Archive of Our Own

Sergio was very familiar with the concept of “weird neighbors.”

Upstairs neighbors who somehow always manage to time their late-night riverdance classes (or whatever the fuck it is they do up there that loud) just as you’ve returned from the worst, greasiest shift of your life and wake up your nine-month-old, who will refuse to go down again for another three hours.

Downstairs neighbors who don’t supervise their stupid preteens who blow their cheap cigarette smoke right at your toddler's face in the elevator.

Neighbors from across the hall that try to get you kicked out of the Co-op because your seven-year-old beat the shit out of their seven-year-old, even though their seven-year-old’s a little bitch who totally kept intentionally fouling your seven-year-old at their last youth soccer match.

All this to say, Sergio was looking forward to moving out of the big city and going further north to the small town of New Providence.

He figured his ten or so years of experience in fast-paced city kitchens would make opening his own cozy diner easy. He was banking on young college students who would pass through the town on a Spring Break fueled by daddy’s money to snap photos of his applewood-roasted bacon burgers and blog about it. He also hoped the slow pace of the coastal town and the open prairies just beyond it would be a good area to bring up his son. Pablo had an unnaturally large amount of energy for a nine-year-old that would release in explosions of frustration randomly, and Sergio wanted to nip that in the bud as soon as he could.

So, when he set his eye on the soon-to-be-foreclosed classic, salt-bleached white, shingle-styled one-floor two-bedroom overlooking the coast, he rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

He and Pablo worked a whole summer to get the hovel into a semi-livable state, or at least a space that was accommodating to the two males.

They called it “the bachelor pad” for a reason. Sergio couldn’t do anything to fix the perpetual revolving baskets of grass-stained laundry stacked on their couch, boxes that had yet to be unpacked filled with Pablo’s old plastic trophies, piles of draft menus taking up residence on their kitchen island, or the dishes stacked in the sink that nearly blocked the view of the window into their neighbor’s overgrown garden.

Ah yes, to get back onto the subject of weird neighbors.

Sergio has never lived next to a more… unique property.

The eighteenth-century two-story seafoam green Victorian revival perched on the highest point of the grassy bluff overlooking the rocky coastline had a sprawling front yard that buried the stone walkway to the front door. Delicately crafted stained-glass windows that depicted iridescent wildlife like silver falcons or blue sea fish adorned its sides with intricate detailings of snakes that swallowed themselves and knots that looped eternally. The house certainly caught Sergio’s eye when he and Pablo first moved into the neighborhood, but what the abode held inside was far more interesting.

A short blond with shoulder-length hair that would typically be held back in a low ponytail, wrapped in a large oatmeal cable-knit sweater while gloved hands gripped a white-handled sickle and sliced away at the herbs sprawling wildly in the property’s lush garden. Sergio nearly spat out his coffee the September morning when he first saw this vision.

The air outside was perfectly still, yet the wild lavender and wild thyme seemed to lean willingly toward the blade, parting for the person like old friends. Sergio felt his throat go completely dry. He quickly spun open his window to call out to his new neighbor, the cool coastal air rushing in to replace the scent of old coffee with the sharp aroma of crushed herbs.

“Hey! Uh, you!” He shouted albeit a bit too loud as his brain struggled over whether to address this person as “ma’am” or “sir”.

The blond stranger snapped their head up in his direction with furrowed brows and open heart-shaped lips. Up close, even across the property line, his eyes were the luminous color of crushed autumn leaves. Sergio’s heart did an uncharacteristic, violent flip against his ribs. He instantly cringed at his unintended harsh tone.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be that loud… uh, would you like some help on the garden there? My son and I could help out with landscaping and maybe take out those brushes over there. We could really shape it up!” He stumbled through his offer as the neighbor's aforementioned beautiful eyes stared at him unblinkingly.

The very pretty stranger said nothing, just quirked their labored pink lips into a smile and shook their head as they slung the bag of herbs over one shoulder and headed back into the house. As they walked, a sudden, localized gust of wind swept across the bluff, swirling a small cyclone of red and gold maple leaves perfectly around their ankles.

“The names Sergio by the way… we’re new here…” the introduction died in his throat when he heard their sturdy back door slam close.

Making friends in your thirties was the worst.

“Papá! I missed the bus! Drive me to school?” He felt a tug on his jeans and gazed down to see his son’s messy mop of brown hair that Sergio had tried to smooth down earlier this morning. His late wife would’ve been much better at this kind of thing than him.

He sighed and ruffled the kid's bird’s nest a little more. “Okay, let me find my keys—“

“I have them.” Pablo proudly presented the truck keys on his world-weary carabiner.

“What were you doing with my keys angelito?”

“I was… playing with them in the front yard…”

“Instead of going to the bus stop?” Pablo just stared at him with his big brown eyes. Some teachers had described them as beady, but Sergio could only ever see his mother in them.

“Get in the car, and warm it up. I’m going to finish this cup and I’ll meet you out there. And stop playing with my keys, I’ve bought you like a million toys.” Sergio spun Pablo around and sent the half-pint in the direction of the front door.

“I can’t be late! It’s the first day!” Pablo whined from the frame. His silhouette in front of the morning sun showcased his cartoonishly giant hand-me-down backpack Sergio used to sport in his school days.

“Should’ve thought of that about 10 minutes sooner!” Sergio said as he checked his watch.

His eyes drifted back over to the tall house on the hill. He saw the front door open and the blond exit of their home with a change of clothes. An oatmeal-colored large turtleneck under a pair of brown corduroy overalls and a large denim jacket. Their golden hair was down around the shoulders and framed by a thick pair of tortoiseshell glasses. The stranger placed a briefcase onto the back of a light blue bicycle posted up against the porch and sped down the grassy road. As the neighbor pedaled away, the faint, sweet scent of cinnamon and sea salt drifted right through Sergio's open window, settling over the cluttered kitchen like a quiet blessing.

Sergio was snapped out of his gaze by the sound of his son calling after him.

“Papá! Car! Now!” He whined. Sergio dumped the rest of his cup into the cluttered sink and grabbed his jacket on the way out. 

***

Pablo’s new school was old. Like. Quaker Oats guy old.

The drop-off lane in front of the brick building’s entrance was bustling with parents and teachers as kids congregated in what were probably meant to be straight lines organized by grade. Painted banners hung around the exterior wall to wall, reading “Welcome Back to School!” and “Meet the Teachers! Visit the Classroom!”

Sergio parked and looked down at his son, who was practically humming with energy in the passenger seat. Pablo pressed his hand eagerly against the window, his fast, excited breaths clouding up the glass pane.

“Okay, you got your cleats?” Sergio said, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

“Yep!”

“You remember who your teacher is?”

“Yep! Mr. Modr—Moeick...Mod-itch.”

“You’ll figure that out. You gonna play nice with the other kids?”

Pablo turned his head and side-eyed his father.

“Hey, don’t give me that look… play it cool okay?” Sergio flashed a smile as he ran his tattooed hand through his thick chocolate hair. Pablo’s face instantly lit up, mimicking the gesture through his own messy brown mop. They both snapped their fingers before pointing at each other.

“Too cool,” they said nonchalantly in unison—a reference to a charismatic character they’d seen on TV during late nights back when Pablo still fit on his papá’s lap in their apartment's old Laz-E-Boy.

