Chapter 26: The Unexpected Visit
The smell of burning bacon was the first clue.
Y/n stood in the doorway of Margot’s kitchen, a pair of sweatpants loose on her hips, and watched. Margot, clad only in the oversized, worn flannel shirt Y/n had left on her bathroom floor the week before, was a vision of concentrated chaos. The sleeves were rolled past her elbows. Her hair was a wild, golden tangle. She held a spatula like a scepter, frowning at the blackening strips in the pan as if sheer will could un-burn them.
“It’s supposed to be crispy, right?” Margot called over her shoulder, not seeing her.
“There’s a line between crispy and carbon-based life form,” Y/n said, padding across the cool concrete floor.
Margot jumped, then grinned. “You’re up. Good. You can be the official taster of Phase One: The Charred Offering.” She gestured grandly at the pan.
Y/n’s phone, charging on the island, buzzed violently, skittering on the stone. The screen lit up with a photo of Carlos, his beard filled with sawdust, mid-bellowing laugh. Right on time. Work started in an hour.
Margot’s eyes darted to the screen. “Is that…?”
“The cavalry,” Y/n sighed, reaching for it.
But Margot was faster. She snatched the phone, her smirk returning, full-force. She swiped the answer button and put it on speaker just as Carlos’s voice, gravelly with morning and worry, filled the kitchen.
“¿Hermana? You alive? You never miss a Monday. Did you fall into a foundation hole? Tell me you didn’t finally punch that foreman.”
Y/n opened her mouth, but Margot spoke first, her voice perfectly bright and casual. “Good morning! She’s alive. Currently judging my cooking skills.”
A silence so profound came through the speaker it felt like another presence in the room. Y/n closed her eyes, a slow smile spreading.
“Who the hell is this?” Carlos asked, his tone shifting from worried friend to protective guard dog in an instant.
“It’s Margot. From upstairs. We’re making breakfast. You should come up.” She said it like she was inviting him for coffee, not into the intimate, post-dawn wreckage of her penthouse.
Another beat of silence. “Put her on.”
Y/n took the phone. “I’m here, Carlos.”
“You’re where? What is… are you… what?” His confusion was a tangible thing.
“I’m at Margot’s. It’s fine. Tell the crew I’ll be late.”
“Late,” Carlos repeated, processing. Then, a low chuckle started on his end. It grew into his full, booming laugh. “Oh, hermana. You dog. I’ll be there in ten. I gotta see this for myself.”
The line went dead. Y/n set the phone down. Margot was looking at her, the spatula forgotten. “Was that okay?”
“He’s bringing his own hot sauce,” Y/n said, moving to rescue the bacon. “It’s fine. He’s my best friend. He’s just… dramatic.”
Carlos didn’t knock. The penthouse elevator dinged and he just walked in, following the smell of smoke and coffee. He stopped short at the kitchen entrance, his tool belt still on, his work boots leaving faint grit on the polished floor. His eyes scanned the scene: the epic kitchen, the devastating view, the famous movie star wearing his best friend’s clothes, the little pile of blackened bacon on a plate.
He looked at Y/n, who was calmly stacking slightly-less-burnt toast. He looked back at Margot.
He burst out laughing. It was a roar that shook the stainless-steel appliances. He doubled over, slapping his thigh. “Oh, man. Oh, mierda. Your face! You look like a scared deer! And you,” he pointed at Margot, wiping a tear from his eye. “In the flannel. I’ve seen that thing covered in drywall mud. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Margot, initially startled, now beamed, delighted by his reaction. “You must be Carlos. I’ve heard stories. Mostly about you falling off ladders.”
“They’re all true,” he said, straightening up and walking over to Y/n. He pulled her into a rough, one-armed hug, knocking the air out of her slightly. He held her just a second too long, a silent check-in. When he pulled back, he gave her a look, a quick once-over that missed nothing—the relaxed set of her shoulders, the lack of shadows under her eyes. He nodded, almost imperceptibly.
“So, you’re the distraction,” he said to Margot, grabbing a piece of charred bacon and popping it in his mouth. He chewed, stoically. “You need a new chef.”
“I’m an actress, not a short-order cook,” she fired back, but she was pouring him a mug of coffee, sliding the cream towards him.
They ate at the island, surrounded by the remnants of the attempt. The eggs were surprisingly good. The toast was salvageable. Carlos talked about the site, the new foreman, a filthy joke about a plumber that made Margot snort coffee out her nose. The dynamic was easier than Y/n had anticipated. Carlos treated Margot not like a celebrity, but like a person who had, bafflingly, chosen his sister. He teased her. He praised the coffee. He told a story about a young, skittish Y/n nearly nailing her own foot to a subfloor.
“She’s tougher than she looks,” Carlos said finally, his tone shifting, just a degree.
“I know,” Margot said, her gaze flicking to the faint shadow of the bruise beneath Y/n’s thin t-shirt.
Y/n pushed her plate away. “I should go get ready. Throw on my own mud-covered flannel.”
“Use my shower,” Margot said automatically. “The water pressure’s better.”
Y/n squeezed her shoulder as she passed, a silent thanks. She headed back toward the bedroom, the sound of their voices softening behind her.
In the kitchen, Carlos watched her go. He spun his mug slowly on the stone.
“She seems good,” he said, the boisterousness gone from his voice.
“She is,” Margot said, quietly. She started collecting plates, not looking at him.
“She hasn’t been this… light. In a long time.” He hesitated. “There was someone. Before. A real piece of work. The kind that makes you quiet. The kind that makes you think you shouldn’t take up space.” He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The scars he was talking about weren’t the kind you could see.
Margot stopped moving. She looked at him, really looked. “I’m not that.”
“I know.” He took a deep breath. “Look, I don’t know what this is. And it’s none of my business. But thanks. For the bacon. For making her late.”
It was a massive admission, wrapped in a joke. Margot understood. She nodded. “She makes me late for things too. In a good way.”
Carlos smiled, a real one, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Good.” He drained his coffee. “I’ll get her to the site. Keep her in one piece.” He stood, the chair scraping. “You’ll look after her here?”
It was the real question.
Margot didn’t hesitate. She met his gaze, her blue eyes steady and clear. “I’ll go right by her.”
It was an old phrase. A promise. It meant I’ll stand with her. I’ll have her back. She won’t be alone.
Carlos held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded again, satisfaction settling over his features. “Okay.”
From the shadow of the hallway, Y/n stood, her clean work clothes in her arms, perfectly still. She hadn’t meant to overhear. She’d just stopped to listen for the tone. She heard the depth.
She heard Margot’s promise.
The words lodged in her throat. She leaned her forehead against the cool wall, the hammering from the apartment below syncing with the sudden, heavy rhythm of her own heart. It wasn’t just a path anymore. It was a door, swinging open, and she was already stepping through.