By the time I reached Luis's little house, I was already exhausted.
It wasn't the distance—Moon Goddess knew I had walked farther than this today. It was the mental toll of dealing with Luis Miguel and his gang, the vegetable cart incident, and the fact that I still had to come here and see him.
Luis. My dear, miserable, wheelchair-bound cousin.
I pushed open the door, half expecting to find him asleep. Instead, I was greeted by an entirely different kind of horror.
His caregiver; a round woman with the face of someone who had fought many battles against sleep and lost every single one… was sprawled across a wooden chair, deep in slumber.
Her sundress, which had probably been in a more respectable position when she first sat down, had decided gravity was a myth. The neckline had flopped so low that one of her generous bosoms was darn close to escaping.