Sergio unlocked the doors as Pablo clicked his seatbelt open. “Okay, I’ll pick you up after practice, have a good—”

“You’re not gonna meet my teacher?” Pablo looked up at him, his big brown baby-calf eyes welling with sudden disappointment.

It felt like a bullet straight to the chest.

“Angelito, I got to go to work—”

“But everyone else’s parents are there! I’m already the only kid with no mom, I don’t wanna be the kid with no parents.”

Oh, just strike Sergio down now.

Sergio cleared his throat, his chest tightening. “I get that, but I have to open the diner—”

“I thought you were your own boss papá?” Pablo played with the denim strap of his overalls idly, pouting deep into his fuzzy red sweater’s collar.

The kid really knew how to play him to a fucking tee.

“Okay, fine. Show me to your damn teacher.”

That’s how Sergio found himself being dragged through the foggy September air by the sleeve of his Carhartt jacket, pulled past a line of fourth graders picking their noses by a much-too-eager Pablo. His son weaved effortlessly through the crowd of adults' legs, completely forgetting that his father possessed a much larger, broader, and harder-to-maneuver body.

Inevitably, Sergio mowed his shoulder right into a much shorter adult.

He heard a light but low “oof!” immediately followed by the loud, clattering sound of a clipboard bouncing against the pavement.

“Sorry! Sorry! Pablo, knock it off!” Sergio yanked his arm away from his son. He bent down instantly, turning his head to help up the poor person he’d just flattened—only to be met with a shiny mop of spun-gold hair and those familiar autumn eyes clad in tortoiseshell glasses.

“Oh! It’s you…” Sergio said, his hand extending automatically.

The other man pushed his glasses up the bridge of his finely arched nose, he locked onto Sergio with a sudden, breathless intensity.

“It’s you…” the neighbor muttered. His voice carried a soft accent Sergio couldn’t quite place as his long, elegant fingers reached down to retrieve the roll sheet attached to the clipboard.

Sergio’s eyes caught the name “Mr. Modrić” printed at the top of the page, right above a list of twenty names—Pablo Gavira-Ramos being one of them. Ah, shit. This was his kid's teacher.

“Ah! Please let me.”

In the frantic scramble to make up for the horrifically awkward first impression, Sergio’s heavy hand brushed against the teacher's smaller one. The very instant their skin met, an undeniable zap of static energy arced between their fingers, sending a ticklish current that shot straight up Sergio's arm, making him flinch backward.

They stood up together. Sergio was acutely aware of how close they were standing, noticing how the blond teacher barely came up to his nose. Sergio consciously stepped back to give him some space, outstretching his hand properly to shake.

“I’m Sergio Ramos, um, Pablo’s dad. Don’t let the shove reflect on him. It’s not genetic or anything… haha…” Sergio felt a massive wave of relief wash over him when he saw the teacher softly laugh before accepting the handshake. Luka's skin was surprisingly warm with a humming sensation when you approached it. Like grasping a radio by the antenna.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ramos.” The blond turned his attention away, squatting down gracefully to make direct eye contact with the boy, who had gone completely bashful under the teacher's gaze. “And you must be Pablo, welcome to fourth grade!” He emphasized with a vibrant, genuine tone that managed to coax a wide smile out of the kid.

“My papá calls me Pablo but I like to go by Gavi…” the kid murmured shyly.

“And why’s that?” Mr. Modrić cocked his head, a calming, bright grin blooming on his lips.

“It was my mamá’s last name, and it’s a part of my name too.” Gavi’s smile widened, revealing his missing canine teeth.

“Well, that’s lovely, Gavi. My name is Mr. Luka,” he pronounced with a friendly, magnetic calmness. “What’s your favorite subject? Math?”

Gavi made a face, sticking out his tongue before shaking his head vigorously. Mr. Luka laughed softly, the sound like low wind chimes, before tucking a wispy strand of golden hair behind his ear. Sergio's eyes tracked the movement entirely against his own will.

“I didn’t like it either when I was your age, but we’ll work on that.”

“I’ll never like math. It’s impossible,” Gavi said stubbornly.

Sergio nearly facepalmed at his kid's attitude. He was just about to step in and chastise him when the blond spoke up again, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial, gentle register.

“I think you’ll find that anything is possible if you put your mind to it.” Mr. Luka gave a subtle, knowing wink that seemed to hold than the statement let on. “Math is just one fun game. Each problem has its own set of rules. Do you like games, Gavi?”

Gavi nodded eagerly.

“What’s your favorite game, huh?” the teacher asked tenderly.

“Football.” The kid didn’t even hesitate.

Sergio let out a sudden laugh, catching Mr. Luka’s attention once again. “He means soccer. We’re Spanish,” Sergio explained, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Ah, well,” Luka nodded, a spark of recognition lighting up his cinnamon eyes before he turned back to Gavi. “I’m from Croatia, so I prefer to call it football too. In fact, I actually coach the after-school team here.”

“Really?” Pablo asked, his eyes going wide with excitement.

“Mhm. Are you signed up?”

“Yep!”

“Then we’ll be getting along great.” Luka smiled warmly before standing back up. “Go find your place in line, it’s alphabetized by last name. You’re right behind… Eliza Ramirez.” Luka glanced down at his call sheet. Pablo smiled up at his new teacher before bolting across the asphalt to find one, Miss Ramirez.

“That means you too, Mr. Ramos.”

Sergio nearly jumped when he heard the teacher address him again, his deep voice snapping him out of his daze.

“Oh! Um, I actually have to get going.” Sergio gestured vaguely toward his truck parked across the lot.

“You don’t want to see the classroom?” Mr. Luka asked. He swept his breeze-blown hair out of his face, the movement carrying that faint, mesmerizing scent of wild herbs from the morning. He gestured down the line where Sergio saw the other parents standing beside their children in their ironed coats. Pablo was the only kid standing entirely out on his own, with no one on his side.

Sergio’s head filled with the looming reminder of the diner, the prep work, and his responsibilities. But then his eyes fell onto the blond teacher again.

Well, Sergio supposed it’d be rude if he didn’t. They could open a bit late anyway. He’s his own boss, after all.

Sergio walked a half-step behind the blond, acutely aware of how massive he felt in the narrow, crowded corridor. His heavy work boots thudded loudly against the linoleum while Luka’s steps beside him were almost completely silent, as if his feet barely touched the floor.

He felt compelled to make small talk with the teacher, but Luka was currently occupied with a parent buzzing in his ear about this specific allergy and that special preference her child had. Luka just nodded along gracefully, assuring her with practiced kindness.

When Luka reached Classroom 4B, he didn't even seem to turn the brass handle fully before the heavy oak door swung open willingly. The moment they crossed the threshold, the chaotic, ambient noise of the school hallway vanished entirely, instantly replaced by a warm stillness.

Sergio stopped just inside the doorway, blinking in disbelief. He had expected the standard public-school fluorescent bleakness of his own youth, but the entire room was bathed in a thick, buttery amber light that felt entirely unnatural for a stormy September morning.

The large wall of multi-paned windows looked out over the foggy golden maple trees, and the air inside tasted entirely different than the hallway. It was warm, dense, and incredibly soothing, smelling vividly of spiced apple cider, rich cinnamon, and a clean, sharp undertone of dried lavender. The moment the scent hit his lungs, the caffeinated racing in Sergio’s chest dropped down to a steady rhythm.

