5-The woman Sir likes

 Los Angeles is a city that never sleeps, where the lights of the bars, clubs, and adult shows don't go out until dawn. Hermosa gets off the bus and walks around the villas, observing the puppies snoozing in front of each house and the couples holding hands in the morning breeze with their windows open, and realizes she doesn't belong there.

  Her nose was suddenly a little sour. She raised her hand and rubbed her eyes toward Brent's residence. Two days earlier, her fingerprints had been taken so that she could enter without disturbing him. However, before she reached the door, she sensed an inquisitive glance behind her. 

  It was the wife of the family across the street, short, fat and amiable, her permed hair hooped up with a coloured hairband, creating a strong visual clash with the colourful cardigan she was wearing.

"Excuse me, what can I do for you?" Hermosa asked politely as she walked over.

"Are you Mr. Brent Keith's relative?"

  The neighbour’s wife inquired inquisitively. She halted when she saw Hermosa's make-up and tight pants, but said without any touch of disgust or contempt, "My husband's name is Brown, my name is Sala, and what is your name?”

  "Mrs .Sala, just call me Hermosa."

   Hermosa smiled, suddenly finding herself at a loss as to how to describe her relationship with Brent, thinking that being related might seem less intrusive. But surely he wouldn't want to be related to someone like herself.

  "I'm living at his house." She finally said.

  "Living in his house?" Mrs. Sala was stunned, "So he opens the door and lets people in too."

  "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

  "He's always turned people away." Mrs.Sala explained, "When he first moved in a few months ago, every time I knocked on the door after preparing a salad or whatever, he wouldn't open it, and when he eventually did, he said two words to me: go away."

  "I'm sorry." Hermosa saw the lost look on Mrs. Sala's face and said, a little anxiously, "He's actually very nice, sir, he's just... he's just ......"

  "Just what?" Hermosa couldn't think of anything for a moment. He had only really been with Sir for a few days, and most of the time he did reject people, but she just knew that he was actually a good person, through careful observation and intuition.

  "No, no, I understand." Sala smiled and waved her hand, "I heard he had a big problem before moving here, he lost such a good job and someone he liked, I wouldn't want to meet anyone if it were me.  By the way, I have lots of fresh coconuts at home. Oh yes, and I made two delicious waffles for you and Mr.Brent this morning for breakfast. Young people should live well too..."

  "Oh ……Mrs. Sala!"

Before Hermosa could stop her, Mrs. Sala turned and went into the house, returning with a large bag of large coconuts and a large plate of waffles resting in Hermosa's hands, so heavy she could barely hold it.

"Don't say no, my house is overflowing with coconuts at this time of year, and I can't possibly eat them all, so you're helping to lessen my load."

"Thank you, Mrs. Sala. You are so sweet! Have a nice day!"

  It was Mrs. Sala's kindness that weighed more than the coconuts and the waffles. Hermosa didn't really know what to say other than a sincere thank you. She walked dreamily in the direction of Brent's house, her mind full of what she had just said.

  Brent had taken her in when he hadn't even wanted to open the door for anyone.  He has been through a difficult time, losing both his career and the person he cared about. Did he also injure his leg in that incident?

  Sir has a liked......

  After Hermosa left, Brent sat alone in the living room for a long time before he remembered to tell Elisa a story.

  He resisted a little as an afterthought, wondering why he had just agreed to this Hermosa thing. He didn't want to go up there, but there was a delayed movement in the bedroom upstairs. The child was excessively quiet, rather than a little worried, in case something happened ......

  Brent waited a little longer, hearing still no movement in the house, and thought better of it and went upstairs.

  “Elisa."

  It was now almost nine o'clock and he knocked on the bedroom door, hoping that Elisa was asleep: "Can I come in? You ......"

  The words "your mother" twisted in Brent's throat but didn't come out: "Hermosa asked me to read you a bedtime story."

  "...... Thank you, uncle."

  Elisa replied after a long time in a milky voice. When Brent opened the door, he noticed that she was huddled at the foot of the bed, obviously terrified of him. The words "Hermosa told me to come over" helped her overcome her fear. Elisa was a little too quiet for a three-year-old and spent most of her time looking at Brent with big, watery eyes. Brent suddenly remembered the way Elisa had looked at him in front of the bathroom not long ago.

So Brent parked his wheelchair in the doorway, not close to the bed, just like he didn't want to come too close to her, but without the usual awkwardness and irritation: "What story would you like to hear?"

  Elisa was clearly stumped by the question. She thought for a long time before saying, "Well ...... Cinderella, would you?"

  "Yeah."

  Brent stepped over to the bed, pulled out his phone, and quickly located the original tale on it. Elisa spoke again, "Uncle, can you not tell mum?"

  "Not tell her what?” Brent wavered at the word 'mum'.

  "Mummy doesn't like Cinderella." Hermosa should still be a little stern with Elisa in private, Elisa's little brow furrowed as she talked about it, looking slightly scared, "Uncle, can you not tell her?”

  “Yes."

  Listening to Cinderella might seem like a really big deal to Elisa, but from Brent's adult perspective it didn't seem like a big deal at all: "Why can't you tell her?"

  "I don't know." Elisa shook her head, urging Brent with a bit of stranger's caution and a child's overwhelming anticipation, "Uncle, read it, will you?"

  Brent let out a "hmmm", "Once upon a time, there was a rich man whose wife was seriously ill ......"

  It had been a long time since Brent had told a story to a child. Elisa's attention span and energy levels were obviously not as high as those of youngsters her age. Within a few minutes, she was resting back against the bed, shaking her head, and slouching on the mattress. Within a few minutes, Elisa was nodding her head against the back of the bed and sliding into the bed.

  Brent turned off the phone and went over to her, picked up her soft little body and laid it flat on the bed, tucking her under the covers. When he was done he tried to leave, but Elisa's eyes opened again.

  "Is Cinderella still dancing tomorrow?" She asked dazedly, clutching Brent's hand.

  "Sure, little girl,” Brent said helplessly. It looked like he wouldn't be able to leave for a while,       "The next night, Cinderella came under the hazel tree ......"

  He told on for who knows how long, not stopping until he got to the point where the prince and Cinderella were driving to the palace in a carriage conjured up by their fairy godmother.

  With his throat a little dry and thirsty for a long time, Brent cleared his throat and called out Elisa's name twice.

  He was answered by a series of little snores from Elisa. She was asleep, her tiny arms exposed and not afraid to catch a cold.

  Brent went up to tuck her arms under the blanket, and just as he reached the door she stretched them out again, disobedient.

  Brent tucked her in four or five times before she finally settled down and called out in a daze, “Mummy."

  "She's gone to work, she'll be back soon," Brent said in a soft voice as he rode his wheelchair to the bedroom door.

  Elisa muttered an 'umph', "Monster! Don't bully mum!"