CHAPTER 2: THE BAKER NEXT DOOR

POV: Xitllali De La Rosa (living as "Esperanza")

My heart was still racing after the SUV disappeared around the corner.

I knelt down and started picking up the broken pieces of the pot.

It was probably nothing, I told myself. It was just a passing car. Maybe some rich tourist who had taken a wrong turn. People get lost here all the time. It didn't mean anything.

"You're going to cut yourself if you handle the big pieces like that."

The voice came from behind me. It was low and rough.

I turned, and saw Xiaro.

He stood in the doorway of La Calandria, one of his shoulders rested against the wooden frame. He was wearing his usual faded apron, and he had flour stains all over it.

I'd known Xiaro for almost two years. He was quiet, just like me, and he never talked about where he lived before moving here.

There were still things about him I am curious about.

Things like the scars on his body. There were several of them. Some were faded and uneven, and they ran across his forearms. They didn't look like burns from a kitchen oven. They looked like the scars the men in Guadalajara carried, marks from blades, from shrapnel, and from fights where people didn't walk away clean.

I looked away quickly before he caught me staring at him.

In his right hand, he held a small paper bag, the bottom was already stained with grease. I could smell butter and cinnamon coming from it.

"I have a broom in the back, Xiaro," I said, keeping my eyes on the pieces of clay in my hand.

"Brooms don't stop sharp clay from slicing open a vein, Esperanza."

He came inside and crouched beside me.

Up close, I noticed the flour on his apron had gotten on his shirt too. He smelled like the bakery; like fresh bread and woodsmoke, and there was another smell underneath it that I couldn't quite recognise. Something sharp, like gun oil and leather, but I'm not really sure.

He reached for the heavier piece before I could grab it.

"Careful," he said.

"I was being careful." He gave me a look.

I sighed and let him take it.

"You're shaking, are you doing okay?" he asked.

"It's just the mountain air."

I stood up and wiped my dirty palms on my apron.

He picked up the clay base and set it on the counter. Then he put the paper bag beside my pruning shears.

"I got you some pan dulce," he said. "Two conchas. They're still warm, you should eat them now."

I looked at the bag, then looked back at him.

"I told you yesterday, Xiaro. You don't have to bring me food every morning."

"And I told you yesterday that if I don't feed you, you'll live on black coffee and bad thoughts, and I don't want that for you.”

I looked at him, then he raised an eyebrow 

"Eat."

A small smile then pulled at the corner of his mouth.

"You look like you haven't eaten since yesterday."

I sighed and reached for the bag. The sweet smell hit me immediately, it was warm and comforting, making my empty stomach twist.

"Happy now ?"

“Very,” he replied.

I stared at the paper bag, it was still warm.

For a moment, I wanted to take one of the conchas and just forget about everything else. But I wasn't used to people doing things for me without wanting something in return.

"Why do you do this?" I asked him. “Why do you always care for me?”

He looked at me, he didn't look away or seem uncomfortable with the question. His gaze remained steady and patient, like he had all the time in the world.

"Because when I opened the bakery six months ago, you were the only person who didn't ask where I came from."

I looked up at him.

"You didn't ask why someone with army boots and fresh scars owned a bakery."

"I don't ask questions because I don't want anyone asking me any."

His mouth twitched.

"That's probably why we get along."

I almost smiled. "Probably.”

"We're both ghosts, Esperanza," he said softly, "the only difference is, I know what chased me out of the north, but you still act like the devil is going to come looking for you.”

My pulse pounded. "I'm just a woman running a flower shop," I whispered, holding his gaze.

"Right," he said dryly. "And I'm just a guy who likes flour."

He turned toward the door, but before touching the door knob, he turned around and said, "Someone was asking questions in the lower market yesterday," he said casually.

The blood drained from my face. "What kind of someone?"

"A guy from out of town. He wore expensive boots, and he was asking if anyone had seen a woman with dark hair, and honey skin.” He slowly turned his head to look at me. His hazel eyes were sharp as ice. "I told him the only women around here were grandmothers and nuns."

"He didn't look like a guy who takes 'no' for an answer, Esperanza," he added grimly. "He's staying down by the river road. And he has two men sitting in an unmarked black truck."

My chest tightened. Suddenly, the shop felt too small.

Xiaro then reached for the door handle. "Eat the conchas, and lock your back door today."

He stepped out into the fog, leaving the small bell ringing softly behind him.

I stood frozen. My hand slowly rose to trace the thin scar hidden beneath my dark bangs.

They were here. It wasn't my imagination.

I started panicking and I turned toward the back room where I kept my emergency stash, the cash, the fake IDs, and the small handgun I swore I’d never use again.

I took three steps when a loud knock came from the back of the shop.

It wasn't from the glass front door, it was from the bolted wooden door that opened into the dark alley.