He saw that the sudden atmosphere had a profound impact on Pablo, too. His son, who had been practically vibrating with chaotic energy the entire morning, went very calm, peering quietly into the room until his wide eyes locked onto a desk at the front. It sat in a neat cluster with a few others, his name carefully labeled across it in puffy, hand-drawn marker.

Pablo broke away from his hold and darted over to his desk along with a handful of other kids that struck up easy conversation right after.

“What’s with the smell? Does it have essential oils in it? My daughter can’t breathe in any indoor air that’s not infused with essential oils.” The same anxious mother implored. Luka shook his head "It is important for the children to feel grounded, there’s nothing in here they’re allergic to," he said softly.

He walked over to his heavy oak desk, placing his clipboard next to a ceramic mug full of yellow pencils. Right beside the mug, a vintage copper kettle simmered on a quilted hot plate, sending a gentle plume of botanical steam into the air.

Sergio’s eyes immediately caught the jars lining the windowsills. Clay pots of living rosemary and mint sitting next to glass containers filled with smooth sea glass and rough quartz crystals that caught the dim New England sun.

“What’s with all the bohemian decore?” One balding father in a business suit asked scrupulously.

“Science projects. In the spring the kids will be growing their own crystals and geodes.” Luka supplied as he leaned against his desk to the chorus of impressed “ooo’s!” and “aaah’s!” of the older crowd.

In the back corner, beneath a radiant hanging stained-glass suncatcher shaped like the sun, was a circle of oversized corduroy floor pillows and beanbag chairs. A low bookshelf held titles like Goosebumps, Animorphs, and The Chronicles of Narnia. Some kids were already settled in the nook, feeling drawn to the reading corner.

Sergio took a look at the schedule scrawled on the blackboard in chalk. Below the message of “My name is Mr. Luka, you are welcome here!” in neat cursive, was a detailed description of how math and science was in the morning, then first recess, then reading and writing, then lunch, then second recess, and finally art and music.

Seemed like a well-rounded curriculum.

“Something here catch your eye?” He heard a voice suddenly from beside him. Sergio’s gaze caught Luka’s honest, yet mystical look in his eyes. He chuckled to hide the slight blush on his face.

“More like my nose, this place smells better than my kitchen.”

“It comes in handy with particularly rowdy 4th graders.”

Sergio bit his lip as he prepared himself to deliver the monologued warning he’s had to give every one of Pablo’s teachers since the boy entered the public school system.

“Look, Gavi’s a really good kid, but sometimes… he needs a bit more… special attention? Like, he gets frustrated when he’s learning and… well… he has a hard time payin’ attention and I’m working with him on all of that but I just don’t want him to slip through the cracks and—“ he felt his speech that he’d recited the last five years perfectly just tumble out of his mouth under Luka’s gaze.

"He will not slip through the cracks," Luka promised, his voice carrying a weight that felt like a vow. He reached out, his hand pausing for a fraction of a second before lightly patting Sergio’s forearm. The moment his delicate fingers touched Sergio’s skin, there was another sharp shock that passed between them. Sergio jumped slightly, his eyes widening, “You need to wash your carpets with dryer sheets geez.”

Luka just offered a knowing smile as an apology and pulled his hands back into the sleeves of his denim jacket. “He’s not the first kid with attention problems to walk the earth. Especially not the first one to enter my classroom.”

"You should get to your diner, now," Luka said softly, turning back to his chalkboard. "The harbor rush will be starting soon. I will see you at pickup after practice, yes?” The bell rang which signaled to the flock of parents that it was their time to leave as they said goodbye to their excited children.

“H-how do you know about… the diner?” Sergio asked through a clearing of his throat as he attempted to compose himself around this person.

“It’s La Décima, no? I saw you and Gavi painting the sign out in your front yard this summer. I’ve heard the place is good.” Luka gave him one last smile as he turned around to take off his jacket, placing it neatly on the back of his desk chair.

“You should tell that to other people…” Sergio muttered. Luka cocked his head up as he sat down in his seat with a “Hm?”

Sergio cleared his throat, his face suddenly burning hot as he backed toward the door. "Nothing. Yeah. The diner. Thanks, Mr. Luka. See you at four-thirty."

Luka smiled and waved goodbye as Sergio left and he turned his focus to the classroom of progressively wildly excited 4th graders.

His attention was caught one last time as his ears heard a sudden soft rhythmic clap three times cut through the energy which somehow made the whole class of children settle down instantaneously.

Sergio got one last glimpse of Luka as he stood at the front of the room with his glasses pushing back his long hair as they rested on top of his head.

“Welcome to 4th grade, you can call me Mr. Luka. Please open your math workbooks to page 13 while I tell you the rules of my classroom.” Luka’s eyes caught Sergio’s through the door, but Sergio felt like his feet were glued to the floor. Luka lightly chuckled into his hand before he shot him a small wink and suddenly Sergio felt like his feet could slide against the floor again.

He looked down at his watch. Shit. He was going to be so late to the morning rush.

***

As it turns out, missing the morning rush was definitely not the worst thing to happen today. In fact, it would’ve been better for Sergio’s blood pressure if he had skipped the whole day altogether.

The New Providence weather had turned completely malicious over the course of the afternoon. A freezing, salt-heavy rain pelted the harbor wharf, and inside the kitchen of La Décima, Sergio was living his own personal version of hell.

The diner was packed with wet, miserable townies seeking shelter, and everything that had been individually going wrong over the course of opening the diner a month ago, had somehow all gone wrong simultaneously.

The ancient espresso machine that came with the place had given up with a pathetic metallic pop, spewing a lukewarm puddle of black sludge across the counter.

Half the lights were flickering due to a blown fuse that Sergio swore he fixed yesterday, and to cap it all off, a pan of smoking olive oil had caught fire on the back burner, sending a bright flare of orange flames licking toward the greasy hood.

"Vini! Grab the salt! The salt, not the flour, you idiot!" Sergio roared, his red flannel shirt soaked with sweat, his backwards cap crooked on his head as he waved a metal pot lid to smother the flare.

“Yes chef!” His sous, a pimply 17-year old named Vini Jr. scrambled behind him with their bag of kosher salt.

“Wait no, not that salt! Don’t waste that salt!” Sergio shouted as he attempted to land the lid on top of the pan, only to get the end of his thumb burned as a result. Diners started leaving the smoke-filled hovel in packs as Sergio grunted out a slew of profanity against the stove.

Behind him, the landline phone mounted on the wall began to ring, its shrill, analog bell cutting through the absolute chaos of clattering plates, shouting customers, and the frantic beep-beep-beep of the pager clipped to his jeans.

Ring.

"Sergio! The delivery truck is blocking the alley! Florentino says he will tow it!" His favorite grocer, Iker Casillas shouted from the back, wildly waving a dish towel as the smoke detector on the ceiling began to let out a repeated piercing scream.

Ring.

"Tell Florentino I will feed him his own tie if he touches that truck!" Sergio yelled, finally slamming the lid on top of the grease fire. He wiped a streak of dark soot across his forehead, his chest heaving as he glanced at the ticking clock above them.

5:45 PM.

Sergio froze. Vini came rushing back in to pour their salt over the fire as the room filled with a foul smell. Five forty-five. Soccer practice had ended over an hour ago. Images of his small Pablo sitting on a freezing, rain-soaked bench filled his sorry head. That kid was gonna hold this over his him for so long, probably going to extort this like crazy. This kind of thing had serious dessert-for-dinner-for-at-least-a-month kind of material.

Ring.

