word. “Mama said you make tacos.”

Presley and I shared a smile. “That’s true. See, my abuela has a restaurant, so she makes all kinds of things.”

“I like tacos.”

“Me too. Crispy or soft?”

Her nose wrinkled. “Crunchy ones break, and I get mad.”

“Good point.”

“Can we go get tacos?”

“Maybe another day, bug,” Presley answered. “Want to go inside? You can get your book you wanted to show Sebastian.”

Priscilla beamed and took off for the front door. “Pete the Cat! Pete the Caaaat!” She paused in the threshold with the screen door against her hand. “Come on, Daddy!”

I didn’t quite understand how I could feel both like I’d been punched in the stomach and shown some sort of secret to the universe. I swallowed. Smiled. Nodded, even though she was already gone.

Presley watched me as we stood, and I climbed the steps. When I reached the patio, she took my hand