Isabella

It was around four thirty when Horace knocked on the doorframe to my office. “Miss Izzy.”

I smiled at his use of my first name. “Yes, come on in.”

He stepped inside. “I received word from Emiliano Ruiz that he is taking you home tonight.”

Warmth filled my cheeks. “I told him I wanted to see more of San Diego, and with the lockdown” —I shrugged— “he was nice and offered me a tour.”

“You’re my ...