He scrambled toward the wall phone, his grease-stained boots sliding slightly on the wet tile floor as the “coffee” from the machine dribbled into a muddy puddle. “Damn it Vini, grab the mop!” he yelled as he nearly fell on his ass.

Before his fingers could grab the yellowed plastic receiver, the diner's tape-loop answering machine kicked in with a loud mechanical clunk.

“Hola, you’ve reached La Décima, leave a message after the—”

BEEP.

Sergio stopped, his hand hovering over the cradle as a low and steady voice filtered through the static-heavy speaker of the machine. The background noise of the shouting diner seemed to instantly drop a few decibles under the sound of that distinct, melodic foreign lilt.

"Mr. Ramos. It is Luka, Gavi’s teacher."

The short blond teacher sounded completely unbothered by the torrential downpour. In the background of the recording, Sergio could hear the faint, comforting crackle of a wood fire and the loud, happy crunch of someone aggressively eating a baked snack.

"Pablo played very well today, but you were very late to picking him up and the rain got very harsh. I took him back to mine, so he’s just next door."

A soft, amused huff came through the line, followed by the clink of a ceramic mug.

"The weather on the cliff is quite bad, please finish your shift, Sergio. Do not rush. But you should come pick him up when you are able."

CLUNK.

The tape machine whirred to a stop, leaving the kitchen in silence. Even the smoke detector had stopped screeching.

Sergio stood there, blinking at the plastic machine. His heart was still hammering against his ribs from the fire, his face hot and smudged with black soot, but the suffocating panic that had gripped his throat a moment ago had completely vanished.

"Ramos?" Iker asked cautiously from the dish pit, holding a box of baking soda. "Are you gonna go?"

Sergio reached down, untying the stained kitchen apron from his waist and tossing it onto the counter. He pulled his heavy canvas jacket off the hook, his fingers grabbed his truck keys.

"Close down for the day, Iker," Sergio muttered, his deep voice carrying an embarrassed weight as he pushed open the back door into the freezing rain. "If anything else catches fire, just let the place burn."

“I don’t work here though—“

SLAM

***

Sergio ran through the rolodex of apologies and excuses he could think of as he pulled into his own grassy driveway before hopping out and walking with his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

He gazed up at the house on the hill that glowed with an amber light from the inside. Said light spilled out suddenly as he saw the stained glass windowed door swing open. An older woman stepped out on the large porch, eagerly nodding her head while clutching a thick red woven rope as Luka walked past the threshold with her. His hair blew in the evening wind as he wrapped himself in a plum crochet shawl, a black cat curling around his feet.

Sergio caught snippets of their conversation amidst the wind that was beginning to border on howling.

“Tie it loosely around his knee, just above the joint…” Luka said as he handed her a small smooth tin. “Apply this to the knee… do this while the moon wanes… the swelling will wane too… When you walk home with this remedy…do not cross the… without looking straight ahead.”

The old lady nodded so hard her wispy white hairs slipped out of her patterned silk scarf. “Oh thank you, thank you, perceptive child.” She kissed Luka on the forehead as she made her way down the path, smiling at Sergio as she passed, looking dead straight ahead.

Luka’s eyes locked onto Sergio’s form as he approached. The black cat at his master’s feet hissed at Sergio with a mouth that was all fangs. Luka light whistled at the creature below him with a soft “Velebit, prestani!” that calmed the cat down.

“I would appreciate it if you gave your son a house key, so that way if I had to drive him home, he could remain at his house. It’s not appropriate for him to hang around his teachers’.” Luka said withholding of his usual soft warmth. It made Sergio feel like a bad dog that was approaching him with his tail tucked between his legs.

Once Luka got a good look at the state of him, his posture changed. A prominent black greasy sludge was splattered across Sergio’s face, and let’s not even get started on the state of his dirty clothes or messy hair flattened under his cap.

“You look…” Luka dwindled off.

“Kitchen fire. Sorry to keep you waiting.” Sergio huffed out gruffly.

“Don’t say sorry to me…” Luka mumbled and Sergio let out a tired laugh but nodded anyways.

“Fair. Hey what was that back there?” He gestured to the path the old woman was speeding down. Luka eyed him cautiously as he leaned against his doorframe. “Customer.” He said simply.

“You have another job?”

“You think a teacher’s salary pays for all of this?” The corners of Luka’s mouth quirked up as he gestured all around him, the strangely beautiful property creaked in response.

“Papá?” He heard an excited voice call from the inside of the house. Sergio looked at Luka expectantly, but the small businessman/teacher didn’t budge.

“You need to ask to be let in.” Luka kept himself bundled in his shawl as he gazed up at Sergio.

“Why?”

“Vampires.” Luka said so simply it could’ve been taken as a joke, so Sergio did.

“Seriously?” He asked with the first laugh since his shift started fell out of his lips, a small weight off his shoulders tumbling with it.

“You never know…” Luka smiled in a way that tugged at Sergio to make him play along.

“Okay, fine. May I please come in?”

“You may.” Luka said as his silhouette slipped off the doorframe, leaving the threshold open and inviting for Sergio.

The second Sergio stepped in, his work boots were greeted by a faded, thick Persian rug. The scent hit him right in the chest, dropping his frantic pulse some. It was dense and rich, smelling vividly of split oak wood burning in the fireplace, sweet roasted pumpkins, and a deep, medicinal cloud of crushed lavender, cloves, and dried mint that completely cleared the smoke of Vini's grease fire out of his lungs.

As Sergio stood there, his canvas jacket dripping rain onto the rug, his eyes adjusted to a level of domestic clutter that made his own messy kitchen look sterile. Hanging upside down from the exposed ceiling beams were hundreds of tied bundles of drying herbs like sage, chamomile, rosemary, and eucalyptus rustling faintly in the heat rising from the hearth alongside copper pots that caught the firelight like tiny mirror balls.

Every square inch of wall space was lined with sagging, floor-to-ceiling wooden bookshelves that held a rich mix of the mundane and the bizarre. Thick, leather-bound grimoires with peeling gold lettering sat right next to a neat row of public school teaching manuals, faded European sports annuals, farmers almanacs, and what looked to be the entirety of Stevie Knicks discography on CD. Up close, the stained-glass windows were breathtaking with the final rays of the setting autumn sun filtered through the jeweled geometry of ruby-red, emerald-green, and deep amber light across the room, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.

Tucked in front of the roaring fireplace was a large maroon leather couch stacked with velvet jewel-toned pillows that looked soft enough to bury a man alive, and sitting right in the center of the cushions was Gavi.

He was buried to his chin in a massive wool blanket while he sported a ring of shortbread biscuit crumbs around his mouth and was holding a steaming ceramic mug of hot apple cider with both hands. His fourth-grade math workbook spread out on the rug in front of him. He looked completely content, his face a toasted pink, his usual restlessness smoothed by the home’s energy while a massive shaggy sheepdog sat underneath his arm. Luka whistled with a beckoning “Galeb,” which caught the dogs attention as it hurriedly wagged over to its master.

Luka rubbed the dogs ears as it happily passed by him to sniff friendly at Sergio.

“Gavi, your father’s here to pick you up.” Luka sang before a raven landed steadily on his shoulder, the blond not even flinching at the contact.

“Damn, you really run a whole zoo in here…” Sergio whistled out as the cat slinked between his feet, much less agitated than before.

“Papá! This place is soooooo much cooler than our house. Why don’t we have sage and stuff hanging from our roof? Mr. Luka says it’s for peace and repair.” He heard Pablo complain against the leg of his jeans.

