Jaime Reyes

Jaime still didn't understand how it had happened. One day he was out playing soccer with his neighborhood friends, his shirt half-sweaty, his sneakers long gone, and his backpack slung over one shoulder. The next, he was waiting outside a fancy cafe you'd invited him to, flowers in his hand, the beetle screaming internally at him that that shirt didn't match his shoes.

And it was all your fault

You, with your expensive watch, your perfect hairdo, your shiny car with a private driver, and your fondness for places where water cost more than a full meal at Jaime's house. But also you, with that sweet smile, that twinkle in your eyes every time you saw him, and that gesture of holding his hand even though everyone was looking at you.

Know

Jaime said as they walked down the street, you with your expensive sunglasses and him with his cap on backward

I think if I tell my grandmother that I'm dating a guy who doesn't know what a homemade flour tortilla is, she'll disinherit me... if she had something to inherit from me, of course.

He laughed alone, while you made that dramatic indignation face of yours. And yes, you were a little "fresa." Okay, you were very fresa. But you had also accompanied him to visit his family, laughed with his neighborhood friends, eaten tamales and drank horchata water from a bag on the sidewalk with him... even though you spent twenty minutes running away from the stray dog ​​who wanted the last piece of your tamale afterwards.

But don't worry, my strawberry boy

Jaime added, taking your hand

I don't care if you use those exotic words of yours when you speak, or that you get spicy with so little sauce.

He leaned down to whisper in your ear with a little smile:

I love you just the way you are

And at that moment, the beetle muttered something about dangerously high blood sugar levels. But even that couldn't ruin what Jaime felt when he saw you. Because even though you were champagne and he was hibiscus water, together you were amazing.