“Honestly, it’s cause I don’t even know where you can find some of this stuff…” Sergio muttered as he patted his son on the head. 

Luka squatted down to Pablo’s eye level, just as he had on the asphalt this morning. “Gavi, the sage is for protection, the comfrey is for repair, and the lavender is for peace,” he gently corrected, his voice patient and melodic. “Now, did you finish your homework?”

Pablo nodded eagerly.

“Okay. See you tomorrow,” Luka said with a warm smile. He stood back up, regarding Sergio with a slow nod of his head before turning on his heel toward his large kitchen counter. He closed a massive, leather-bound book that was practically a foot thick and carefully lifted a small cast-iron cauldron off his stove's burner.

Pablo gave his dad’s leg another sharp tug, beckoning with his hand to usher Sergio’s ear down close to him. He whispered, “Can we have him over for dinner?” before gazing up at his papá pleadingly.

Sergio bit his lip, his eyes darting back over to the blond, who was working busily to place dried herbs back into their specific, neatly labeled jars. Maybe the man was particular about his shortbread ingredients?

“I think he may be too busy…” Sergio whispered back to the boy, trying to let him down easy.

Pablo nodded understandably, but then he looked up at his papá and gave the leg of his jeans one last, devastating tug. “Like you were too busy to pick me up from practice today?”

Sergio sighed heavily, straightened up, and clapped his hands together loudly, the sound shattering the quiet warmth of the room and catching Luka’s attention.

“Would you like to have dinner with us?”

Sergio’s voice squeaked slightly on the last word, the sudden offer seeming to break Luka entirely out of his zone. Sergio cleared his throat quickly to recover his dignity. “Uhm, I actually have a few pork chops in the fridge and, well, I have my own restaurant, so you know I’m a half-decent cook…”

“Oh. Okay. I’d like that,” Luka said, wrapping himself a fraction tighter in his plum shawl. The sight made Sergio bite the inside of his lip to conceal a sudden, stupid smile.

Oh. He said he’d like that.

And then, Sergio remembered the absolute state of utter inhabitancy their “bachelor pad” was currently in. 

“Actually… give us… like… ten minutes,” Sergio said, his voice dropping into a panicked, frantic clip.

Before Luka could even process the words, Sergio practically picked Gavi up by his collar, and flew straight out the front door into the rain.

“O-okay!” Luka called out after them, his amused voice echoing into the stormy night.

The walk across the gravel driveway from Luka’s house to their own salt-bleached home took exactly forty-five seconds. That gave Sergio and Pablo precisely nine minutes to undo three months of domestic negligence before the teacher followed them over.

"Move, move, move! ¡Vamos!" Sergio hissed, slamming his front door open and immediately launching his canvas jacket onto a peg. He didn't even look to see if it stayed there.

The living room was like a Jackson Pollock original depiction of single-fatherhood.

"Angelito! Grab the laundry baskets! Throw them in my room! If they don't fit, shove them in the closet!" Sergio yelled, already executing a flying dive toward the kitchen island to scoop up a mountain of grease-stained draft menus.

"What about the boxes with my old trophies?" Pablo yelled back, his small arms wrapped precariously around a mountain of grass-stained soccer shorts and mismatched socks.

"Under the couch! Kick them under!" Sergio sprinted into the kitchen, he grabbed a handful of dirty dish towels, violently wiped a layer of white flour off the counter, and kicked a stray plastic soccer ball into the pantry.

He lunged toward the sink. The dishes were stacked high enough to block the evening twilight. With the speed of a man who spent ten years surviving fast-paced city kitchens, Sergio began throwing plates into the lower cabinets unwashed just to get them out of sight.

"Papá, he's on the porch!" Gavi panicked, peering through the blinds. "He has a bottle of something!"

"Shit!" Sergio bolted down the hallway toward the bathroom. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked like a coal miner. He turned the faucet on high, grabbed a bar of soap, and aggressively scrubbed the black soot off his forehead and bearded jawline until his skin was a raw, flushed red. He ripped off his sweat-soaked red flannel, threw on a tight, faded black henley that hugged his shoulders, and ran a wet hand through his messy hair. He took a look at himself in the mirror. Fatherhood put some weight on him, filling out his torso more than it had been in his 20s, but hey, his shave was close and he still had his hairline. That’s more than some other guys his age can say. He capped it off by flipping his hat backward again out of sheer habit, before deciding otherwise and flinging it into the bathtub.

He skidded back into the living room just as a polite, rhythmic knock echoed through the door.

Sergio took a deep breath, smoothing down the front of his henley. He looked at Pablo. Pablo looked at him. They both did a synchronized, lightning-fast version of their "too cool" finger point.

Sergio swung the door open, leaning heavily against the frame in what he hoped was a relaxed, casual posture. "Hey. Come on in."

Luka smiled knowingly at the panting state of the two boys in front of him, holding a large amber glass wine bottle with no label in his hands.

“What’s that?” Sergio asked as he stepped aside.

“The good stuff…” Luka winked, the golden-brown of his eyes catching the lamplight.

Sergio had a vintage record on the old turntable in the corner playing a slow-tempo Spanish guitar track that filled the drafty room with a warmth their broken radiator couldn't provide.

He was entirely in his element now. He moved around their small kitchen with a familiar and comfortable ease, a heavy iron skillet already sizzling on the stove.

Luka sat at the worn wooden kitchen table, his elegant legs crossed under a pair of dark corduroy trousers. In his delicate fingers, he swirled a glass of the summer wine he’d brought over that Sergio had hastily uncorked, only to be almost knocked off his feet by the smell of nearly 20 different fruits.

"So then Jude tried to beg coach Toni for a pen, but it was totally clear he dived!" Gavi prattled on, his elbows firmly on the table. "But I told him, 'No way, Pau didn’t even touch you’ And then he got sooooooo in my face and I was gonna hit him—“

“Pablo!” Sergio bemoaned from the stove as he basted another spoonful of the drippings on the pieces of pork.

“But! But! Mr. Luka stepped in and said that it wasn’t a foul and we apologized to each other. Even though he got a penalty kick later…"

Luka took a slow sip of his wine, a deeply amused smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, well, Pau did hit him that time…"

"But it was crazy, papá! You should've seen practice!" Gavi insisted, turning his eyes back toward the stove.

"I'm listening, angelito," Sergio said, his voice dropping an octave as he expertly flipped a thick, rosemary-crusted pork chop in the pan. A brilliant flare licked the edges of the cast iron (entirely intentional this time), a deliberate bit of culinary showmanship. He caught Luka's eyes tracing the movement of his tattooed forearms as he strained a reduction of white wine and garlic directly into the meat.

Sergio flashed a charismatic smile over his shoulder, his chest expanding slightly under the tight fabric of his black shirt. "Mr. Luka knows how to handle rowdy kids. He told me that this morning."

"He's not rowdy," Luka murmured. His voice was a soft, low purr, his gaze lingering openly on the way the light caught the ridges of Sergio's broad back as he plated the food.

Dinner was a quiet revelation. It had been months since Sergio sat down to a meal that didn't involve grease-stained takeout boxes or half-eaten burger buns over the diner counter. With Luka sitting across from them, the room felt balanced. The heavy, lingering loneliness that usually haunted the corners of the house seemed to vanish, replaced by the feeling of something almost akin to family.

By nine o'clock, the storm outside had settled into a steady, rhythmic patter against the windowpanes. Sergio carried a thoroughly exhausted Gavi down the hall, brushing his teeth and tucking his blanket up to the boy's chin.

"Did you like dinner?" Sergio whispered, stroking his son’s still messy hair.

"Mmhmm," Gavi mumbled, his eyelids fluttering shut. "Papá?"

"Yeah, mi amor?"

"I think my new teacher is a witch," the boy murmured into his pillow. Sergio clicked his tongue at the boy in disappointment “Pablo, how could you say that? He’s been nothing but kind to you, to both of us.”

Pablo just smiled. "I think he's a good witch. Like the ones in the stories."

Sergio choked on a laugh, kissing the boy's forehead. "What stories have good witches in them?"

Pablo nestled into his pillow, thoroughly tuckered out “Mmmm maybe this one…” is all he said before soft snores left his mouth.

Hm. That kid was strange.

When Sergio walked back into the dim kitchen, the record had spun to a silent stop and Luka wasn't at the table anymore.

Sergio stopped in the doorway he saw the shawled silhouette of Luka standing by the small brick fireplace. His eyes were locked on a small, slightly tarnished silver frame hanging perched on the mantel. It was a photograph of a beautiful, laughing woman with the exact same large, expressive brown eyes as Pablo.

Sergio’s throat went dry. He leaned against the doorframe, his thumbs looping into the pockets of his jeans. "That's Mirian," he said softly, his voice rough. "Gavi's mom."

Luka slowly turned his head, his face painted in the soft, dying glow of the hearth. "She has a very bright spirit. Even in a photograph. I can feel the love you keep for her in this house."

Sergio looked down at his boots, a sudden, heavy weight settling back into his shoulders. "I try. It's hard up here. Sometimes I feel like I dragged my son to the edge of the earth for nothing."

Luka walked back over to the kitchen island, his steps entirely silent. "Of course a chef from the city thinks this place is the edge of the earth,” he said as he handed Sergio his unfinished glass of the summer wine.

Sergio sighed, running a hand over his scratchy beared face as he took a swig, instantly making a face at its strength.

“What even is this stuff?”

“It’s the last of my stock for this year, I bottled next years just a few weeks ago so I got to use this up,” Luka sighed against his own glass. He gazed up at Sergio in that way that always makes the man pause. “Helps with the back pain…” he muttered before his gulp. Sergio shrugged and took another grateful swig.

He sat down at the island, suddenly feeling every single one of his thirty-odd years. "I’ve been all over the world in and out of different restaurants. But when Mirian died shortly after having Pablo... I don’t know, it just felt like it all just collapsed," he confessed, the truth tasting like ash. "Raising him on my own was getting harder to do the long I stayed at that pace and I just wanted a clean slate. But today, I can't even keep an espresso machine from exploding."

Luka listened intently, his chin resting in his hand. “Espresso machine exploding?”

Sergio groaned into his hands “It’s like one thing after another with that place. The Espresso machine is from the goddamn Nixon administration and spits out crude oil instead of coffee…”

Luka’s eyes squinted with deep interest. “Tell me more about how your business is going,” he spoke with a soft but electric touch to Sergio’s hand, similar to the touch from earlier in the day. Sergio rubbed his eyes with his knuckles as he took a deep sigh.

“The toilet backs up even though I swear to God I’ve cleared out the main drain pipe until I’m stripping the sides… it’s also just like, a… energy of some kind that never leaves the moment I step in. It’s just so much stress… and bills keep piling up because of it. It may just run me and Pablo out of town someday…”

Luka had a far off look on his face, pressing his finger to his lips bruised a light red from the wine. “Uroci…” he muttered as a look of revelation lightened his eyes.

“Err, what?” Sergio asked breathlessly. Luka stood up abruptly, his shawl shifting around his shoulders. "Can I use your kitchen?”

Before Sergio could ask “Need a late time snack?” Luka turned on his heel and began investigating Sergio's richly but thinly stocked kitchen cabinets. He bypassed the boxes of cereal and targeted the small spice rack Sergio had nailed to the wall.

“Something like that…” Luka responded entirely absentmindedly.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Sergio asked, baffled, rising from his stool.

"Quiet," Luka muttered, his professional teacher voice returning. He pulled down a jar of coarse sea salt, a bundle of dried oregano Sergio used for pizza sauce, and a small tin of Spanish paprika.

Luka brought the ingredients to the counter. Instead of using a measuring cup, he poured a perfect circle of sea salt into the palm of his left hand, sprinkled the other two spices into it, closed his eyes, and began to whisper something in a low, rhythmic language that Sergio couldn't understand.

Luka dumped the salted spice mixture into a clean paper napkin, folding it neatly into a small square. He pressed it directly into Sergio's kitchen-calloused hand as the atmosphere of the house suddenly snapped back to normal.

"Tomorrow morning, before you open the diner," Luka instructed, his voice dropping to an instructive but intimate whisper as his fingers brushed Sergio's skin, sending that familiar jolt of static heat up Sergio's arm.

"Take this salt. Throw a pinch of it over your left shoulder, and sprinkle the rest across the front threshold, don’t sweep it away. Then spit on your floor three times."

Sergio blinked down at the paper napkin, his brain desperately trying to rationalize what he was seeing.

“You want me to spit on my floor?”

“Well, you don’t have to, you can just go ‘puh, puh, puh,’ yeah?” Luka explained down to Sergio like they were instructions to fixing a clogged drain. Mimicking spitting on the single father in a way the other man found somehow incredibly endearing.

"What is this? A superstition?"

Luka quirked his lips into a knowing, enigmatic smile, stepping backward against the counter of the kitchen. "Something like that.”

“You sure are fond of that phrase…” Sergio said as he noticed how it made Luka blush. He suddenly took into account his surroundings, the low light catching off the eye lashes of the smaller man below him, biting his stained lips and leaning against his kitchen counter.

It was then that Sergio remembered that as a single father, he really hasn’t gotten any in… an amount of time he was a bit embarrassed to admit.

With the liquid courage of whatever it was Luka had him sipping on (which wasn’t a lot but he would take any excuse), Sergio tucked  the small envelope into his pocket with one hand while leaning his other on the counter in front of him, suspending his face just inches from the blond’s.

He heard Luka’s breath hitch at the proximity. “Mr. Ramos…” his accent rounded over the vowels in a way that sent shivers down his spine. “Mr. Luka…” Sergio responded in a single husky breath.

“Gavi is just down the hall…” the blond murmured on his neck, but that didn’t stop delicate fingers spidering up the sides of Sergio’s shoulder as he closed in a little further.

“The kids sound asleep, it’d take a fog horn to wake him up…” Sergio tested the waters with a soft kiss to the cheek. Luka gasped at the sensation of the beard fuzz tickling his soft skin.

“I… haven’t… in a long time…” Luka whispered in his ear as Sergio stopped the mouthing down the other man’s jaw. He steadied himself in front of Luka, getting a full view of the being in front of him.

“I mean, me too but… How the hell did that happen?” Sergio asked shocked. The guy was fuckin gorgeous, kind and helped old ladies while working with kids!

“I’m a teacher!” Luka whisper yelled as he took off his thick glasses and ran a hand through his fluffy hair. “What’s your excuse?” The blond questioned.

“Well. Single Dad.” Sergio answered as he leaned back into his cagey posture against Luka.

“But… you’re so hot?” Luka seemed genuinely perplexed.

“Now you understand my dilemma with you…” Sergio said before leaning in for a kiss on that pale, moled expanse of neck.

“Okay, we go slow.” Luka nodded flusteredly as Sergio could feel the beating pace of his heart in his chest when the blond wrapped his arms around the taller man’s neck.

“Slow” apparently meant scooping up Luka by the thighs with one hand to press him against the flat of the counter top while his tongue licked against Sergio’s own.

Luka writhed against him as his hair fell over his eyes but Sergio was preoccupied with raking his hands down a pair of very shapely legs that were straddling either side of his body. Must be muscle from all that soccer and running around.

“Papá?”

Both adults practically screamed as Luka pushed Sergio off himself so hard the dad nearly crashed into the couch at the chime of the little boy swaying sleepily in the middle of the hallway. Luka lost his balance, falling off the counter and onto the carpeted floor as Sergio popped right up to run a hand through his hair as his heart beat out of his chest.

“Hey little man! What’s up?” Sergio said with a near falsetto in his voice. “What are you doing out of bed?” He said as he pulled a little at the front of his pants before resting his hands at his hips.

Gavi rubbed the sleep from his eyes while he looked at the two adults with tired suspicion.

“What were you doing to Mr. Luka?”

“Oh! What? Oh! I was… we were doing the dishes!” Sergio could practically feel the sweat beading off his neck from this tap dance alone.

“That’s not how you do the dishes…” Gavi said clearly unimpressed.

Sergio sighed as he prepared to double down. “Okay, well, you’ve never done the dishes before so—“

“He’s never done the dishes?” Luka muttered in disbelief from the side.

“What is it you need angelito?” Sergio walked over to crouch in front of his son. Pablo’s lip quivered slightly as he looked between his teacher and his father. “I had a nightmare…” his whispered only so his father could hear.

“Ah… go to my bed then okay? I’ll be right there. I’m going to see Mr. Luka out since he was so nice to help with the dishes.” Sergio pressed a kiss to Pablo’s forehead. The kid nodded sleepily before waving goodbye and padding over to Sergio’s bedroom down the hall.

Sergio stood back up and faced a disheveled Luka in total awkward silence.

“Does he get those often? The nightmares?” Luka questioned as he grabbed his discarded shawl from the counter.

Sergio was happy for the topic of discussion, because Lord knows he couldn’t come up with one. “Ah here and there, comes with the whole kid package.”

Luka nodded while carding his fingers through his messy hair as he took some steps toward the door. “I’ll make him a tea for that.”

“You can make a tea to get rid of nightmares?” Sergio questioned with a yawn.

Luka turned around to press his back against the front door, a teasing smile on his lips he began to speak before Sergio cut him off. “Wait don’t tell me…”

“Something like that.” They said at the same time before quietly dissolving into soft laughter.

“Oh wait I can’t forget this,” Luka dug in his pocket to produce a small, rough, sparkling green quartz of some kind to Sergio. “Put this in your front window.”

“Why?”

“Green Aventurine, for good luck in business,” Luka added with a wink. “Oh, and you should really start making Gavi do the dishes. The boy is nine now.”

Before Sergio could even gather his words to say goodbye, the front door opened and clicked shut, leaving Sergio standing alone in the warm, spice-scented kitchen with a packet salt in one pocket and now the shiny rock in his other.

***

Sergio didn’t believe in magic, spells, or whatever mumbo-jumbo that came out of New England. That didn’t mean he didn’t have a spiritual bone in his body, he grew up vaguely Catholic after all, but could not be described as a very superstitious guy. Shit happens for a reason, an understandable cause and effect. It can be hard to stomach, it’s still stomach-able.

That being said, he did what Luka told him to.

He had felt like a complete lunatic at eight o'clock that morning, standing in the dark, empty kitchen of La Décima with a pinch of paprika, oregano, and coarse sea salt in his tattooed hand. But desperation is a hell of a drug. He had tossed the pinch into the grease trap and scattered the rest across the front threshold. Nothing felt different, there wasn’t any mysterious shifting of the winds or an immediate sparkle to the place. But he did notice that when he turned on the lights, they only flickered twice at the awakening instead of their usual five, which made Sergio cock his eyebrow.

Christ, he’s gotta get out of this place more or something. 

When Vini Jr. arrived at 8:30, holding a broom, Sergio had huffed out, "Do not touch the doorway. Leave it."

Vini had stared at him, blinked his large eyes, and muttered, "Yes, chef. Is this a new ‘dirty floor’ concept you’re trying out or are you losing your mind?"

“Just, marry the condiments Vini.”

“Yes, chef!”

By noon, Sergio didn’t care that he was losing his mind, because La Décima was suddenly thriving.

The espresso machine hummed with a  purring efficiency it hadn't possessed since the Clinton administration. More importantly, the tourists and the locals arrived in packs, snapping photos of the applewood bacon burgers, and leaving generous tips on their dad’s AmEx cards.

He saw a blog later that day on his stocky work computer calling his joint “da bomb” and saying it had “phat grub.” Which Vini had to explain to Sergio that meant all good things.

But as the cash register rang and his blood pressure finally reached levels he hasn’t felt since he was a teenager, Sergio started tuning into conversations. Weird conversations.

It started with the townies who sat at the counter, nursing their coffees and gossiping into the steam. Since Sergio was the new guy in town, they treated him like a confessional booth.

"I’m telling you, the man is a saint," old Mrs. Alaba whispered to her surprised friend, leaning over her half-eaten club sandwich. "He gave me a small smooth tin for my grandson’s knee. Healed the boy's swelling in under a month! The doctor in Boston said it was a miracle."

Sergio paused, his wiping rag freezing on the counter. "Mr. Luka?" he asked carefully.

“You know him?” The older lady asked with a fanatic look in her eyes.

“Yeah, he’s my kids teacher,” he said as he filled up her waiting empty cup of coffee.

"Oh, he's more than a teacher, dear," she whispered.

Later that afternoon, a pair of local fishermen in heavy yellow slickers took their seats.

"I don't care what anyone says, he’s a witch who dances naked underneath the fall equinox moon up on that bluff," the older one grunted, slamming his mug down. "My cousin saw the amber lights from his boat last September. Almost crashed into the damn side of the cliffs."

"Witch or not, his elixir really improved me and my husband’s sex life," the quirky town florist chimed in from the next stool with a wink from her eye.

Sergio’s face burned a scarlet. He hurriedly began flipping burger’s on the grill to distract himself from the image.

By the time the dinner rush hit, the rumors grew darker and stranger. A stern-faced woman in a tweed coat leaned in while waiting for her takeout. "He cured my daughter’s stutter with a dark spell three years ago. She’s never been the same since. Speaks entirely too fast now. Disrespectful."

A grandfather sitting in the corner booth shook his head, looking up from his paper. "He taught my son to read. The boy was failing third grade, couldn't tell a B from a D. Two weeks in Luka's classroom, and the kid is reading The Chronicles of Narnia under the covers with a flashlight. Magic, if you ask me."

“Well, he is a teacher…” Sergio muttered his unimpressed response.

“You haven’t met my son dear boy. It was a miracle he got through the Very Hungry Caterpillar. Trust me, denser than a doorknob.”

Sergio stood behind the counter, his cap crooked, his brain spinning a million miles an hour. He looked down at his own calloused hands. He thought about the static shock in the schoolyard. He thought about his feet being glued to the floor.

No, Sergio thought, shaking his head. He's just an eccentric New Englander. A bohemian guy. A really, really good teacher.

Because business at La Décima had completely exploded, Sergio started working later shifts. Naturally, this meant he could give Gavi a house key so he could go straight home after catching a ride with his coach. This plan was immediately derailed when Gavi decided he liked Luka’s house and company way more than doing homework alone until 9pm every night.

According to Gavi, it was the greatest arrangement in human history. The boy had started helping Luka out in the sprawling, overgrown garden, proudly telling his father about pulling up comfrey roots and trimming wild sage. Gavi seemed calmer, his explosions of frustration were replaced by a healthy energy as he would arrive back home exhausted from school, practice, and yard work.

Three weeks after the dinner at his house, Sergio finally pulled his truck into the grassy driveway on the bluff at eight o'clock. The fresh New England autumn night air was crisp, the golden maple trees dropping crisping leaves across the stone walkway.

Sergio hopped out of his truck, his canvas jacket unzipped, feeling lighter than he had in years. He walked up the porch steps, ready to invite Luka to the diner for a free meal to finally repay him. He’d really meant to ask him out on a proper date after their… kitchen dalliance (it’s a new word he read in a “How to be Romantical” magazine article and he’s trying it out. okay?), but his new busy life swept him up by his feet and between Pablo and the diner… you get the picture.

Before his knuckles could even touch the dark oak door, it swung open, nearly hitting him in the face.

Luka stood in the threshold. He wasn't wearing his glasses. His collarbones were on display, framed by a tight black long sleeve layered on top of a purple tank. But his honeyed eyes were wide, and his cherub lips were pulled into a deeply apologetic, slightly grimacing smile.

He held his hands up in a defensive, placating gesture.

"Don’t be mad at me…" Luka said, his accented lilt dripping with a slightly nervous caution.

Sergio froze, his protective fatherly instincts instantly spiking. His chest taking a sudden breath under his shirt. "What? What happened? Is Pablo hurt? Did he break something?"

"No, no, he is completely fine! He is healthy, he is happy," Luka assured him quickly, though he didn't move out of the doorway. "But… we were working in the kitchen. Making an infusion of hibiscus and moon-water for the garden soil. I turned my back for one second to feed Galeb, and…"

"And what, Luka?" Sergio stepped closer, his deep voice teeming with concern.

Luka sighed, stepping aside to reveal the interior of the spice-scented living room. "And he drank the infusion."

Sergio strode past him into the house. Gavi was sitting on the couch, happily munching on a bowl of what looked to be apples, walnuts, and cinnamon honey while he held five colorful tarot cards. The massive shaggy sheepdog was resting its head on the boy's lap while slobbering on his own hand of cards.

“Got any cups?” Gavi asked Galeb as he eyed his hand.

Sergio stopped dead in his tracks. His jaw literally dropped.

Gavi’s usually messy, thick brown mop of hair, the hair he inherited from his mother, the hair Sergio tried to smooth down every single morning, was no longer brown. It was a vibrant, neon, shockingly bright fluorescent pink. It looked like a troll doll! It practically was its own light source!

Gavi looked up, flashing a giant, missing-canine smile. "Hi, papá! Look! Isn’t it cool?"

Luka tutted at Gavi and snatched the cards away from both of them. “These are not toys!” He chastised as he stacked them appropriately back in their small wooden box.

Sergio stood there, completely catatonic. He blinked once. Twice. He turned slowly on his heel to face the small blonde teacher who was now wringing his hands nervously by the door.

"Okay," Sergio said, his voice dangerously low, his brain completely obscured. "What?"

"It was an accident," Luka mumbled, looking incredibly small in his giant turtleneck. "He thought it was fruit juice. It tasted very sweet."

"Luka. His hair is pink. It's neon pink. He has school tomorrow!" Sergio gestured wildly at his son's head, his tattooed arms cutting through the air. "What did you put in that juice?! How do we wash it out?! Is there like, a special shampoo?!"

"You cannot wash it out," Luka’s tone shifted back to that calm, matter-of-fact teacher voice.

"What do you mean we can't wash it out?! How did it get pink in the first place?!"

“It is a spell. It has to manifest somehow. It’s for lushness and protection against the winter frosts so, of course it targeted his hair. Be happy, he’s going to have a beautiful head of thick hair come yule.” Luka said nonchalantly.

Spell?!

"It will only last the next moon cycle," Luka explained calmly, as if he were detailing a lesson on the water cycle. "Fortunately, a Nor'easter is coming up at the end of the month, which is a time of new beginnings and shifting tides. The atmospheric pressure and the new moon will break the binding. It will turn back to brown after that. Maybe. Probably. I hope."

Sergio stood in the center of the amber-lit room. He looked at the hundreds of herbs hanging from the ceiling. He looked at the foot-thick leather books. He looked at the raven staring at him from the bookshelf. He thought about the exploding espresso machine fixing itself, the rumors of healed knees, the naked equinox dancing, and the spell salt currently sitting on his diner's threshold.

The dam finally broke.

Sergio took off his Carhartt cap, gripping it tightly in his hands as he stepped directly into Luka’s personal space. He loomed over the shorter man, his face flushed.

"Okay, be honest with me now, what are you?!" Sergio yelled, the sheer absurdity of the last month finally collapsing on top of him.

Luka pushed a stray lock of golden hair out of his face, looked up into Sergio's frantic dark eyes.

"I'm a vještac, a witch?" Luka said, his tone suggesting Sergio was the one being incredibly dense. "What did you think I was?"

Sergio’s hands flew into the air, his cap flying with them. "I don’t know?!" he hollered, his voice cracking slightly out of pure bewilderment. "I just thought you were a little out there! A bohemian New England guy! A hippie! I didn't know magic was real?!?"

Luka cocked his head, a tiny, amused, entirely bewitching smile finally breaking across his cherub lips. "Sergio. I literally have a cauldron on my stove and a raven on my shoulder. You used my salt to fix your diner."

"I thought it was just like, a cultural thing!" Sergio yelled back.

“Well, I mean, it is.” Luka shrugged.

“So magic is… it’s real? Like broomsticks and hocus pocus and all that?” Sergio slumped against the counter, fully in disbelief that this was his life.

Luka sighed, pinching the bridge of his brows. “Is the sun real? Are the moon and the stars real?”

“… is this a trick question or?”

“Yes! The answer is yes Sergio.” Luka stood up to cross his arms.

“Okay, okay, so everything the townspeople say about you is real? You cast magic spells to make things happen?”

“I don’t ‘make things happen,’ magic isn’t a command over nature, it’s apart of it. It’s simply a harnessing nature into a… push if you will.” Luka supplied cryptically, Sergio just shook it off as he continued.

“So… did you really heal that one lady’s grandson’s knee?”

“Oh, Thomas has recovered? I should send her a letter sometime…”

“…and you really improved that couples sex life?” Sergio said a bit hushed knowing that Gavi was in the other room.

“Two drops of lavender and honey in your tea and it’s like you never left the honeymoon.” Luka said with a slight smirk as his eyes flitted up and down Sergio’s body.

“… but that girl with the speech impediment, her parents swear you put a dark curse on her.”

“I have a speech-language pathology certificate. It was three month of intensive therapy which her parents paid for, so I don’t know why they’re upset and saying all of that. Maybe I was a bit steep…”

“And the dancing naked under the full moon?”